The Single Mom's Second Chance. Jessica Keller

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СКАЧАТЬ Clarkson shuffled through the paperwork again, branding each sheet with a Received On stamp bearing the time and date. “Well, now.” Stamp. Stamp. “It seems we’ll have ourselves a real election then, this time around. Don’t know how long it’s been since we had ourselves one of those. Decades and then some, I think.”

      “A real election?” Claire closed her portfolio and shoved it back under her arm. “Someone else is running?”

      That complicated things some. She’d planned on being the only one on the ballot.

      Mrs. Clarkson grinned and nodded. “Why, yes, someone else is running.” She held up an application with neat block lettering.

      Evan’s handwriting.

      Claire’s stomach performed an impressive somersault before she regrouped, fisting her hand. Hadn’t Evan already done enough damage in her life? Well, she wasn’t about to let that man steal another one of her dreams.

      Claire jerked her head back. “We’ll see about that.” She grabbed Alex’s hand and spun toward the front door, the heels of her boots clicking across the floor.

      So today was the day, after all.

      It was time to finally have a conversation with the man who’d left her stranded on her wedding day.

      * * *

      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 СКАЧАТЬ