Besides, Evan’s home was bigger than Brice’s. His older brother lived in a cabin with one bedroom, which Laura had used while Brice had camped out in his office area for a couple months. Evan had three bedrooms and a fully finished basement. Laura had plenty of space to invite friends over or have parties here, where she hadn’t been able to be very social when she lived with Brice. And Evan never minded company. He thrived off it, whereas Brice was introverted, and even having their sister stay had been a strain on him.
It was better this way.
“Laura,” Evan hollered from the bottom of the stairs. “Are you expecting anyone?”
No answer. She probably couldn’t hear him over the loud Broadway tunes blasting from her room. She had aspirations for a life in the theater and was starring in the high school’s production of The Music Man this year. In the last few weeks he’d listened to her belting out “Goodnight, My Someone” and “Till There Was You” too many times to count.
Evan shook his head as he crossed to the front entryway. If it was the boy who’d been pursuing Laura since the summer, Evan would let him in. Laura was growing into a smart young woman; she could navigate her relationships without one of her brothers acting like a domineering father. He’d give her advice, of course—and stay within earshot—but he wouldn’t shove away a guy unless she asked him to.
However, Evan didn’t find a lanky teen on the other side of the door.
He found Claire Atwood.
Claire bunched the handles of her purse together. Relaxed her fingers. Wound the straps around her hands again.
She took a glance over her shoulder as she shot out a long stream of air. Dark clouds scudded across the sky behind her, rolling closer. Good. If a blizzard started, it wouldn’t be fun to drive through, but they needed it. Perhaps the ground would stay cold enough that the fresh covering would stick around for the next two weeks, lasting for Valentine’s weekend.
Maybe she’d wear black and protest the holiday. Claire bit back a smile. Of course she’d never do something like that, especially when she was running for mayor, but it was still fun to imagine doing so.
She ran her fingers over her hair, trying to put back into place strands the wind had moved. If Evan didn’t answer before she counted to twenty, she’d head home. Because she shouldn’t have come here, shouldn’t have showed up without calling first. The website for his woodworking business probably had a Contact Me section where she could have located a phone number or an email address. No doubt Mrs. Clarkson or Kendall had his information, but asking either would have encouraged too many questions and unwanted speculation.
He probably wasn’t even home. Evan’s outgoing personality assured he had a busy social schedule, or at least Claire assumed so.
The door swung open and she sucked in a sharp breath.
Evan was home, all right.
Wearing worn jeans and a white T-shirt, he stood barefoot in the doorway, his lips slightly parted. “What are you—? Why are—? I don’t und—?” He shook his head and took a step to the side, sweeping his hand in a grand welcoming motion. “Come in. Please, it’s freezing out there.”
Right; go into his house. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. Had she thought at all? After dropping Alex off for a sleepover at his friend Xander’s, she had gotten into her car and turned it in the direction of Evan’s house. Despite the fact that they hadn’t spoken in years, she’d known she had to talk with him now and needed to do so before her courage waned.
Of course they’d talk inside—it was far too cold to stand outside for long. And thinking she was only dropping Alex off at his sleepover and driving back home, she hadn’t chosen to wear her warmest coat.
She hugged her purse to her stomach and stepped past Evan. He reached behind her and closed the door, bringing him a little closer as he did so. She backed away, finding his arm only inches from her side. His hair was tousled, as if he’d been tugging on it. A waft of the watermelon scent hit her and she turned away.
But she couldn’t turn off the images the smell made rush into her mind.
When they were teenagers, she used to love watching him work out a problem. Evan would sit at a table, transfixed on a piece of paper, gnawing on a pencil as he tried to sketch whatever he was planning to build next. Sometimes she had curled up beside him at the library or scratched his back as he worked. Other times she had slung her legs over his and hugged his side, her head burrowed into his chest as she memorized the steady pounding of his heartbeat while he stretched to reach the paper. Whenever he got stuck, he’d absentmindedly shove a hand into his hair and yank so that by the time his drawing was complete his hair would be sticking up in all directions.
She used to love how completely absorbed he became when he was dreaming, thinking, building. How he’d been the kind of person who threw his entire being into a project. They’d fantasized about attending college together, as a married couple, supporting each other as they took their time with their studies. Evan’s plan had been to study engineering, but she’d learned from Kendall that he had never ended up leaving Goose Harbor.
Shunning all thoughts of Evan Daniels had become such a habit for Claire that it was difficult to sort through the sudden onslaught of memories. They felt like talons, piercing her heart with burst after burst of pain. A tight coil of ache wrapped around her ribs. She pressed her palm into her collarbone.
Evan scooted so he was standing in front of her, then scratched the back of his neck. “You okay?”
“Fine.” Being ridiculous...but she was fine. For all intents and purposes, Evan was basically a stranger. She no longer knew the man before her, and there was no logical reason to be affected by him.
Still, it was dangerous to dwell on the past. “I’m fine,” she repeated.
“Good. That’s great.” He rocked on his feet and glanced at the impressive fire blazing in the stone fireplace in his family room. A log cracked and hissed. “I mean, I’m glad you’re fine.”
Claire hooked a chunk of her hair between her fingers and put it back behind her ear, casually scanning the layout of Evan’s home as she did so. The entryway was spacious, with a ceiling that reached to the second story. Behind a half wall there was a large family room with an overstuffed couch and two wide lounge chairs. Ten feet past the entryway lay the stairs; the railing and posts were clearly Evan’s handiwork. Beyond was a dining room and an open kitchen with gleaming appliances and a huge island. A set of white French doors led to another room that she couldn’t make out.
All the areas she could see were splashed in soothing earth tones. The aesthetics of Evan’s house translated to an overwhelming message to come on in, take a seat, relax, stay.
Well, everything except the loud music booming from upstairs. Claire pointed toward the steps. “When did you get into show tunes?”
Evan barked out a laugh. “Not me. No. That’s Laura. My sister. Do you remember her?”
“She was little.” Claire held her hand at waist height. “When I...when I was last around.”
“Not so little anymore. She’s seventeen,” he offered. “She pretty much lives here.”
Claire wanted to ask why his teenage sister lived with him. Were his parents here, too? His brother Andrew? No, the