“Campaign trail? Tell me you’re not serious.” She was joking...wasn’t she? Evan hadn’t planned to do much besides getting on the ballot. Everyone in town already knew him.
Alex chuckled. “She is always serious. I know this is a fact.”
Evan winked at Alex. He enjoyed how the kid phrased things.
Claire pressed a hand to Alex’s chest, as if Evan’s very presence might tarnish the boy. She must not be aware that Evan hung out with her son every Sunday. Maybe he should tell her the reason he’d been asked to help out in the seven-and eight-year-old class was because Toby and Jenna Holcomb didn’t know how to reach her often angry son. So far, he and Alex had come to a tentative friendship, but her mama-arm protective grab on Alex didn’t bode well for Evan’s continued involvement.
“See? You have nothing to say,” Claire said. “No proof that I don’t like this place and no reason why you should continue your run for office.”
“No proof? Now let’s see... How about you left our humble harbor without so much as looking back, and were gone for more than eleven years? You can’t like Goose Harbor all that much—not enough to want to be the mayor—if you didn’t even want to be here.”
She leaned closer, her voice low, rumbling. “I like Goose Harbor fine.”
Evan leaned in, too. “Not as much as you seemed to like New York.”
Her eyes flashed. “The reason I left wasn’t because I didn’t like it here.”
“Yeah?” He cocked his head, challenging her. They’d always known how to press each other’s buttons. Evidently that much hadn’t changed, either. “Then why’d you leave?”
Claire’s lips pulled a little. “I left because I didn’t like you.”
Alex’s mouth dropped open. “My friend Kasey would call that a burn.”
And she’d be right.
Evan filled his chest with a lungful of air and then another. Growing up with an abusive father had taught him to rein in his anger and his reactions, not to speak when he felt wounded, because usually what he had to say only worsened the situation. And to process through the reasons someone would behave a certain way before letting words rule his emotions.
With Claire, it wasn’t as if it was a mystery. From her perspective he’d entirely misused her. For all intents and purposes, he’d abandoned her. And she was right, even if it stung. She’d left because of him.
I saved you from a life of regret. You wouldn’t have a relationship with your parents if we’d married. You’d probably hate me by now for getting in the way of your dreams.
Why couldn’t she understand?
He worked his jaw back and forth.
Someone flung the town hall’s doors open. Alex, Evan and Claire all pivoted.
Mr. Banks—also known as the local curmudgeon—bustled toward them. He wore his dress pants up past his belly button and had the bottom of his tie tucked in. No coat, so he must have been in a hurry. Wisps from his comb-over rose to stand on end in the winter wind. The man currently served—begrudgingly—as the stand-in mayor, and grumbled about it to anyone who would listen.
Mr. Banks puffed when he reached them. “You’re both still here. Good.”
Evan relaxed his shoulders and forced himself to put mental space between the conversation with Mr. Banks and the confrontation with Claire. “Is there a problem with our applications?”
“No. They’ll do. I’d like you both to attend the board meeting on Tuesday so I can introduce each of you to the public.”
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