The Widower's Second Chance. Jessica Keller

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СКАЧАТЬ sorry. That’s not like me. I promise I won’t act like that again.”

      “Don’t even think about it. Believe me—men have done a number on my head one too many times to count. I guess that’s why I’m resigned to spinsterhood.” Maggie winked at her.

      “Hardly. You’re what, my age?”

      “I think a couple years older. Thirty-four, but let’s not go shouting that from the rooftops. You’re going to be okay, you know that, right?” Maggie grasped Paige’s hand, leaving some flour on her fingers.

      “Sure. That’s why I’m here. Time for something new.” Paige tried to infuse life into her voice. She did like learning new things, and with her upbringing, she had so much to learn. But right now, it was the circumstances behind the uprooting of her life that dampened everything.

      Maggie went back to punching a wad of dough on the counter. “I hung your dress up downstairs.”

      “Thanks.” Paige touched her fingers to the couple of hair ties she always stored on her wrist. “Do you need help preparing anything? I don’t know a lot about cooking, but I’m willing to learn.”

      “No need. I’m almost done for tonight. But I appreciate the offer.” Maggie rubbed the back of her hand on her forehead, leaving more flour.

      “Well, if you ever need me to, I do know one recipe for scones that I could make some time. It’s about the only thing I know how to do in the kitchen.” Paige laid her hand on the doorknob that led to the public section of the inn.

      “I’ll probably take you up on that at some point.”

      “Anytime. I’m going to go out for a little while.” Paige walked through the door that led to the hotel portion of the bed-and-breakfast.

      The common dining area boasted a large crystal chandelier that Maggie had told her was original to the mansion. The front parlor was rich with Persian carpets, flowered wallpaper, a grand piano and a stone fireplace surrounded by antique furniture. A towering grandfather clock ticked off the seconds as she passed by the grand, deep maroon carpeted staircase.

      A bell tinkled as she pushed open the front door. She walked quickly down the sidewalk, passing her Mazda and the sign proclaiming: West Oaks Inn Bed-and-Breakfast.

      Paige glanced over her shoulder at the Victorian mansion. Built in the Queen Anne style, sage clapboard gave way to pink-painted details and intricately carved wooden embellishments. Giant oak trees formed a line of soldiers up the driveway, protecting and shadowing the property. Cinderella might as well live there.

      Too bad glass-slipper dreams only came true in storybooks.

      Paige swung her arms, making herself walk faster.

      Smaller homes on wide yards dotted the outskirts of the town. Even the most insignificant house here had more personality than any house found in the Chicago suburbs she had grown up in. Each one seemed to have a story—with a hundred years of history to be told.

      Maybe this new start in Goose Harbor was all she needed. A fresh start. A new home.

      No, not home. Nothing could ever feel like home again.

      Leaving Illinois and all the dreams she’d clutched since childhood hadn’t been easy. But staying meant seeing him—being reminded of him. Staying hadn’t been a viable option.

      At the bend in the road, the canopy of trees broke and the residential properties became closer together. Fresh Lake Michigan air mingled with the smell of someone barbecuing. Like giant sleeping bears, sand dunes hulked on both sides of the road. The anchoring trees grew through the shifting soil and hooded the road, only allowing slivers of sunlight to skip across her face when she turned onto Lake Front Drive.

      A large town square made up the bustling portion of Goose Harbor. In the middle of the square was a large grassy area complete with a red band shell, a few park benches, a white gazebo and a small rose garden. A short distance from the square lay Ring Beach—named for the almost perfect half circle of soft sand that lined the shorefront. The calm, shallow waters at Ring Beach drew thousands of visitors to Goose Harbor every summer.

      On the road, traffic slowed to a halt as a crop of buildings came into view. End-of-the-summer vacationers crowded the brick sidewalks that made up the downtown portion of Goose Harbor, clogging the roadways as they filtered between the homemade fudge shops, art galleries, unique mom-and-pop stores, ice-cream parlors and quaint restaurants built on stilts over the pier section of the waterfront. Women in high heels clip-clopped out of the way of darting children as old men sat watching the world go by from wooden benches lining the dock. White masts bobbed in the marina.

      No wonder Goose Harbor had been voted one of the top five places to vacation in the Midwest.

      Paige veered away from the cute downtown. Something told her to go to the beach, watch the waves roll in and pray. But there was no point. God didn’t want to hear about her minuscule troubles. After all, He had wars and starving children to worry about. His time should be spent on situations that actually mattered to the world, not her. No, she didn’t need to bother Him with her little issues.

      Besides, when was the last time something she prayed for actually happened?

      She followed the path that led to the high school. She stood in the parking lot, hands on her hips, and scanned the building. A group of people tossed a basketball around on the far outdoor court. A couple clad in neon spandex ran together around the track.

      She could do this.

      Sure, all her other teaching experience had been at inner-city schools in Chicago, but students in a tourist town couldn’t be that different, not really. If she’d learned something while teaching it was that all teens needed one thing—someone to let them know that their life mattered and they had worth, as is.

      Anyway, she’d relocated to Goose Harbor to volunteer at Sarah’s Home—a nonprofit organization that helped at-risk youth. Over the past few years, Dad had donated to Sarah’s Home because his college roommate, Mr. Timmons, was the head of the board. Dad might have used the place as a tax shelter, but Paige looked forward to the quarterly newsletter from Sarah’s Home.

      No one knew, but those newsletters had shaped her desire to work with inner-city students. She’d wanted to be a teacher since grade school, but only after poring over the updates and the Sarah’s Home website had a passion sparked inside of her for at-risk youths.

      After catching Bryan tangled up with a leggy redhead, Paige knew she needed to leave Chicago. All her friends were Bryan’s friends. Her dreams near her childhood stomping ground were all too linked with the boy she’d known since junior high school.

      No, leaving had been her only option.

      Sarah’s Home popped into her head immediately—her safe place. Now she could be a part of the nonprofit that had already shaped her life so much. In the midst of her trial, she could turn things around for the good and give back.

      Yes, the chance to help at Sarah’s Home had been the main draw to this area; finding a teaching job at the nearby high school had been a nice bonus. Her dad’s friendship with Principal Timmons hadn’t hurt, either. Timmons had been urging her to apply to his school ever since she graduated and was only too happy to call her when a last-minute position opened.

      Who knew? Maybe СКАЧАТЬ