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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 (#u5499602c-5d7a-5416-a3fb-5e38a49ef682)
“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.
Why had she let a person from her past, someone she hadn’t uttered a word to in more than a decade, have that sort of control on her life? She’d gotten over Evan a long time ago. He was an immature mistake. Falling for a cute guy had been an understandable blunder on the cusp of adulthood. She’d met plenty of people in college with far bigger regrets. So she’d entertained the idea of running off with her high school boyfriend, getting married at the county courthouse? It hadn’t happened.
Good, again.
She glanced in the rearview mirror another time. Dark storm clouds bubbled behind her. She’d focus on the behind her part. The path ahead of her was known, easy. Goose Harbor, her family, working for her father—she could have a life here. And the past was just that, the past. It couldn’t harm her any longer.
And yet her hands were trembling on the steering wheel.
“He has no power over me. None.”
Sure, she’d mourned their relationship, and the question Why wasn’t I good enough? still lingered. But it wasn’t as if she’d spent years pining after him. Claire had moved on a long time ago, which was why she’d been able to get engaged to Auden Pierce, the most sought-after solutions architect for Fortune 500 companies, two years ago. At the stop sign she glanced down at her bare left ring finger and sighed. She’d called off the wedding six months in advance, leaving Auden speechless at first—not an easy feat—but at least she’d given him warning long before the day of the ceremony.
Unlike Evan.
Before she left Goose Harbor for college, Evan had still lived with his parents on a run-down piece of parched land that her father rented to the Danielses. Evan’s dad had been forever behind on payments, but her father had never kicked them out, though he’d threatened it many times. Often Mom would blow up and yell about the Danielses at family dinners, but Dad had always talked her off the ledge. He’d explained to Claire that it was their “Godly duty” to help out the unfortunate. Oddly, it was the only time Dad had ever been remotely spiritually minded or seemed to care about people who were in a different tax bracket than the Atwoods.
Curiosity about the Danielses had bloomed in Claire at a young age, probably because of her parents’ heated fights over the family. When she’d finally rubbed shoulders with Evan in classes during freshman year of high school, she’d hung back, studied him. Evan had been one of those students who commanded the classroom with a funny remark and a winning smile. He’d strutted the hallways, high-fiving upperclassmen while a flood of followers trailed after him. As a teenager, he’d always been smiling, joking and full of confidence. While he hadn’t been a jock or among the top tier of popular kids, he’d been well liked by everyone.
Her father’s word—unfortunate—had never fitted Evan’s brothers, Brice and Andrew, either. He had a younger sister, too, but Claire didn’t know Laura well.
Over the years Claire had grown to despise that word unfortunate.
Who decided the merits of a fortunate person versus an unfortunate one? Were finances all that mattered when applying the label? It was one of those words that, when used by someone in good economic standing to describe others, felt like a pat to the speaker’s back and an insult to the one being described. In her social circles, especially among her Christian friends, she’d heard it a hundred times since her father had first uttered the word.
“Let’s organize a fund-raiser to help those unfortunate children without clean water in Africa.”
“I saw this homeless man on the side of the road with a sign—how unfortunate.”
“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.
