The Single Mom's Second Chance

“For our outreach project let’s do a food drive for the unfortunate.”

“Did you see the viral story about that unfortunate puppy who was born without hind legs?”

Fact was, in high school, when Claire had first observed Evan, she had come to the conclusion that she was the unfortunate one, not him. He could sway a crowd with a fast quip. He was surrounded by friends. He charmed the principal and every teacher he came into contact with. However, Claire had walked the halls with her books tightly pressed to her chest and chin to her collarbone. If her father had known how timid she’d been around her peers he would have been disappointed in her. She’d slunk to the back of the classroom and lost her voice when the teacher called on her.

Up to that point freshman year, she hadn’t made one real friend in her whole life. Not one her own age.

Not until Evan.

Claire hooked the hand she wasn’t using for driving onto her shoulder and pulled at her tight muscles. She sucked in a deep breath and held it for the mental count of three, then let it out. She repeated the breathing exercise for the next mile.

What she and Evan had during high school hadn’t been real friendship, either. Because friends don’t walk away like he did, at least, not the type of friends she’d always imagined having. Perhaps that’s why she still had such a difficult time connecting with people her age and always felt so out of place when she had to make small talk. Claire was definitely the unfortunate one. Money had nothing to do with it.

“Stop. You have friends. Kendall is your friend. There. See? That’s plenty,” Claire muttered as she turned onto the street that led past Crest Orchard, where Jenna and Toby Holcomb lived. The couple’s daughter, Kasey, was Alex’s best friend.

She took the tight curve extra slowly, remembering the car accident last year that had claimed the life of the community’s young pastor. The town had installed a wide guardrail to prevent cars from skidding off the road and going down the cliff that hung over Lake Michigan, but slow and steady was probably still the best course of action.

Her father’s voice rang in her ears. Atwoods don’t back down. Losers back down, and Atwoods are winners. We settle for nothing less. You remember that.

She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I can do this.”

Dense woods hugged either side of the road. After a slight bend, Claire passed the dirt patch of a clearing that she knew, because of her friendship with Kendall, led to Brice Daniels’s cabin. Claire had actually had dinner at Brice’s house a handful of times in the last few months to help with planning their wedding. She was Kendall’s maid of honor, after all.

She worked her fingers into the leather of her steering wheel. Evan’s land butted up to Brice’s. The brothers had purchased the land together when a piece of the old summer camp had gone on the market. They’d divided the land between them and each had built a home.

More than likely she was driving by some of Evan’s property right now. Half a mile later, she found Evan’s wide concrete driveway, just as Kendall had described. A large sage-colored Craftsman home sat on the curved part of the U-shaped driveway. Claire eased her car into Park. The front of the house boasted a welcoming terrace-style porch with a swing on one end and a set of red rocking chairs on the other. Everything about it spoke of warmth and comfort.

Looks could be deceiving.

Still, she’d be the first to admit that he’d obviously done well for himself over the years. He had a home and a successful life here in their hometown. His handmade furniture graced many of the houses and shops in Goose Harbor. But Claire had found success, too; it only looked different. An undergraduate degree from Columbia University was nothing to sneeze at, and her master’s from Sotheby’s Institute of Art wasn’t too shabby, either. Her parents still griped about her “worthless” degrees—an undergraduate in visual arts, master’s in art business and a PhD in art history—however, they were proud of the fact that her studies had taken her to London, Hong Kong and Shanghai. The list went on. She had no reason to feel less than when compared to her high school boyfriend.

She gulped down any remaining doubt. She needed to speak with him—needed to convince him to join her in an attempt to talk the board of trustees out of making her and Evan go through a circus act of friendly competitions. If they approached the board together they had a better chance of getting a pass on the very dated town tradition. She couldn’t go to the board on her own without the risk of appearing to be a spoilsport.

Claire tucked her keys into her purse and then ran a hand over her hair. “Evan Daniels, ready or not, here I come.”

* * *

Evan paced around the stone-topped island in his kitchen, cell phone pressed to his ear while he waited for Brice to pick up. His brother was hit or miss about answering, but Evan would keep calling tonight until he did. They had to readjust their plan.

Brice answered on the third ring. “If you’re trying to talk me out of more of my venison steaks, the answer is no.”

Evan fought a grin. “Tempting, but not why I called.”

“I know you used my spare key and took some out of my freezer last week.” Brice’s voice held a teasing tone. “I hid the key somewhere else. You’ll have to search harder next time.”

Brice had two hiding spots for the key. He wouldn’t move it somewhere beyond those places. That’s one of the things Evan really liked about his brother—he was steady, dependable, predictable. Evan looked up to him. Brice was more than his older brother and friend; he was somewhat of a mentor, too.

But sentimental conversations tended to make Brice uncomfortable. Evan would keep the conversation to facts and the occasional ribbing, even if he would have liked to say something...deeper.

“What’s mine is yours, brother.”

“You’re fortunate I like you. And you said that wrong. You meant what’s yours is mine.” Brice...joking? Meeting Kendall Mayes and getting engaged had really changed his brother. For the better. His introverted sibling now had a goofy side. He smiled more. Seeing the positive changes in Brice was almost enough to make Evan wish he hadn’t given up on romantic relationships.

Almost.

Relationships might work for someone like Brice, who deserved to be happy, but not Evan. He’d allowed the people he cared about to get hurt, some of them many times. He wasn’t a strong protector like Brice. He’d only end up disappointing a woman.

Evan shoved those thoughts away and focused on the conversation again. “Have you bothered to look in the freezer since Friday? I already replaced them.”

“You always do. That’s why I keep you around.”

While he enjoyed laughing with his brother, it was time to get to the topic at hand. Evan stopped walking and braced his hand on the countertop. “We need to talk.”

Brice chuckled on the other end. “Sounds ominous.”

“It’s bad, Brice.”

“You do know there are only a few weeks left until my wedding. Maybe we can save bad news until after then? All the last-minute details are stressing Kendall out—which means they’re stressing me out, too.”

“I’m sorry, but it can’t wait.” Evan inched toward the row of bar stools he kept tucked under the overhang on the kitchen island, pulled one out and sat down.

Brice sighed. “Hit me with it, then.”

“Turns out I’m not the only one running for mayor.”

“But I thought you handed in your application at the last minute? We called this morning and there was no one else.”

Evan looked down at his hand. “Well, there is now.”

“Who?”

“Claire.”

“Atwood?”

Evan let out an exasperated laugh. “Is there another?”

Brice grumbled something low and unintelligible. Exactly the response Evan had figured.

“What am I going to do?” He snagged a pen from where it rested next to a bowl of fruit, flipped over an old church bulletin and started sketching a plan for a playground that he’d been contracted to build at the Holcombs’ apple orchard.

“Simple. Beat her in the election.”

His pen froze. “You think I should still run?”

“Of course you should still run. You have to.”

Evan clicked the pen a couple times. “You know she’ll have Sesser’s muscle behind her.” And his money—her father was one of the wealthiest men in the state. He owned land and had his hand in businesses all along the shore of Lake Michigan, down into Indiana and on to Chicago. The tycoon might live in a cozy tourist town, but Evan knew not to underestimate the man’s power. Or the bite it carried.