The Single Mom's Second Chance. Jessica Keller

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