“The last name Ashby doesn’t hurt,” someone called from the crowd. That was met with a round of agreements.
“Best mayor we ever had.”
“Is the new Ashby running?”
“I sure miss Ida.”
“Tough crowd,” Evan mumbled.
Kellen Ashby, nephew of the longest-serving mayor, raised his hands in a way that said it wasn’t me as all heads turned in his direction. “I promise I didn’t pay anyone to shout that.”
His oldest daughter bounced in her seat. “Dad, you should be mayor! Everyone vote for my dad!”
“Skylar.” Kellen settled a hand on her knee. “The man’s trying to lead a meeting.”
Skylar shook her head and said even louder, “He used to be a rock star. You should totally vote for him.” Ruthy, Kellen’s youngest daughter, grinned from ear to ear as she nodded along with her sister.
Maggie, Kellen’s wife, wrapped her arm around the noisy offender and said, “Hush!” The family of four was all smiles. “I’m so sorry.” Maggie gave a small wave. “Please keep going.”
Mr. Banks shuffled his notes. “Don’t even know why I try.” He harrumphed and adjusted his glasses. “Here we are.” He held one of his sheets of paper out as far as his arm would go. “After a lengthy meeting the board has decided that our ideal mayoral candidate must excel at problem solving and creativity, must be poised and well-spoken, and must be able to work with others in an organized yet detailed manner.”
His giant eyebrows looked like two angry caterpillars glued to his forehead. He lowered them and scanned the room, a silent challenge to anyone who would make another smart-aleck comment. “Problem solving is essential to the task of mayor, especially when it comes to juggling our need for tourism with the equally important needs of our year-round residents. Often the two are in opposition, so creativity comes in handy when coupled with problem solving.”
“Right. How much creativity do you think Banks has ever used?” One of the firemen in the second row made the comment a little too loudly to a buddy nearby.
Banks frowned. “Believe me, I am using every ounce of creativity I possess right this very minute. A thank-you is due to you, Lieutenant Marcus of our esteemed Goose Harbor Fire Department, for demonstrating exactly why a poised and a well-spoken person is necessary in this position.” He smacked his notecards against the podium. “I’m certain your chief is very proud.”
The fireman looked down and studied his hands, embarrassed at being publicly called out.
“And since this town is not a dictatorship—although, believe me, that would make things easier—the ability to work on a team with people you probably don’t like is paramount as well.”
Mr. Banks looked suddenly very tired and old, and Claire felt sorry for him. He hadn’t asked to be put in the position he was in. He’d stepped up because the last mayor had left without much warning. Banks was doing the best he could. So what if he was a bit—okay, a lot—of a curmudgeon? If Claire won it would be her up there dealing with the boisterous and jovial crowd.
Would she be able to handle all the interruptions with as much finesse as he had? She smoothed her hair behind her ears and ducked her head, studying the worn patterns on the floor.
Did she even want to deal with all this?
* * *
After Mr. Banks announced Evan and Claire as formal candidates, he explained the competitions that would take place, and finally adjourned the meeting.
Evan made his way to the double doors so he could greet and visit with people as they filed out.
Kellen Ashby passed by. He held Ruthy, his youngest daughter, in one arm and had his other around his wife’s shoulders. Evan and he exchanged a chin-up form of greeting.
Skylar, skipping behind, dodged around him. “Sorry, Mr. Evan. I can’t shake your hand, seeing how I’m not going to vote for you.”
Evan braced his hands on his thighs to come down to her level. “Well, that’s sad.”
Maggie snagged her arm. “Come on, sweetheart. Leave poor Evan alone.”
Skylar took Maggie’s hand, but called over her shoulder, “If I could vote, I’d have to vote for my dad.”
Evan saluted her. “If your dad was running, I might vote for him, too.”
For a few minutes the din of conversation near the front doors was so loud Evan had to lean close and raise his voice in order to converse with his neighbors. Almost everyone stopped to wish him well.
“I’m supposed to be impartial, of course.” Mrs. Clarkson cupped her hands around Evan’s. She leaned into his personal space, bringing the heavy smells of coffee and baby powder with her. “With me working part-time at the town hall office, you know how that can be. They want me to be some opinionless robot about these matters. As if anyone could really, deep down, be that way.” She looked from side to side, like a secret agent relaying vital information. “Now this is strictly between me and you, but I sure do hope you win, son.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” Evan winked.
Mrs. Clarkson swatted him in the shoulder, and then zipped her coat and squared her shoulders as she headed into the cold with the rest of the dwindling crowd.
Claire filled the other side of the double doors. She had talked to people who exited that way, but now that they were mostly gone, she and Evan were only a few feet apart, staring at each other.
She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows. “Well, that was quick.”
“What?” he asked.
“You said you weren’t going to flirt to win.”
“You think?” Evan’s jaw went slack. “With Mrs. Clarkson?” He pointed at the door. Claire had to be kidding. Did she really think so little of him to imagine he’d toy with an elderly woman’s emotions like that? She’d been somewhat of a mother-figure in his life. “That was not flirting.”
“It was.”
“No. Absolutely not.” Evan shook his head and stepped forward. Letting the door close behind him, he moved into the entryway where Claire waited. “Flirting carries intent. I have no intent there besides being kind to a nice old lady.”
“I don’t agree with you.”
“Which is your right. Free country and all.” He made his way to the rack where his coat was hanging and pulled it off the hanger. “You can believe whatever you want to, but doing so doesn’t make it true.” He tugged on his coat and jammed his hands into the pockets.
“I’m fairly certain the textbook definition of flirting says something about not having serious intent.”
“I don’t care about textbooks, Claire. You know what I mean.”
“Evan. Relax.” Claire’s laugh was light, almost like the old days. She slipped on her coat and tugged a hat out of her pocket. “I’m teasing you.” She set the hat on her head. “Although it’s not as much fun when I have to explain it.”
A few days ago they weren’t speaking to each other. Now they were back to teasing? When he’d snagged the seat beside her at the start of the meeting Evan hadn’t known what to expect. Would she be upset or angry that he’d settled next to her? But she hadn’t been either. They’d shared a few laughs. She’d seemed to enjoy his company. He didn’t know what to do with it all. Shouldn’t he say something?
Claire’s quick comebacks had always been able to turn his brain to mush.
The front door banged open, revealing Jason Moss, the editor of the local newspaper. He had a huge camera slung around his neck. “I just got off the phone. Had to go outside to hear over the crowd in here.” He jiggled his cell in his hand. “My normal photographer is out sick this evening, so unfortunately, you guys are stuck with me.”
Evan looked at Claire to see if she knew what Jason was talking about, but confusion colored her features.
“Sorry, Jay,” she said. Her gaze volleyed between Jason and
Evan. “We don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I need to do a photo shoot with the two of you.” Jason jiggled the camera. “Nothing fancy. We’ll just snap a couple and I’ll run the best one with the article I’m doing for the election. The newspaper one will be printed in black-and-white, but we’ll need a couple decent ones for the website and our social media pages.”
She adjusted her hat. “Right now?”
Jason rammed his hip into the metal bar on the door, holding it open for them. A cold blast of winter sliced through the lobby. “It would be best to get it done while we still have a half hour or so of sunlight left.”
Evan ushered Claire out the door, letting her go first, and they followed Jason down the slick path toward the street. Claire picked her way carefully over the shoveled walkway. Her heels were lower than she normally wore, but they probably didn’t afford her much traction. Evan made a point to stay near enough to grab her elbow, to steady her if she slipped.
Jason stopped abruptly. He turned in a circle, scrutinizing the area. “I thought we could do a few here in front of town hall and then move to the town square. Take one or two on a bench there, and possibly at the gazebo.”
Snow crunched under Evan’s boots. “Sounds fine to me.”
Jason motioned for them to stand together between the flags hanging on either side of the front doors. “Smile.” He held up the camera. “Stand closer. I know you two are running against each other, but this isn’t the White House here. We’re a friendly place. We want friendly looking pictures on our website. Act like you like each other a little.”
“Here.” Claire took Evan by the shoulders. “Stand there. Let’s do backs together.” She leaned against his back and they both crossed their arms and smiled for the camera.
Jason snapped a few and then started toward the center of town. “If we still have some light after the gazebo, I’d like to hike over to the swing set near the grade school just off the square.”
“The swing set?” Claire balked.
“You two went to school together, am I right?”
“Well, yes, but...” Claire looked to Evan, but he only shrugged. She and Jason were related; he wasn’t about to get in the middle if this turned into an argument.
Jason moved his hand as if he was running it over the top of a table. “Everyone here knows that. So let’s capitalize on it.”
He snapped a few shots of them on the bench and a few more on the steps of the gazebo. As they tromped toward the school yard, Claire lobbed a snowball that struck Evan’s shoulder, taking him by surprise. She’d been quiet during most of the photos.
“This isn’t a war you want to start,” Evan warned her.
“Please.” She held her hands up in surrender. “Jason made me. He wanted it for a picture.”
“A picture, huh? What about this one?” Evan scooped up a handful of snow, packed it and tossed it at Claire. She screamed and started running toward the swing set. Evan chased after her. When they reached the swings Jason was far behind them and they were both heaving to catch their breath.
“Man.” Evan held his side. “I’m out of shape.”
“Hardly.” Claire dusted off one of the swings, sat down and started pumping her legs. “You might be in even better shape than you were at eighteen.” Her gaze swept over him from head to toe before she looked away, toward the horizon. From the top of the swing’s arc, the lake was visible.
“I’ll say this much.” Evan snagged the remaining swing and joined her. “My eighteen-year-old lungs wouldn’t be burning right now.”
Jason snapped a few pictures while they swung. “Okay, that’s enough. I’m freezing and I’m sure I got something usable. We’re done here.” He headed back in the direction of the square, leaving Evan and Claire behind on the swings as the sun’s light drained from the sky. They were silent for a while, long enough for Jason’s car to disappear. Evan stopped moving his legs, allowing himself to coast to a stop, but Claire kept going.
In a lot of ways it was a true picture of her. She had always been driven to be the best, to prove that she was top dog. She’d achieved the highest scores in school. Evan had always figured it was an attempt to impress Sesser, and maybe that’s exactly what it was. But maybe not. She and Evan might have kissed in the park after school, but he’d never asked Claire what drove her. Never got to the bottom of what made Claire Atwood tick.
Evan dug his boots into the snow until his ankles grew cold.
Examining it all now, he’d been a terrible boyfriend to Claire. He’d thought he loved her, thought he’d showed her love and treated her well. But he’d been a foolish boy from a messed up family and knew nothing about what loving someone looked like.
He was still that foolish boy. At least now he understood his complete inadequacy when it came to functional relationships. He wouldn’t burden another woman with his ineptitude again like he had Claire. She deserved a guy who understood how to love her, and never messed up.
Claire reached the top of the arc and jumped off the swing. She landed on her feet and bowed for an imaginary crowd before turning in his direction with her fist raised high. “I’ve still got it!”
The streetlamps clicked on, along with the white Christmas lights that still hung in intricate webs in the trees around the square. The soft glow illuminated Claire, making her red hair glow and lighting up her face enough to show her flushed cheeks. Evan’s breath hitched. He’d never seen anyone more beautiful than Claire in that moment.
He got to his feet and slowly clapped for her. “Quite a feat, for us old folks.”
One of her eyes squinted and she puckered her lips as she studied him. “I’ll take that as a compliment, because I’m feeling gracious.”
Evan made his way through the snow to her, his toes numb. “A good trait for a mayoral candidate.”
“Though it wasn’t on ‘the list.’” She put air quotes around the last two words.
Evan came alongside her. “Can I walk you back to your car?” He offered his arm. “The sidewalk’s slick. You’re wearing heels and—”
“And I’ve been known to take a spill occasionally. Yes. I remember.”
“Although, your run through the snow on the way to the swings was impressive, so maybe you’re fine without me,” he joked.
“That was through the snow and now we’re on the iced sidewalk.” She grimaced and then took his arm. “I’ll accept your assistance.”
Snow compressed beneath their steps. Branches on a nearby tree popped and stiff wind directly off Lake Michigan pushed through the square. Some of the powdery flakes that had fallen earlier lifted back into the air for one last dance.
“Claire.” He steered them onto the brick street. “I know you don’t want to talk about the past.”
“Please, Evan, don’t.”
“I won’t.” They slowed as they entered the archway of lit trees. “Not about...that.”
“Thank you,” she said, so softly he almost didn’t hear.
Evan glanced up through the branches wrapped with lights and focused at the stars scattered across the night sky. “But I did want to say that I wish I had been a better friend to you, back then.” He chanced a look her way. “A true, good friend, like you needed. I wasn’t. I’m sorry about that.”
She unwound her arm from his. “It was a long time ago.”
“I’m still sorry.” He stopped. They were less than ten feet from her car.
“Well, thank you. I think.” She searched for her keys in her purse. When she found them, she clicked the button that made her car chirp. “I’d like it if we could at least be civil to each other from now on. Especially since they’re making us work on a service project together for our teamwork challenge.”
“Not only work together,” Evan corrected her in a good-natured way. “Completel
y plan and execute a fund-raiser.” He ran his hand over his hair. “That’s going to be a handful.”
Claire opened her car and then turned back to him. She hooked her hand on top of the open door. “It may be asking a lot, but when we’re planning that can we either do it at your house or in a neutral location?”
“Your dad still doesn’t want me on his property, huh?”
“You’re not his favorite person.”
“Still?”
“I think forever.”
“Gotcha.” He stuck his hands in the deep pockets of his coat. He really needed to start remembering to bring gloves. “You and Alex are welcome at my house anytime.”
Claire left in her car, but Evan stayed and strolled through the square for a few minutes. He had wanted to say something more, to offer to be her friend now, but how could he? They were running against each other. In the coming weeks, they would have to do a round of competitions. When all was said and done, one would beat the other, and he could hardly imagine maintaining a friendship after that.
Chapter Five
Claire breezed into Fair Tradewinds Coffee, a mom-and-pop shop along the pier in Goose Harbor that served some of the best coffee she had ever tasted. And the inside decor always made her smile, because they took the nautical theme to the extreme. The baristas dressed like sailors. A large sign hanging near the register proclaimed Every Boat Is a Good Boat!
“Ahoy! What can we get you?” A barista held a cup and a marker in her hands, poised to jot down Claire’s order. Did the employees ever get sick of the mishmash of pirate-and sailorspeak they were supposed to sprinkle into their conversations?
Kendall’s arm shot up from where she sat at one of the back tables. Claire let her know she saw her and then turned to order. It was early and she had a long day ahead of her, so she should probably caffeinate, but all she wanted was hot chocolate.
“This might be a strange request,” she said to the cashier. “But can I get peanut butter in my hot chocolate? If you have any?”
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