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Small-Town Reunion
Claire Atwood is about to make all her dreams come true. With her newly adopted son, Claire’s back in Goose Harbor, running for mayor and going toe-to-toe with Evan Daniels—the man who left her at the altar twelve years ago. But she refuses to let their history get in the way of her future. Evan’s come a long way from the poor teenager Claire’s powerful father intimidated. And he can’t help noticing Claire’s grown into a beautiful woman and caring mother. A month from now, when the ballots are counted, Evan could be Mr. Mayor, but what he really wants is another title: daddy and husband.
She could barely form the words.
“Just go away. I’m really not in the mood.”
“Claire-bear—”
“Don’t. You lost the right to call me that a long time ago.” Claire grabbed her purse. “I’m done here. If this silly competition is what this town wants in a mayor, I’m obviously not their choice.”
Evan caught her arm as she turned to leave. “You’re not a coward. Stop choosing to quit.”
“I don’t choose it.”
“You’re choosing it now, and you did it every time when you wouldn’t let me explain about the past.”
She yanked her arm away. “How dare you.”
He blocked her retreat. “The Claire I knew and loved had the fire to match her hair. That Claire would never give up. I miss her.”
She wanted to toss back an angry barb. Fuel the fight so she didn’t have to admit the truth of his words.
“Do what makes you happy, Claire,” he prompted. “What do you love?”
You.
Her stomach tightened. That couldn’t be right. She didn’t love Evan Daniels.
She couldn’t…
Dear Reader,
Have you ever felt weighted down by expectations? Perhaps like Claire, you have family members who pressure you to reach a certain level of success. Or maybe like Evan, you set impossible expectations for yourself.
Expectations and goals aren’t bad, but when our lives become ruled by what we accomplish or strive for, when we tie our self-worth to whether or not we meet a certain goal, that’s a problem.
While Evan made a lot of life choices in order to please his brother, he was also striving to earn God’s approval. In the end, Evan was the one who told Alex, “Do you know that once you tell God that you’ve chosen to be on His team, God will never let you go?”
God will never let you go. No matter what. Hear that. Take it in. Believe it.
Thank you for spending time with Evan and Claire. I hope you enjoyed their story. I love interacting with readers, so make sure to look me up on social media or at www.jessicakellerbooks.com and say hi!
Dream big,
Jess
JESSICA KELLER is a Starbucks drinker, avid reader and chocolate aficionado. Jessica holds degrees in communications and biblical studies. She is multipublished in both romance and young adult fiction and loves to interact with readers through social media. Jessica lives in the Chicagoland suburbs with her amazing husband, beautiful daughter and two annoyingly outgoing cats who happen to be named after superheroes. Find all her contact information at jessicakellerbooks.com.
The Single Mom’s Second Chance
Jessica Keller
www.millsandboon.co.uk
Wait for the Lord;
be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.
—Psalms 27:14
For the boy I fell in love with at eighteen
who became the man still holding my heart
all these years later.
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
Introduction
Dear Reader
About the Author
Title Page
Bible Verse
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Extract
Copyright
Chapter One
Claire Atwood brushed snowflakes from her shoulder as she waited for her son to shut the back door of her car.
“Hurry up, Alex. This has to be turned in by four.” Claire tucked the leather portfolio tighter under her arm. She didn’t want the paperwork that would guarantee she’d be added to the ballot for the open mayoral position to tumble out.
She motioned for Alex to speed up and join her down the walkway leading to the town hall. A shiver worked its way through her, making her wish she’d tugged on her down jacket instead of the thinner peacoat when they were still back at home. Ice crystals formed lace patterns on the front windows of the building. February frost. That’s what Mom called it back when Claire was still a child, too many years ago.
She puffed out a breath and watched it spiral in the crisp air before vanishing.
Overall, Goose Harbor had enjoyed a rather mild winter this season—more slush than snowfall, really—which was part of the problem. From spring through fall the lake and the beautiful dunes brought people from miles away to explore their quaint little town, and they depended on the charm of winter to continue drawing tourists December through March for revenue. Overall, tourism was the most profitable trade in Goose Harbor. Fresh snow brought couples to the area for romantic horse-drawn sleigh rides, holiday celebrations and ice-skating, and also pulled people to come enjoy the multiple Christmas and New Year’s events around town. One of the local bed-and-breakfasts held Charles Dickens’s Christmas weekend getaways and people dressed up like old-time carolers for the tree lighting festival. But the warmth this year had kept the number of visitors slim.
Dismal, really.
Claire tightened her hold on her portfolio and turned toward town hall. She could do this. Help her hometown. Do something with her life that mattered beyond credentials and degrees and being the daughter of tycoon Sesser Atwood.
The building sat across the street from Lake Michigan in the downtown section. Up the path and to the right of town hall stood the charming brick chamber of commerce building and the equally enchanting library. After those buildings there were storefronts and restaurants—everything Goose Harbor was known for. However, town hall was a long, white unassuming structure, as well as one of the oldest buildings in town. In spring, green flower boxes lined the many windows, but for now it was bare, besides the American flag flapping near the white double doors that led inside. Light flurries swirled around the dormer windows at the very top of the building.
Alex rammed his hands deep into the pockets of his coat and trudged up the path. His thick, dark hair hung in front of his eyes. “Why did I have to come?”
Because you’re my son. I want you with me.
Five minutes to four wasn’t the time for a long emotional conversation. Especially not when the sky had finally decided to open up and dump some lake effect snow onto their corner of Michigan.
Claire sucked in a cold burst of air, sending a shock down into her lungs that rattled her. “Please, just behave. Okay?”
The seven-year-old stumbled beside her. “I don’t want to be here.”
Here as in in front of town hall? Or did he mean in America, with her, as her adopted son? No, she didn’t want to know the answer to that question. Sometimes the unknown was far kinder than discovering the truth.
Still, she should acknowledge what Alex said. The family therapist they’d been meeting with since she’d brought Alex home had explained to Claire how important it was for her son to feel heard.
She stopped walking. “Where else would you rather be?”
He dragged the toe of his shoe through the fresh powder on the ground. “You could have left me at home with your parents.”
Your parents.
When she’d flown to Russia eight months ago and adopted Alexei—who started going by Alex once he began school last fall—Claire had thought becoming a mother would solve all her problems. She’d have someone to love who would love her back. Someone who would want her. Need her.
As it turned out, Alex didn’t want her. She might as well get it stitched onto a pillow so she’d never forget: You Are Not Wanted or You Will Always Be Alone. Something snazzy like that to freshen up the artfully decorated apartment area of her parents’ home she called her own.
Claire didn’t know what to do with his attitude or how to help Alex anymore. She was failing. Like usual. Only now, her inability was affecting more than just her.
She squatted, trying to avoid getting her pants wet, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “They’re your grandparents.”
He skewed his face. “Not really.”
“Yes, really.”
“If you say, then it is so.” The missionaries who worked alongside the orphanage Alex had been adopted from started teaching him English soon after his fifth birthday. So thankfully, when Claire met him in Russia last year, they’d been able to communicate. He still struggled with proper phrasing, but most of the time he did really well with his second language.
The double doors to town hall parted with a click and then a whoosh of air.
Alex jerked away from Claire and sidestepped her, bolting forward. “Evan!”
“Hey there, bud. Let me get the door for you guys.” The smooth, rich voice of Evan Daniels jolted through Claire. Causing her heart to hammer as if she’d downed a triple shot of espresso.
Then everything stalled. How did Evan know her son?
A chill traveled up Claire’s neck. She’d successfully been living back in Goose Harbor for more than a year without having to face Evan Daniels. She’d gone out of her way to avoid all contact with him. The man and the past they shared had been her one hesitation about returning home after she broke off her engagement to Auden Pierce back in New York.
Except now here he was in the flesh, only a few feet away, a tentative grin showing off the gorgeous smile he’d always possessed. Evan had definitely won the DNA jackpot—square jaw, a body shaped by long hours doing carpentry and dark hair that he still styled to look slightly mussed. And his eyes? Crisp, hard-to-look-away-from greens. It was the shade of green that infused life into the air, the type that poked through the last of the snow after a harsh winter and dotted the bare limbs of the trees, hinting at the hope of spring.
Hope.
A word that hardly fit the man.
He would have enjoyed a successful career modeling—probably still could if he wanted to. If Evan continued to possess half the charm he’d flashed her way in high school, the man could become the next reality show host wearing a three-piece suit as he interviewed and consoled the latest person kicked out of whatever competition. Or he could become some heartthrob on the fix-it channel—that would be right up his alley. If he’d pursued a career like that, he would no longer be living in Goose Harbor and that would have made Claire much happier. Instead of how he was right now, standing there in a peacoat, a blue-and-gray-plaid scarf around his neck, looking so appealing.
“Claire,” he whispered as he tipped his head.
Her name didn’t belong on his lips like that. Not said so sweetly, gently.
Head down, she brushed past him. “We haven’t talked in twelve years. Let’s not start now.” She barreled into the town hall’s lobby. The sweet, almost watermelon smell of his hair pomade followed her. He must still use the same brand he had in high school. So like Evan. Steady, constant, loyal to a brand.
Just not to Claire.
Emotion balled in her throat for a moment, but she shoved it away.
Don’t be ridiculous.
“Come on, Alex,” she called without looking back. An icy wind hit her, making long red strands of her hair dance in front of her face. Letting her know Evan still held the door.
Alex brought her up short with a hand on her arm. “Can’t I stay with Mr. Evan?”
She latched on to her son’s wrist and tugged him toward the wide front desk in the lobby, where Mrs. Clarkson, an eccentric old lady known around town for wearing clothes she’d knit out of socks or upholstery material, folded a pamphlet detailing frequently asked questions about utility bills.
Mrs. Clarkson rested her hands on top of the pamphlet and smiled over at them as if completing one piece out of the four-inch stack beside her was a huge accomplishment that they should acknowledge with a round of applause. Yellow edged her teeth from years of guzzling coffee.
Claire made a mental note to call her dentist and set up a whitening appointment. Maybe even halve her personal coffee consumption, as well. Ha. Not likely. The three or four cups she was currently downing were barely keeping her running as it was.
Claire craned her head toward Alex and spoke in a low voice. “How do you even know that man?”
“Mr. Evan?” He brushed his shaggy hair from his eyes. “He helps in Sunday school.”
“I’ve never seen him when I dropped you off. Don’t the Holcombs—Toby and Jenna, your friend Kasey’s parents—don’t they run your class?”
“Well, yeah. But Mr. Evan helps, too. He’s some kind of big deal in children’s ministry.” Alex angled his head. “He’s late to my class and has to go early because he directs traffic and greets.”
Of course. She knew about those things and should have guessed about his additional involvement. Since returning to Goose Harbor Claire had noticed that Evan had his hands in just about every part of town—helping on several committees, building the sets for the local play troupe and volunteering at most of the seasonal events.
Once Evan became a greeter at church Claire had opted for entering through the side door. Not that she thought she could avoid him forever. If she’d wanted to do, it would have been easy. She could have chosen to attend a church outside town, but she wouldn’t allow his presence to dictate where she went and didn’t go. At least not when it came to church and the only community and people she knew. Claire had resigned herself to the fact that at some point she and Evan would have to speak and function around each other. And why not? They were both adults now and could act as such. More than a decade had passed since they’d parted ways.
Since he’d decided he didn’t want her.
An overwhelming wave of sorrow slammed through Claire’s chest. Swells of doubt and fear carrying the reminders of all she’d missed out on in life—love, family, dreams. But she was making her own future now, one that didn’t depend upon a man. That’s how it always should have been.
She let go of Alex and dug her nails into the edge of the shiny counter.
Mrs. Clarkson leaned over the front desk and cleared her throat. “What can I do you for?” Despite living in Goose Harbor for more than forty years, the subtle country twang from her youth hummed through her words from time to time. Mrs. Clarkson was fond of speaking about her childhood in Alabama, although she had never returned after she married, that Claire was aware of.
Claire set her portfolio on the counter and pulled out the application, her letter for the town newsletter detailing her ideas and the petition with the needed signatures. “Just handing these in.”
Mrs. Clarkson adjusted her red-framed glasses. A fake diamond sparkled near each temple. “Running for mayor! Oh, how nice. Although—and I mean no offense, dear—but between you and me I sure wish we had an Ashby for our mayor. This town always ran best with someone from that family at the helm.” She licked her thumb and used it to flip to the next page. “But there I go. Talking on and on about the old days. Mr. and Mrs. Ashby were both fine mayors—the best—but they are long gone. God rest them both. Do you know that sweet Maggie West still leaves flowers on their graves? Well, but she’s Maggie Ashby now, isn’t she? She and Kellen do make a pretty pair. Wouldn’t it have been wonderful if Kellen was running for office? I find him to be such a kind man. Although, I’m sure you’d do just fine, too.”
For more than forty years Henry Ashby had been the mayor of Goose Harbor, and after he passed, his wife, Ida, took over. After her death, Doyle Ellis had been the only one to run for the position. But he’d announced his resignation at the Christmas tree lighting ceremony a few months ago and had sold his house and left town a month later, leaving the position vacant. For now, the head of the town board, Mr. Banks, kept everything running, but everyone knew he wanted out of that responsibility as soon as possible.
Hence the special and rushed election.
Mrs. 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.