The Single Mom's Second Chance

by Jessica Keller

  * * *

  Evan flipped up the collar on his coat and then dug around in his pockets for his gloves.

  And fine, he was lingering, too.

  Claire Atwood had finally spoken to him. Sure, it hadn’t been something kind, but that didn’t matter. He’d spent the last year wanting to say hi and ease the awkwardness that pulsed between them, but she’d evaded him every time he’d worked up the nerve to break the silence.

  She’d been back in town for more than a year and had gone out of her way to dodge him, to the point of crossing to the other side of the street when she happened to spot him downtown. Not that he blamed her. He had left her crying on the steps of the county courthouse.

  He didn’t deserve her attention, not then and not now.

  However, the image was burned into his memory—her in a knee-skimming white dress and her red hair tumbling around her shoulders as she sobbed into her hands—forever there to lance pain and regret through him. It sprang to his mind at the worst moments. Like now. A pressure point causing him to wince, desperately making him want to burst through the double doors of town hall and apologize. Explain. Beg her to forgive him.

  But to what aim? All those years ago, her father had been right. Evan had been a small-town boy with no ambitions outside of Goose Harbor. He was simple, whereas Claire had possessed big dreams, and she was smart. Brilliant. Evan had heard through the very active Goose Harbor grapevine that Claire had accomplished a lot since their failed wedding. Unless the gossip was mistaken, she’d earned her doctorate and had traveled abroad, studying art history. If they’d married, that never would have happened. Evan would have held her back. He wasn’t good enough for her, not then and not now. Even he knew that.

  Still, it had hurt to walk away. He wished she at least knew that part.

  Evan focused on putting his gloves on. Flexed his hands a few times but still couldn’t get his feet to go forward.

  The ship that was his future with Claire had sailed many, many years ago. Sailed and sunk like one of the many abandoned boats that lined the bottom of Lake Michigan. If Claire had wanted to discuss their past she wouldn’t have disappeared for more than a decade. She wouldn’t have hopped on a plane the same day as their failed wedding ceremony. He’d sent notes to her by way of her mother and had never heard back. He hadn’t known any of her new information—address, phone number, email address—but most of his hadn’t changed. She could have called and demanded answers at any point.

  But she hadn’t.

  Truth was, Claire had narrowly missed destroying her life that day, and she probably knew it. The day Evan regretted most was no doubt the biggest relief of her life. No matter what she had thought she felt for him at eighteen years old, it was painfully obvious that she didn’t feel anything warm toward him now. So much the better.

  She deserved more than being shackled to a Daniels.

  Though he’d admit to anyone she looked pretty today. Since returning from New York she often strutted around town too polished, too fancy, wearing designer everything—using her exterior to keep people at a distance the same as she had in their old days together. Today, though, she’d been flustered because of Alex. The kelly green coat she wore had been buttoned lopsided, the delicate point of her nose was red and winter’s breeze had run telltale fingers through her hair, leaving the long auburn strands tangled and dusted with snowflakes.

  He didn’t know if he’d ever seen her more beautiful.

  We haven’t talked in twelve years. Let’s not start now.

  Yup, eleven years of her in New York, and the past year she’d spent in Goose Harbor avoiding him. Her math was sound, and the implications drove nails through any last hopes he might have clung to of them ever getting along again.

  The memory of her words pierced his thoughts, leaving his throat suddenly dry. Evan dug farther into his coat pocket for a cough drop. He popped it into his mouth and let the menthol pour through his sinuses. Took a deep breath. Started to leave.

  “Wait!” Claire’s voice stopped him.

  Evan swung around. Sure enough, Claire was stepping toward him at a fast clip, Alex jogging behind her. Her heels hit a slick spot on the narrow path to the town hall and she started to tip backward.

  “Whoa.” Evan dived forward, quickly slipping his arms around her waist and preventing her from tumbling to the hard ground. His hands came flush against her back, cradling her toward him. Why had he put his gloves on? He would have enjoyed the feel of her hair draped over the back of his hands one more time...

  Alex whooped. “Good catch!” Then he bent down, scrambling to collect all Claire’s scattered paperwork.

  During the process of almost falling, she’d dropped the thick folder-type thing she’d been clutching, and had grabbed on to the lapels of his coat for dear life. Inches from him—close enough to count the freckles she tried to hide—Claire’s soft blue eyes frantically moved over his face until their gazes finally met. She sucked in a sharp breath but didn’t shove away. His heart pounded like a Sawzall, and just like that he was eighteen again with the woman he had loved in his arms. The woman he had wanted to spend every day of the rest of his life with.

  You’ll hold her back, son. You’ll be a weight around her neck. She’ll grow to hate you. Is that what you want? If you love her like you say you do, then let go. It was the first—and more than likely, the only—time he and Sesser Atwood would ever agree so wholeheartedly.

  Evan shook that thought away and focused. “I got you.”

  Smooth, Evan. State the obvious. Women adore that.

  “I don’t want you to,” she whispered. Then her eyes snapped to life and she pushed against his chest.

  Ah, right, there it was. The resentment he usually saw setting her features.

  Evan let his arms fall away. He swallowed the last of his cough drop, savoring the burning feeling of it going down his throat, grounding him. With her standing nearby, having called to him, he finally summoned the courage to start the conversation he wished he’d had back before she ran to New York City. Might as well get the awkwardness over with. “Claire, this is long overdue, but I need to—”

  “Why are you running for mayor?” She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped out a Morse code message detailing her annoyance with the toe of her pointed glossy boot.

  Not what he’d expected. Then again, Mrs. Clarkson was known for spreading everyone’s business around, in a kindly, grandmotherly way, of course. Claire probably went in to hand over a payment for her family’s water or refuse bill, and Mrs. Clarkson couldn’t help but tell her all about Evan submitting his application to get on the ballot and run at the final hour.

  He scratched the spot where his neck met his jaw. “Oh, that. I guess, why not? The position’s open.”

  And because he and his brother Brice planned to use his clout as mayor to help get a new boatyard and dock built. One that would give Sesser Atwood a run for his money and loosen the chokehold monopoly he had on the shipping business in Goose Harbor. On all businesses in town.

  A political tidbit Evan hardly needed to share with the tycoon’s daughter.

  “That’s it?” More toe tapping. A nervous habit he recognized from the old days. Back when he’d known what every single movement she made meant. Known that if her shoulders slumped a certain way she’d had a bad weekend with her parents or an argument with her father. Before she gave a presentation or speech in class, she used to tap her foot faster than his 18-volt jigsaw running on the highest setting.

  Evan pointed down and didn’t even fight the smirk he felt tugging at his lips. “You’re going to wear out your shoe doing that, you know. Not much is different, huh?”

  She stopped and shifted her weight. Narrowed her eyes, and her stare went hard. “Everything is different. And don’t change the subject.”

  If look
s could kill... The set of her shoulders and jaw told him she was ready for battle. With her expression of fury and her red hair fanned over her shoulders while fat snowflakes fell between them, she looked like a snow queen ready to save her kingdom from an invading army. Sparks and quips made up her favorite line of defense, but he wasn’t intimidated. Claire survived by keeping people at a distance, by making them believe she was all burrs and thorns.

  Too bad he knew better.

  Break through her barriers and she became the sweetest, most sincere person he’d ever met. Her rigid exterior was nothing more than a wall for a terrified girl to hide her heart behind. She only needed someone to cheer her on and infuse some courage into her, something neither of her parents had ever done. At least...that’s how she’d been twelve years ago.

  In the past, the best way to reach over her wall was to act like her glares had no effect on him.

  “So what if I’m running?” Evan slipped his hands into his pockets and gave an exaggerated shrug. “Why do you care?”

  Alex handed Claire the padded folder, which he’d jammed all her papers into, so they stuck out at odd angles. “She wants to know because she’s running, too.”

  “You’re running?” Evan rocked forward. “But you don’t even like this place.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “That’s so not true.” She jabbed her pointer finger in his direction. “And don’t you dare say that on the campaign trail. You have no proof to back up your claim.”

  “Campaign trail? Tell me you’re not serious.” She was joking...wasn’t she? Evan hadn’t planned to do much besides getting on the ballot. Everyone in town already knew him.

  Alex chuckled. “She is always serious. I know this is a fact.”

  Evan winked at Alex. He enjoyed how the kid phrased things.

  Claire pressed a hand to Alex’s chest, as if Evan’s very presence might tarnish the boy. She must not be aware that Evan hung out with her son every Sunday. Maybe he should tell her the reason he’d been asked to help out in the seven-and eight-year-old class was because Toby and Jenna Holcomb didn’t know how to reach her often angry son. So far, he and Alex had come to a tentative friendship, but her mama-arm protective grab on Alex didn’t bode well for Evan’s continued involvement.

  “See? You have nothing to say,” Claire said. “No proof that I don’t like this place and no reason why you should continue your run for office.”

  “No proof? Now let’s see... How about you left our humble harbor without so much as looking back, and were gone for more than eleven years? You can’t like Goose Harbor all that much—not enough to want to be the mayor—if you didn’t even want to be here.”

  She leaned closer, her voice low, rumbling. “I like Goose Harbor fine.”

  Evan leaned in, too. “Not as much as you seemed to like New York.”

  Her eyes flashed. “The reason I left wasn’t because I didn’t like it here.”

  “Yeah?” He cocked his head, challenging her. They’d always known how to press each other’s buttons. Evidently that much hadn’t changed, either. “Then why’d you leave?”

  Claire’s lips pulled a little. “I left because I didn’t like you.”

  Alex’s mouth dropped open. “My friend Kasey would call that a burn.”

  And she’d be right.

  Evan filled his chest with a lungful of air and then another. Growing up with an abusive father had taught him to rein in his anger and his reactions, not to speak when he felt wounded, because usually what he had to say only worsened the situation. And to process through the reasons someone would behave a certain way before letting words rule his emotions.

  With Claire, it wasn’t as if it was a mystery. From her perspective he’d entirely misused her. For all intents and purposes, he’d abandoned her. And she was right, even if it stung. She’d left because of him.

  I saved you from a life of regret. You wouldn’t have a relationship with your parents if we’d married. You’d probably hate me by now for getting in the way of your dreams.

  Why couldn’t she understand?

  He worked his jaw back and forth.

  Someone flung the town hall’s doors open. Alex, Evan and Claire all pivoted.

  Mr. Banks—also known as the local curmudgeon—bustled toward them. He wore his dress pants up past his belly button and had the bottom of his tie tucked in. No coat, so he must have been in a hurry. Wisps from his comb-over rose to stand on end in the winter wind. The man currently served—begrudgingly—as the stand-in mayor, and grumbled about it to anyone who would listen.

  Mr. Banks puffed when he reached them. “You’re both still here. Good.”

  Evan relaxed his shoulders and forced himself to put mental space between the conversation with Mr. Banks and the confrontation with Claire. “Is there a problem with our applications?”

  “No. They’ll do. I’d like you both to attend the board meeting on Tuesday so I can introduce each of you to the public.”

  Evan glanced at Claire and then back at Mr. Banks. “Is that necessary? I’m pretty sure everyone voting already knows us.”

  “It’s a formality,” the stand-in mayor huffed.

  Evan bit back a laugh. He coughed once and then cleared his throat. “And this is Goose Harbor—hardly the place for formalities.”

  Mr. Banks scowled. “Are you certain you’re qualified for this office, Mr. Daniels?”

  Claire stepped forward. “I was just trying to talk him out of it, too!”

  Mr. Banks narrowed his eyes at them. “To rise to the needs of the position of mayor, I hope you’re both going to start caring about formalities and acting professionally.” He smoothed his hand down his bright orange tie. “Our town deserves that from their elected.”

  “Of course.” Claire bristled. “I only meant—”

  Mr. Banks cut her off with a deep frown. “We need to discuss when is best for both of you regarding the board of trustees planning the competitive events for this election.”

  “Excuse me?” Claire wrapped her arms around Alex and pulled him to stand in front of her like a human shield.

  “I’m with her.” Evan jutted his thumb. “What do you mean by competitive events?”

  Mr. Banks groaned and shook his head. “Pie eating contests, fund-raising, talent shows. Some or other manner of horrible sorts of things like that. You know how this town is.”

  “We’re running for mayor.” Chill painted red across Claire’s cheeks. “Not a pageant title.”

  Evan chuckled, trying to lighten her mood. “And if we were, it’s awful cold for a swimsuit competition, not that I’d turn one down.”

  She twisted toward him. “How do you expect anyone to actually vote for you? You can’t be serious for even three minutes. It’s unbelievable.”

  Alex spun in his mom’s arms. “He can, too. You should hear him at Sunday school. He talks about God better than any of the Atwoods do.”

  Claire gripped Alex by the shoulder, snagging her son’s attention. “Don’t forget, you’re an Atwood, too.”

  He shrugged and pushed out of her reach. “Must be why I don’t really know God at all.”

  Mr. Banks worked his jaw. “It’s cold out here, and if you haven’t noticed, my coat’s still inside. This was supposed to be a quick conversation.”

  “Apologies.” Claire plastered on a smile. “Continue.”

  “Per the town’s charter, those running for mayor must take part in friendly competitions.”

  Evan brought his fist to his mouth and cleared his throat again. “I guess the thing that has us confused is we’ve never done that with an election in the past. I’ve lived here my whole life and I’ve never heard any of this.”

  Mr. Banks closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head slightly, as if Evan and Claire were gnats buzzing by
his ears. “We haven’t had more than one person running for mayor in a long time.” He shivered and made as if he was about to leave, but then added, “I’m moving up the election, too. It’ll be the second week of March.”

  Claire’s mouth opened, closed, opened again. “But that’s...that’s only a little more than a month away.”

  “I suggest you get to campaigning.” Mr. Banks scooted backward, in the direction of the entranceway. “I’ll contact you both with the date and details for the first event. I assume weekends and evenings work best?”

  They both nodded.

  Evan dug in his pockets, searching for another cough drop, but found nothing.

  “This ridiculousness can’t be done soon enough for me,” Mr. Banks said. “May the best person win.”

  “Thanks.” Claire hugged her folder. “I intend to.”

  Alex waved at Evan while Claire tugged her son toward the car. Evan watched them leave before heading to his heavy-duty truck. “What did I just get myself into?”

  Chapter Two

  “You can do this. It’ll be no different than talking to anyone else,” Claire coached herself, occasionally glancing into her car’s rearview mirror as she drove across town. Gray clouds crowded together and rolled over each other in the sky like a group of children pushing toward the promise of free ice cream. They were making their way over Lake Michigan, directly toward her. Goose Harbor was in for another round of lake effect snow.

  Good. A pending storm was the perfect excuse. That gave her a reason to keep the visit short.

  Visit.

  That was hardly the right word.

  Since being home, Claire had made a point of never driving past Evan’s house. Not a difficult task considering he lived in the thick, wooded area on the far reaches of the town’s limits—almost in the unincorporated section that belonged to the county. Claire rarely had a need to head out in that direction, and even if she did, there were roads she could take to bypass the stretch of land she knew he owned.

  Now it all felt silly. She’d mentally blown this moment—contact with Evan initiated by her—way out of proportion.