href="#u5499602c-5d7a-5416-a3fb-5e38a49ef682">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