The Second Chance Page 13

  She leaned into me. “How can you tell something is wrong?”

  “Because I see you.”

  She turned her head, resting her chin on my shoulder. Her words vibrated against my neck. “My parents are in town.”

  I cringed. I knew all about her parents but never met them. “I’m sorry. Families are tough.”

  She nodded. “They’ve been here for two days, and they just won’t leave. I finally got out of the house today because I told them there was an event I had to cover.”

  “Stevie is here. She could have done it.”

  “I know.” She laughed. “But I wanted to come.” Her finger poked into my side. “What I didn’t know was that you’d be here. Or that you’d be leading everything.”

  “It’s only because Harrison isn’t here,” I was quick to say. “We volunteer together, but he’s really in charge.”

  “Don’t do that.” She looked up at me through long lashes, capturing me in her gaze.

  “Do what?”

  “Discount yourself. I think it’s amazing you volunteer here, and Harrison left you in charge for a reason. You’ve got this, Carter. Don’t doubt yourself and no one else will.”

  “I don’t think that’s true.” Now, I was grinning like an idiot.

  “Okay.” She laughed. “It’s definitely not true. Some people will always doubt, but not the ones who matter. If they don’t believe in you, they aren’t worth your belief in them.”

  I held her against me, resting my chin on her head. “I don’t deserve you.”

  “Of course you do.” She pulled back. “Now, shoo.”

  “Shoo?”

  She stood. “You have an event to run, and I need to write an article about how hot my guy looks when he’s molding the minds of young children.”

  “Please don’t write that.”

  She danced away out of my reach. “Guess you’ll just have to read my gossip rag to find out.”

  The Weekly Wine was far from a gossip rag now, thanks to Harper. She’d changed its path, just like she’d changed mine.

  When I walked back inside, I held my head high, snapping at Conner to stop being so serious and actually open up to the kids. I told Conrad he needed to use the pictures Harrison had printed of the sanctuary to actually show the kids what he did.

  “Eli, if you want to talk them into being lawyers, stop being so boring!” I shook my head at my cousin. And when I found Jake letting the kids stuff their faces with his cookies, I only laughed.

  And then, I told myself maybe I could do this leadership thing.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I couldn’t sleep. My mind was filled with thoughts of Carter managing the career day event. So many people assumed he was exactly what he seemed. A wealthy playboy with zero life goals and too much time on his hands.

  I knew better. I’d always known he had potential and just needed to find his way in his own time. It seemed he had.

  I rolled out of bed. If I couldn’t sleep, I could work. I slipped into my favorite fringed silk robe and grabbed my laptop before heading downstairs, careful to avoid the creaky steps that would give me away.

  I smiled to myself. How many times had I crept down these same stairs to go meet Carter when we were just kids with our whole lives ahead of us? In a way, we were still a couple of kids trying to figure out life. We were in our twenties, we were allowed mistakes and do overs. Right? Not everyone got it right the first time out.

  Heck, even I didn’t get it right after a lifetime of carefully planning out what my future would be—because Mom wouldn’t have it any other way.

  I stepped onto the porch in the cool night air and settled on the swing. I had an idea for my article on the career day event. He probably wouldn’t like it, but those kids and the people who volunteered their time deserved much more recognition.

  Words flew from my fingertips, and before long, I was completely in the zone. That place I went when the words just came to me effortlessly, like I wasn’t the journalist, just a vessel used to get words on the page for the editor to hone into a perfect story.

  Man, I loved my job sometimes.

  I was so in the zone I didn’t notice when my father came to sit beside me. As the swing moved under his added weight, my head snapped up in surprise. “Oh, Dad, you scared me.” I pressed a hand against my beating heart.

  “Sorry.” He sat back with a groan, settling his arm along the back of the swing behind me. “I was watching you peck away on that keyboard like you were sending S.O.S. signals in a war zone. I should have known you were somewhere far, far away from the rest of us mere mortals.”

  “It’s okay. I’m nearly done with this article.” I closed the computer. I just needed some photographs of the event and a conclusion paragraph with the mayor’s phone number so people could donate to the community center, and then I’d have my front-page article for this week’s edition. Stevie would be thrilled I had it done so early this time.

  “I hope you know how proud your mother and I are of you and your accomplishments, Harper.” Dad’s words pulled me further into the moment and away from all thoughts of Carter and the newspaper.

  “You’re so proud I left my husband that you came here to tell me to go back to him?” My mother’s words still stung. That she would order me to return to Boston like an unruly teen was galling.

  “Marriage isn’t exactly an accomplishment so much as a milestone.” Dad pulled me closer to his side. “You’ve always excelled as a student and journalist. We just want you to be happy and settled. You made a commitment to Garret.”

  “And he’s the one who broke our vows to each other.”

  “I won’t be so crass as to tell you men are idiots who stray from time to time. You deserve better than that.”

  “Then, let me fight my own battles and make my own decisions, and stop worrying about how it will look if—when I divorce Garret. Or he divorces me since he’s the one who filed the papers.”

  “I think he did that to scare you. He didn’t believe you’d actually sign them.”

  “I signed them and mailed them about ten minutes after I received them. I might not have the answers about what my future will hold, but that is one thing I am certain of. I do not want to be married to Garret any longer. And not just because he kissed another woman, and God knows what else he’s done that I don’t even know about. My decision was made the moment I walked in on him and that girl and felt nothing. Nothing, Dad. It was one of those moments in life when you just know what the next step is. Even if it leads you over a cliff.”

  “I thought you were so hurt that you left to come here out of spite. That your threats of divorce were just words said in anger.”

  “That’s just it. I’m not hurt or angry. That’s the problem. I could forgive him anything if I truly thought we were right for each other, but we’re not. He holds me back. He gives me great, local assignments that have made my career as a human interest journalist. But we both know that is a million miles away from the journalist I set out to become.”

  My father frowned at that. “I guess I always thought once you married him, you decided to settle down. You’re a brilliant human interest journalist, Harper. But if that’s not what you want, why did you let Garret lead your career in that direction? He knew you preferred world stage journalism.”

  “Yeah, and so does he. He takes all those stories for himself. Or he parcels them off to other journalists for future favors. He keeps me in Boston so I’m there to run the house and keep his life in order. I let it happen, but somewhere along the way, it really started angering me, and I still sat back and let him steamroll my career.

  “Did you know I had an interview with the New York Times not long after we were married? They wanted to recruit me as a freelance journalist, and I let my husband talk me out of it.”

  “You turned down the Times?” My father gaped at me.

  “He is very convincing and manipulative. When he proposed, I wasn’t certain. I wanted a long en
gagement and time to ease into our lives together. We were married within two months, and my job duties started changing the moment we got back from our honeymoon.” I clutched my arms around my middle. The more I talked about the small ways Garret manipulated me, the madder I got.

  “I’ll talk to your mother. You’re absolutely right that only you can make decisions for yourself. Only you know what it’s been like for you inside that marriage. From the outside, it looked so perfect. We thought you had everything you’d ever dreamed of, sweetheart. Why didn’t you talk to us?”

  I snorted at that. “Are you kidding, Dad? Mom was so excited about the engagement, and we were getting along so well. I just went with it. Everything moved so fast I just didn’t know how to put on the brakes without losing it all.”

  “What would you change? Other than marrying Garret.” Dad patted my shoulder, and I moved to rest my head on his.

  “Boston. I would rethink Boston.”

  “You love Boston.”

  “You guys do.” I shook my head. “I love it here.”

  “You would have stayed here and what, worked a dead in job at the local paper?”

  “No. Not then. I would have looked for a position in a different city, or maybe even a different part of Boston. Somewhere away from the social circles and snobbery. Your world of dinner parties and charity events is … stressful, and I’ve always felt like an imposter.”

  “Truth be told, so have I.” He heaved a weary sigh. “But your mother was born in that life, and I love your mother, so I learned to adapt.”

  I nodded. “But I had no real reason to adapt. It just … happened.”

  “I always loved this town too, you know. I loved the people and the simpler small town life. When we first got married, long before we had you, your mother and I lived here.”

  I gaped at him. “Mom lived here? Here, here, as in Superiore Bay?”

  Dad grinned. “She hated it. It lasted about six months before we left for Boston and never looked back. You get your love for this place from me and your grandma.”

  “It’s always felt like home to me.”

  “I’ve seen the paper you know. Your grandma sent me the first edition. You’ve done an amazing job with it.”

  “I actually love it. The freedom of running my own paper, it’s exactly what I wanted to be doing by the time I turn thirty. Well, except when I was twenty-two, fresh out of college and dreaming big dreams. Then, it was the Chicago Tribune or the Boston Post.”

  Dad chuckled and ran a hand over the back of my head. “You can still have big dreams, kiddo.”

  “I’ve come back down to earth a bit. My dreams have changed a little.”

  “You think you can be happy running the Weekly Wine, living here in Superiore Bay?”

  I sighed, leaning my head back to look up at my father. “I do wish I could change the name of the paper, but the locals would run me out of town with pitchforks if I even tried it. But … yes, I could be very happy here.” My thoughts drifted to Carter and the possibility of a future with him in this town, able to hang out with my grandma anytime I wanted. I could see it all so clearly. I could almost touch it. I wanted it.

  “We won’t stand in your way.”

  “You’ll talk to Mom for me?” I sat up and searched his face. “She’s going to hate me for this.”

  “She will not hate you. She could never be disappointed in you. She just has very big dreams for her daughter, and it frustrates her when those dreams don’t align with yours. You’re from two very different worlds, and in all the years since you were born, neither of you have ever learned how to talk to each other.”

  “I suppose it’s long past time for that to happen.” I cringed at the thought. “I’ll talk to her myself. I’m a big girl, I can figure out how to have an adult conversation with my mother.”

  Dad threw his head back and laughed. “That’ll be the day.” He leaned forward, propping his elbows against his knees. “Try to tell her exactly what you’ve told me. She will come around. She always does. In the meantime, you decide what you want from this life and you go for it, sweetheart. We’ll be behind you the whole way.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  With another groan, he stood, stretching. “I’m off to bed. Don’t stay up all night, kiddo.”

  “I’ll come inside in a minute. I just want to finish the last part of the article I was working on.”

  “The work of a journalist is never done.” He shook his head and left me to my thoughts.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  My head pounded as I placed another order in the kitchen. My last table for the afternoon and I could finally go home and stop pretending like I was completely over my accident.

  Because I wasn’t.

  “You’ve got a table.” Vic slapped my back on her way to her office.

  “What? No. I’m on my last table now.” I didn’t even try to mask the whine in my voice.

  “And now, you have one more.” She didn’t give me a second glance as she went on about her business of running the wine bar. She’d switched me to afternoon shifts as a server rather than barback. Said it was a much easier job for someone recovering from a concussion.

  She was wrong. It might not be as physically demanding, but only just. And the people were evil incarnate, demanding a thousand things from me. Like silverware and drink refills, and they always seemed to want exactly what they ordered. I was only one man, and it had taken one shift as a server to know this was not the job for me. I did not have the multi-tasking skills to keep track of so many moving parts.

  “Better get back out there.” The line cook set a tray of plates under the heat lamps. “I swear she can see through walls.”

  I grabbed the entrées for my last table—next to last table—and booked it out of the kitchen. My eyes darted around the dim dining room, landing on my new last customer of the day. My freaking brother. I was going to kill him.

  “Your order’s ready.” I unceremoniously set the plates onto the white tablecloth in front of my customers, slopping red sauce onto the table and probably giving the wrong person the wrong plate. I’d done that all afternoon, seeing my customers switch plates every single time. I figured I should stop trying, and then maybe I’d get it right. My contribution to the tip pool was going to be awful. I would fire me if I were Vic.

  I draped a red-stained white cloth over my shoulder like I was supposed to— except I was supposed to keep that part of my uniform clean—and approached my brother. “You here for the food, the wine, or the entertainment?” I folded my arms over my chest, wincing at the pull of still tender muscles. “Because I’m not in the mood for it, Conrad.”

  “Sit.” Conrad kicked out a chair for me.

  “Can’t. I’m working. What can I get you? You want to hear the specials or should I give you time to look at the menu? Though, you’re an Ashford, so you probably helped write the thing.”

  “You’re an Ashford too, you idiot. And you know I’d rather eat sawdust than work the vineyards or the businesses.”

  “Seriously, what do you want from me, Conrad?” My shoulders drooped. I needed food, a shower, some ibuprofen, and a nap. Preferably in that order, but I wasn’t picky.

  “Come back when you’re off, and bring me whatever you’re having.”

  “I’m not having anything.” I couldn’t afford the food here.

  “My treat. Just bring us something edible. We need to have a chat.”

  “Whatever.” I sauntered off to the kitchen to finish my end of shift side jobs. It took me twenty minutes to refill the drink stand with ice, pitchers of filtered water and iced tea, along with several bottles of chilled wines and fancy wine glasses.

  “Ugh!” I jerked the bill from my apron pocket and raced out to my last real table to see if they needed anything other than the check they’d probably been waiting on for at least fifteen minutes. And I’d learned quickly that fifteen minutes was an eternity to a diner.

  “Finally.” The gu
y snatched the check from me, and that was the end of whatever tip I might have gotten from this guy.

  “Have a good night!” I called as they exited the restaurant. “Come back again. I promise I won’t wait on you.” I added that last bit under my breath as I piled up their dishes and bussed the table myself, eager to get out of here.

  Back in the kitchen, I placed an order for two of all my favorite dishes and went to clock out.

  I grabbed a couple of beers from the bar and tossed my apron on the counter. My stomach growled in anticipation. Conrad would kill me, but we were about to eat well, and he was footing the bill. I waited until our food was up before I went to join him. I hadn’t bothered to wonder what he wanted to talk to me about. I was too tired and too hungry to care.

  “Smells good. What are we having?” Conrad leaned back to let me place the dishes on the table.

  “Poblano shrimp and grits with grilled lobster chunks and a side of lobster mac n cheese. With pork stuffed hand pies for dessert.”

  “You ordered shrimp, lobster two ways, and pork pie for dessert?” Conrad gave me a look.

  “Trust me. It’s the best meal you’ll ever eat, though none of it goes together.” I sat down and sipped my beer, taking a long gulp before I tore into my shrimp and grits—the best thing on the menu.

  “This is going to cost me a fortune, isn’t it?” Conrad tucked into his mac n cheese.

  I nodded, my mouth too full to use words.

  “Wow, what am I eating again?” Conrad stuffed his face.

  “It’s mac n cheese with grilled lobster and some kind of white cheese sauce that’s incredible.”

  “I’d eat my own boot if it was covered in this cheese sauce.” Conrad inhaled the food about as fast as I did. Seemed we were both starving bachelors who avoided meals at the estate in favor of whatever we could cobble together.

  “I guess you’re wondering why I’m here.” Conrad moved on to his main entrée.

  “Not really. It’s been a long day. I’m hungry, tired, and still sore from the accident, so I’m just kinda going with it. I figure you’ll get to the point eventually.” I downed the last of my beer, hoping I could talk one of my coworkers into bringing me another. Technically, I shouldn’t be drinking after a concussion. Maybe I should switch to water.