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.
Evan still bore the scars from last time he’d crossed paths with Claire’s father.
“That could be her greatest disadvantage.” Brice talked to someone else for a moment, saying he’d be only a few more seconds—Kendall. “Most people don’t trust him. Use that against her.”
“I won’t run a smear campaign. Not against her.” They might not be on friendly terms, but the thought of bad-mouthing Claire publicly turned his stomach. He’d hurt her enough for one lifetime; he wouldn’t do it again.
An uncomfortable silence pulsed over the phone line before Brice said, “Don’t tell me, after all this time, you still have feelings for her?”
Evan straightened and ran his palm back and forth over his jean-clad thigh. “Let me rephrase that. I wouldn’t run a smear campaign against anyone. It doesn’t matter that it’s her. Claire and me? We don’t even belong in a sentence together. You know I let that go a long time ago.”
“Did you...?” His brother lowered his voice. “You never told her about Sesser, did you?”
Evan examined the calluses on his hands. Workman’s hands. Hands of a blue-collar man who did manual labor for a living and would never be good enough for a woman from Claire’s world. “She doesn’t need to know.”
“It’s probably for the best.”
“Not probably. It is—was. Everything is how it should be. Needs to be.” His voice sounded hollow to his own ears.
“We have to beat her. Understand? No matter what you think about her or if you believe she has good intentions about becoming mayor, it doesn’t matter. Sesser will find a way to use her in that position to gain a stronger hold on everything.” Brice summed up the reasons that he’d used to talk Evan into running in the first place. “You and I both know that’s what’ll happen. You’re running to take back some power from him—so we can build a dock and remove his monopoly. We can’t give Sesser another foothold.”
“I guess you’re right.” Evan kept clicking the pen.
“He’d ruin this town. He’d use her to turn this place into somewhere we wouldn’t want to live. You get that, don’t you?”