The Second Chance Page 5

  I leaned against the brick wall at my back to catch my breath and rid myself of that awful scent. Coffee, I needed coffee. I’d just guzzled three cups of it at my lonesome breakfast, but sometimes a girl just needed caffeine buzzing in her veins.

  I practically ran back through the center of town, down the boulevard to Hugga Mugga. This was what I adored about this town. Everything had a cute name. Cheese was charming.

  To some of us.

  I entered the coffee shop and inhaled the sweet, sweet aromas. A woman with spiky hair and tattoos down one arm attended to the long line. By the time I reached the front, she was flustered.

  “Sorry we’re a bit slow this morning,” she said. “I wasn’t supposed to be working alone, but the other girl was fired last week.”

  Poor girl. “No worries. I’ll just have a coffee please. Black.”

  She set a cup down in front of me, and I paid.

  “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know who runs the Weekly Wine, would you?” I’d have to look him up. This was what made me a good reporter. When something interested me, I never let go until I had everything I wanted. And right now, I wanted to know how someone could put out lies and call it news.

  The woman pointed to something behind me. “His name is Lance Marner, and you’re in luck. He’s been here all morning.”

  “Thanks.” I stuck a few dollars in her tip jar, took my coffee, and turned to study the man who perpetuated the town’s gossip. He was middle-aged, not more than fifty, and not at all what I’d expected. This wasn’t some nosey old woman or grumpy-looking man. Instead, he had a contented smile on his face as he spoke to someone on the phone.

  Long fingers curled around a mug, and when I looked into his face, I had to grip the counter behind me. He reminded me so much of Garret I almost couldn’t breathe. Sure, he was older than my ex, but there was a quiet dignity to him.

  Why did he manage such a crap newspaper?

  Maybe for the same reason Garret cheated.

  Men their age got tired of being the dignified ones. They enjoyed having secrets, keeping a side of themselves hidden in shadow.

  His phone call ended, and he turned to the laptop on the table in front of him, preparing to close it. I had to do this before he left.

  Gathering the bossy edge I’d had to learn as a journalist, I marched toward him. “Lance Marner?”

  He looked up, the smile fading from his lips. “Yes.”

  I stuck out my hand. “Harper Chapman.”

  He didn’t take it, instead flicking his eyes from my hand to his computer to finish packing it up. “I don’t print retractions, Ms. Chapman.”

  “I’m not here for a retraction.”

  “I’m sure.” He sounded bored as he stood and slid his bag over one shoulder. “Have a good day.”

  He wasn’t getting off that easily. I followed him outside. “Wait, I want to talk to you.”

  “I’m brimming with excitement.” His tone didn’t fluctuate, and he kept walking, crossing the street to the town square.

  I jogged to catch up with him. It was very hard to be angry when one was out of breath. “Are you always such a jerk?”

  That stopped him, and he turned, taking in my flushed cheeks, my heavy breathing. “Frequently. Look, Ms. Chapman, I’m a busy man. What do you need from me?”

  “I went to the Weekly Wine office, but it was empty.”

  “Oh, did I forget to lock it again?” He cocked his head, not looking particularly upset about that. “I haven’t been there in ages. My intern usually takes care of the office.”

  “Then, how do you write the paper?”

  He leaned in. “It’s real technical. There are these kinds of computers you can take to your own home. My aunt set up that office when she ran the paper after my uncle passed. And then, she passed, but her estate still pays for it, so it’s the official headquarters. But I don’t keep it up.”

  “Oh.” Well, way to take the wind out of my sails, or the anger out of them. Whatever. How could I be mad at someone talking about his aunt’s death?

  Lance sighed. “Was there a reason you chased me down in the middle of the road?”

  I looked around, realizing we’d caught the attention of a few people sitting nearby in the park. “Yes.” Lifting my chin, I tried to gather my anger once again. “Do you think what you do is real journalism?”

  “No.”

  That made me pause. “What?”

  “I do the bare minimum, giving the town what it expects and nothing more.”

  “You can’t just print whatever you want without verifying the truth, or else you’re nothing more than a tabloid. It’s not okay, and I refuse to let you continue this farce. The Weekly Wine used to be a legitimate paper.”

  “You refuse, eh?” He rocked back on his heels. “Let me guess, you’re a city girl, aren’t you?”

  “Boston.”

  He nodded. “Okay, Boston. Here’s a bit of truth for you. I’m a volunteer. I put what little time I have into the Weekly Wine because people get a kick out of it, and they’d run me out of town if I didn’t keep it going.” He dug into his pocket, pulling out a ring of keys and removing one. “But if the truth matters to you so much and you think you can do a better job, be my guest. How about you run the paper for a while and I’ll take a much needed vacation?” He tossed the key my way, but I was too stunned to catch it, and it fell to the sidewalk.

  I bent to retrieve it, and when I straightened, he’d already walked away.

  Chapter Eight

  “Have you seen this?” I waved a copy of the Weekly Wine in front of Lena’s face. She stood, pouring over floor plans at a makeshift table on the worksite for her new business venture with Conner. They were creating an experience here with everything apples. Restaurants, shops, and so much more I could hardly wrap my head around it.

  Pushing my hand away, she pointed to something on the design. “Would it work if we moved the restrooms here? With the kitchen nearby, it would ease up on some of the plumbing.”

  One of the contractors bent forward. “I need to mark it out to make sure, but we’ll try.”

  Lena rolled up the plans and handed them to him. “Thanks.” She turned to me. “Now, what is it you interrupted me with?” One raised eyebrow told me she wasn’t mad.

  But the Weekly Wine could wait. “Where’s Conner?” Why wasn’t he here helping her?

  She bumped my shoulder as she walked past me. “He does have a job, you know.”

  I turned to follow her. “But he cares about this place more than he’ll ever care about Superiore Winery.”

  That brought a smile to her face. “I’m leaving in a minute anyway. I need to get back to the orchard.”

  “You two never stop working.”

  She laughed. “Well, you’re a working man now too. Think you’ll stick with it?”

  “I won’t give my dad the satisfaction of seeing me quit.”

  She looped her arm through mine. “Good. Now, tell me how it feels having Harper back in town. And don’t hold anything back. I know you too well.”

  She did. Lena knew me better than my own family did. “It’s … strange.”

  “Come on.” She poked my side. “You have to give me more than that.”

  “Just like you told me when you started having feelings for my brother?”

  “Touché.” She laughed. “To be fair, though, I didn’t really tell myself either.”

  “That makes no sense, but okay.”

  “Stop changing the subject.”

  I sighed. She wasn’t going to let this go. “I found her waiting for me after my shift two nights ago.”

  Her face brightened. “Do tell.”

  “There’s nothing to tell. She’d had a lot of wine, so I walked her home. We decided to be friends.”

  She snorted. “Friends? You and Harper were never friends.”

  “Of course we were.”

  “From the first summer we met her when we were fourteen, you were completely
gone for her.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  She squeezed my arm. “Lucky for you, none of us are the same people we used to be.”

  That was what I was afraid of.

  “Now,” she said, releasing me, “what did the Weekly Wine print that had you running straight over here today?”

  I handed her the paper, waiting as her eyes skimmed the page. A laugh burst out of her. “Well, are you?”

  “Am I what?”

  “Over me?” She smirked.

  “Shut up.” I snatched the paper back. “Does Lance even question the things people tell him before he goes to print?”

  The Weekly Wine used to be a six page local paper that had all the goings on in Superiore Bay back when Latisha Marner ran things. When she died suddenly, her nephew reluctantly took over after pressure from the town. But he had a job in Hidden Cove and spent minimal time on the paper.

  It was a shame really. Now, townspeople emailed him gossip tips and articles, and he printed it.

  But it was time for the lies to stop. “Someone needs to tell him this is wrong.”

  “Funny,” Lena said, “you didn’t think it was so wrong when you used it to manipulate the town into thinking I was dating a man from Hidden Cove just so they’d force Conner and me to work together.”

  “And how did that turn out?”

  A sheepish smile appeared on her face.

  “Gross, I know you’re thinking of my brother. Don’t smile like that.” We reached my car. “You go do your apple things. I’ve got time before work, so there’s a writer who needs a piece of my mind.” I slid into the car.

  Lena leaned down into my open window. “Be nice.”

  “I’m always nice.” I flashed her a grin and cranked the engine.

  By the time I made it to the parking lot closest to the Weekly Wine office, I was good and angry, but more for Harper than for me. I couldn’t believe they’d printed anything about her divorce, let alone the lie that it was for me.

  It nearly broke me the day I found out she was getting married. I could still picture it. I was sitting at the diner with Lena when Mrs. Chapman came in for a late lunch before driving to Boston for the wedding. I hadn’t seen Harper in years, and it still cracked my already frayed heart.

  I wasn’t the kind of guy who talked about his feelings. Heck, most people didn’t even think I had feelings. But that day was the one and only time Lena had ever seen me cry.

  Not even when Harper left did I shed a tear, but I’d spent years trying to forget about her, dating plenty of women to wipe her from my mind. It hurt that she’d obviously succeeded where I’d failed. She’d let go of me without a backward glance.

  No, this divorce had nothing to do with me, just like the marriage hadn’t. And she didn’t deserve to have her business blasted across town.

  I barged through the door without knocking. “You have some nerve.”

  But it wasn’t Lance sitting at the desk. Harper stared up at me, her eyes wide. “What’s wrong?” She fixed her glasses, glasses she hadn’t worn before. But the metal frames and wide lenses suited her.

  “Where’s Lance?” My voice was gruff, unkind, even though she didn’t deserve it.

  To her credit, she didn’t shy away from me, instead, she sat up straighter, a defiance shining through her. “He gave the paper to me.”

  “He gave …” I shook my head.

  “Me the Weekly Wine, yeah.”

  I stared at her like an idiot for a moment longer before coming to my senses and slapping my copy of the newest issue on her desk. A few papers from a nearby stack scattered to the ground.

  “What is this?” I bit out.

  She took the paper from me and scanned it. “This morning’s issue.”

  “You think it’s funny to print those things about us?”

  “Wait a minute.” Her eyes hardened, and she stood. “You think I wrote these things?”

  “Who else would have since you’re apparently running this place now.”

  “As of like an hour ago, you douchebag.” Her entire body vibrated with anger, and I knew I’d made a mistake.

  “Harper—"

  “No, listen to me, Carter. I know we don’t know each other anymore. Honestly, how could we? But I am a journalist. I write the news; I write the truth. Not whatever trash this is.” She held up today’s edition, partially crumpled in her fist. “I don’t know why I ended up here or how I’m going to do anything about this paper, but I want to try. When Lance handed me the key, I was scared to death. But maybe this is why I’m back.”

  I wanted to kiss her. Right then, right there, in that office that smelled like a dog covered in Febreze.

  And that was a problem.

  She was right. Lena had been right. The Harper standing in front of me now, the one who looked at me as if we were strangers, wasn’t my Harper at all. When we were teenagers, she’d always had a bite to her, but not when she was with me. I could have looked into her eyes and known there was one person in this world who loved me. Not my family. Her.

  And that was gone. Now, all that was there was determination. Determination that had nothing to do with me.

  As if her legs wouldn’t hold her up anymore, she slumped back into her seat. “I’m a mess, Carter.” Her cheeks reddened. “I mean this place is a mess. Look around.”

  It was beyond what I’d call a mess. “What’s that smell?”

  “I don’t know.” A humorless laugh escaped her. “I tried to cover it up with an entire bottle of Febreze, but now it just smells like ‘who farted in the laundry.’”

  A grin stretched across my face because that was a thing I’d expect the old Harper to say. “It’s terrible.”

  She laughed and nodded. “Absolutely awful.”

  “And this computer is so ancient.”

  She covered her face with her hands and peeked at me from between her fingers. “It still has dial up.” A groan escaped her, and she lowered her hands. “I’ve only been in here for like an hour, Carter, and I’m dying. This thing is so slow. I know now why Lance rarely spent any time here. And you know what the worst part is?”

  I took in the rest of the tiny office and immediately knew what she was going to say. “No coffeemaker.”

  “Not a working one.”

  I was proud of myself that I still knew some things about her. “Still addicted to coffee, I see.”

  “And wine, as you saw the other night. I don’t usually drink so much at once, but everything was a little…”

  “Overwhelming?”

  “Yeah.” She shared a small smile with me before averting her eyes. “This whole thing … it happened so suddenly, coming here to Superiore Bay. And now, the paper … I’m just stuck in my head a bit, trying to absorb the changes.”

  “You don’t have to absorb them all at once.” I leaned against her desk, shoving my hands in my pockets to keep them from reaching for her of their own accord.

  “I do, though. If I don’t, I won’t be any good to anyone.”

  Harper had always had a mind that amazed me, the way she could adapt and deal with adversity. Her parents threw plenty of it at her over the years. Me, I’d just fought against my dad by cultivating a reputation as a trust fund kid with no work ethic or goals.

  “Why don’t I go grab some sandwiches at the deli and come back and help you clean up a bit?” I wasn’t sure why I offered. Maybe because I couldn’t handle her looking so forlorn.

  She removed her glasses and cleaned them on her shirt before setting them back on her nose. I suspected it was just to give her time to respond. “Carter…”

  “Just lunch,” I promised. “And some help.”

  She hesitated for a moment before shaking her head. “I just have so much to do. I think I need to do it myself.”

  I wasn’t sure why I was so disappointed getting out of working in this stuffy office, but suddenly the walls felt like they were closing in on me. “Okay,” I wheezed out. “I should go then.”


  I barely caught her goodbye as I bolted out the door into the fresh air, letting it cleanse my lungs.

  How I was supposed to be friends with Harper when every time I saw her, I couldn’t help remembering everything we were?

  Sunday drives up the coast.

  Saturday dinners at her grandma’s.

  In the heat of the summer, she, Lena, and I would take a blanket to our spot near the boardwalk at night. We’d lay there looking up at the stars and imagining things would get easier as we got older.

  We were wrong.

  Nothing was as simple as those years had been.

  Checking the time on my phone, I realized I had to be at work in an hour. I had zero desire to run home first, so I might as well show up a bit early to help with the light lunch crowd.

  Look at me being all responsible. Who was this guy?

  Chapter Nine

  “Go to your grave, my friend.” I dropped the ancient coffee machine into the trashcan and plugged in my new Keurig.

  That was the last of the trash. It had taken me most of yesterday and the day before, but the offices of the Weekly Wine were looking more like that of an actual newspaper. And for the time being, it was mine. At least, according to Lance Marner.

  I sat down at my freshly cleaned desk with a stack of last month’s issues. I was determined to restructure this rag into an actual respectable paper. But I had to see what I was working with first.

  Taking a sip of my fancy, hazelnut mocha from Hugga Mugga, I poured over the papers, searching for anything that might lead to a legitimate local story worth more than a line in a gossip column.

  An hour later, I was hooked on gossip. This town behaved like a guilty pleasure soap opera, and it was fascinating. From Mallory Ellison’s maybe baby, to the mayor’s secret collusion with the mayor of Hidden Cove over the fate of the fall festival, and a conspiracy theory that Jake did not, in fact, bake his own cakes at Jake’s Cakes Bakery (he bought them from a bakery in Hidden Cove, gasp!), I spent half my morning laughing.

  Wiping my eyes, I sat back in my squeaky chair, feeling better than I had in weeks. There was no choice here; I had to keep the Weekly Wine as it was, with a few new additions to transform it into an actual newspaper with one heck of a gossip column.