The crowd gathered in the square to watch the snow sculpture competition was easily three or four times bigger than Claire had expected, especially when the snowfall was taken into consideration.
At some point while they were all sleeping the skies had opened and dumped even more snow onto their little section of the world. The drive to church was somewhat treacherous, but now that it was later in the day the public works crews had all the roads cleared.
Board members had set up roped-off areas on either side of the square, one for Evan and one for Claire. The only rule was that the snow sculptures had to be ready for judging by six that evening.
Some people had brought sleeping bags or wore snow pants, signaling that they were in for the long haul. Once again, Claire had to admit that the board and Evan were both right—as ridiculous as the competitions were, the people of Goose Harbor needed this distraction.
A troop of school-aged entrepreneurs sold hot chocolate, three flavors of coffee and a few tea options from a card table near the gazebo, and Jenna and Toby Holcomb, along with their daughter, Kasey, were working through the crowd with boxes of cinnamon doughnut holes, freshly made at the industrial kitchen at their apple orchard. Despite it being Sunday, many of the shops along the square were open.
With two large throwaway cups in her hands, Kendall picked her way through the crowd toward Claire. She handed her one. “Vanilla rooibos latte. From Kay’s Kitchen.” Kendall jutted her head to indicate the diner that had only recently opened. “I know you love the coffee at Tradewinds, but this stuff is amazing. Trust me.”
“As long as you promise this thing has caffeine in it—” Claire jiggled the cup “—I’m happy.”
“Then drink and be happy, my friend.” Kendall took a long sip of her latte and smacked her lips. “So what’s the plan here?”
Claire sighed as she examined the gigantic mound of snow one of the public works trucks had dumped into her taped-off area. The heat from the cup warmed her hand. “Build a snowman, I guess. I mean, how hard can it—”
A round of applause cut off her words. The largest concentration of people were gathered around Evan’s area, blocking the sight line. Kendall craned her neck to get a better view.
“Are they seriously applauding his arrival?” Claire gaped at the crowd.
Kendall shrugged. “This town loves that man.”
“Oh, come on, let’s just go over there.” Claire playfully smacked her friend in the arm. “I should scope out my competition, anyway.”
Evan was unloading tool after tool from the bed of his truck. Three plastic garbage cans, a few plastic totes, an ice-fishing auger, five different shaped saws and a shovel... In spite of the temperature, he wasn’t wearing a coat. Instead he had on work jeans and heavy boots and what appeared to be three or four layers of long-sleeved shirts. The sleeves on each were rolled in a way that looked effortlessly stylish. While everyone else—including Claire—waddled around like fluffy T. rexes in their large puffer coats.
“Oh, brother.” Claire spun around and marched back to her snow pile. Evan knew how to put on a show, how to play to an audience. No matter what she did today, he would outshine her. That was his way. He did it without trying.
What she wouldn’t give for a thimbleful of his confidence.
But they were different. Evan didn’t have to navigate his life or weigh other people’s attention based on what they could use him for. He wasn’t a pawn to be played for personal gain like she’d been. He was judged and liked for who he was—his own merits, his personhood. He had never had to struggle with trying to live up to impossible standards.
What must that be like?
She heard the bang of Evan closing his tailgate, and soon after that the crowd began to disperse, moving like an amoeba toward the shops and eating areas in search of somewhere warm to lie low for a few hours. People would be able to come and go at their leisure throughout the day to check on Evan’s and Claire’s progress.
Kendall jogged to catch up to her. “You have to admit, he’s adorable.”
“You do know you’re going to be related to him, right?”
“Ew.” Kendall’s lips curled into a hilarious caricature of disgust. “I so didn’t mean it like that. And you know that! Brice is much more my style.” She did a whole-body shiver and stomped her feet, trying to get warm.
Claire jammed her latte onto a small table that had been set up in her area and lodged a boot into the mountain of snow that she was supposed to make something out of. “The main problem with Evan Daniels is—”
“That he’s standing right behind you.” Evan’s voice stopped her in her tracks.
Kendall let out a low whistle and backed away.
Claire slowly faced him.
He flashed a full-dimpled smile. “Wait. Let me guess. Is it that I can’t reach the center of my back when I have an itch? Because I’m pretty sure that’s a fairly common problem for most humans.”
It’s that you’re some force of nature. You can’t help people falling for you.
Anything she’d wanted to say about him became lodged in her throat.
Evan tugged off his glove. “I only came over to shake hands before we started. Good sportsmanship and all that.” He extended his hand.
She took it. “Aren’t you cold?”
He pursed his lips and wagged his head, lowering his voice as if he was sharing a great secret. “Thermal underwear. Pretty standard issue for us outdoorsmen.”
“You’re hardly an outdoorsman.”
Their hands were still clasped together. A camera clicked. Another.
“I build furniture all winter long in my garage with the door cracked. That’s outdoorish.” He tilted his head, questioning.
“Totally doesn’t count.” She jerked her chin toward his area of the square. “What’s with all the stuff you dragged from your truck? Just for show?”
“Highly technical snow sculpting equipment.” He tugged on her hand, bringing her closer. “I watched some how-to videos online last night. We’ll see how it goes.”
* * *
Evan pushed his hands into his lower back and leaned against them, stretching aching muscles. His fingers were going numb, but he needed to continue working.
Skylar Ashby stepped gingerly into his roped-off area. “Dad said to give you these.” She handed him two pocket warmers.
He groaned with joy and slipped them into the palms of his gloves. “Thank him for me.” Evan curled his fingers into the heat. Wow, that felt good. “I was afraid my fingers were going to fall off soon.”
She held her elbow in one hand and her chin in the other, examining his almost completed sculpture. Admittedly, he’d gone a little overboard. There was a six-foot-tall goose with its wings spread wide. He’d had to reinforce the goose’s neck and legs with planks he’d stowed in the back of his truck. Under one of the bird’s wings was a smaller sculpture of a kid sledding down a hill, and he was working on a boat for the other side but didn’t know if he’d have enough time to finish. Snow wasn’t a difficult medium for him, after working with wood for so many years. It was more like clay or dough once he added some water to it.
“It’s not half-bad,” Skylar offered. “But I bet my dad could have made something cooler.”
Evan bit back a smile. “Your dad is your hero, isn’t he?”
She nodded and ducked her head a little in an uncharacteristic display of embarrassment.
She toed at a pile of snow he’d shaved off from his sculpture. “Actually, he probably wouldn’t have built anything as good as you. That’s your gift, not his. Maggie says everyone has one. She’s good at feeding people—not just with food. She feeds you here, too.” Skylar tapped her heart. Maggie and Kellen hadn’t been married long, but the girls’ love for their stepmom was evident.
“My dad is better with words. How he writes songs and leads worship and sometimes what he says...it makes you feel a lot of things.” Skylar walked a circle around Evan’s sculptures, examining them from every angle. “Your gift is building.”
She made the declaration with a certainty that caused nervous energy to race down his neck.
“Thanks, Sky.” He coughed to clear his throat. “I like to make things.”
“But Maggie says you can’t just use your gift for you. She says you have to ask yourself how does my gift help others? And how does God want me to use my gift? I know you make stuff for church and help people, and everyone knows you’re the one who built the ramp for the Turner family when Miss Nancy had to go into a wheelchair.”
So much for doing things anonymously.
His hands had thawed enough, so Evan pulled the pocket warmers out of his gloves.
“Maggie and my dad, both their gifts change people on the inside. Dad says people are forever, so they’re what matter the most.” She popped her hands to her hips. “Do you think that, too?”
He braced his elbows on his knees as he crouched to be eye level with her. “I do.”
She cocked her head and pulled a face as if she was figuring out a math puzzle. “So do you build people?”
“Nope, I think that’s God’s job.” He sank one of his hands to the ground for balance.
“But you could build people up. That’s your gift.”
His legs were starting to tire, so he dropped to his knees. “I guess I never thought about it that way before.”
“I think my gift is being smart.” Skylar boxed the sides of her face between her gloved hands. “But my brain hurts now. I just used up all my smarts on you.”
That made him throw back his head and laugh. “I’m sorry I drained all your brainpower. I must be an especially difficult case.”
She nodded gravely in agreement. “I’m going to take a break from thinking. Breaks are okay with God, right?”
“Definitely.” Evan pushed up to his feet again. He dusted snow off his jeans. “And Sky?” he called after her retreating figure. “I think your gift is being smart, too.”
With only an hour left in the competition, Evan began collecting his tools and packing them back into his truck. He’d leave the square free of any debris besides snow.
Mrs. Clarkson stopped by and demanded he stand beside the goose so she could snap a few pictures. “This is really a lovely event. I’m going to petition the board to host an annual snow festival every year. How’d you build the snow up enough to carve it?”
“I covered the inside of the trash cans with car wax this morning so I could pack the snow in there and then add water. Then when you turn it over it comes out easily and stays together. Same as using forms to build a sand castle.”
“You are one talented young man.”
He plastered on a smile, but it felt disingenuous. He wasn’t anything special, just a guy who’d stayed up long after his bedtime watching videos on his phone to pick up some pointers. If he hadn’t...he’d be struggling. His gaze trailed to where Claire was pushing over another one of her snowmen. Her frustrated grunt echoed through the square. She was giving up—getting rid of all her work.
She needed help.
You could build people up.
Did it go against the rules for one candidate to help another?
* * *
Do. Not. Cry.
Claire sucked in frigid gulps of air, letting the cold jolt her lungs. All she had to show for four hours of work were three lopsided snowmen in different sizes. She’d pushed down a few more out of frustration and was considering the demise of the ones in front of her, too.
Returning to Goose Harbor had been a mistake. She’d never felt that more than in this moment. She didn’t belong here. Didn’t fit.
At least when she was in New York she could blend in a little better. No one thought much of a wealthy man’s daughter hobnobbing at studio openings or curating priceless art collections. Wealthy families were a dime a dozen in that world.
But in Goose Harbor she got a front page spread in the newspaper dedicated to her campaign because Dad owned the paper. She had a well-paid position within his company that meant she barely had to accomplish any real work in order to find a direct deposit waiting in her account. Yet she didn’t have a career. It was Dad’s money that had funded Alex’s adoption. She had a bunch of advanced degrees that looked great hanging on a wall, but had forfeited living in order to get them.
Her parents had drilled the importance of success into her head at an early age.
If you hang out with those kids they’ll bring you down, and you can’t afford to have people thinking less of you. Don’t join that club—it won’t help get you into a good college. Stop spending so much time painting, but spend it on things that matter, like your grade point average. Those people are trying to be your friend only to get at my money. They’re using you, sweetheart.
What if following their advice had cost her any chance at happiness?
By her parents’ standards Evan was unsuccessful. He wasn’t college educated and had no experience outside of their small town. But Evan was rich in the things that mattered. He had friends and people who cared about him; he was loved and valued. He’d built a business with his own two hands—literally—and had turned it into a profitable and satisfying career. Evan loved his work and the things he built. He had a home of his own. He’d made a place for himself in this community, and if he left, the whole town would feel his absence.
If Claire disappeared no one would notice.
She fisted her hands and glared at her snowmen. Maybe she should push them all over and forfeit the competition completely.
God, why did You let my life turn out this way? What did I do wrong? How come I never fit in? I’m thirty and I’m still so...lost. Why can’t I, just once, matter to someone—for me? Please, show me how to live. I need help. I don’t know how to do this on my own.
“Please tell me you’re not plotting any more snowman murders.” Evan’s voice. Of course.
She opened her eyes, not that she remembered closing them, and pressed her teeth together so hard her jaw hurt.
“I’m sorry I didn’t make it in time to perform hostage negotiations for that one.” He tapped the little snowman-shaped mound with the toe of his shoe.
Tired and sick of being out in the elements, she crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Did you come over here to gloat?”
“No, like I said, hostage negotiations.” He inched forward to place his body between her and her snowmen, then put his arms out to block her access to them. “Please, they don’t deserve such a brutal end.”
He was joking. Just trying to get her to laugh, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to be cheered up.
Just go away. “I’m really not in the mood.” She tore off her gloves and tossed them onto the table. “Clearly, you won. Congratulations. Sorry I don’t have confetti to throw in the air. Want a faceful of snow instead?”
“Claire-bear—”
“Do not use that name.” She whirled and rammed her pointer finger into the center of his chest. “You lost the right to call me that a long time ago.”
He frowned, kicked at the ground. “It slipped out.”
“Whatever. I’m done.” She snatched her gloves off the table and shoved them into her pockets. “There’s no point staying for the judging.” She had to get out of here before she broke down. It had come too close to that when she was praying. “If this is what this town wants in a mayor I’m obviously not who they’re going to pick, so—”
“Enough.” He caught her by the crook of her arm and pulled her close. “You’re not a coward. Stop giving up. Stop choosing defeat.”
“Believe me. I do not choose it.”
“You do.” There was a growl in his voice. “You’re doing it now and you’ve done it every time you’ve refused to let me explain about the past.”
Digging her elbow into his ribs until he winced, she yanked away from him. “How dare you—”
He sidestepped, blocking her retreat so she almost slammed into his chest. He took hold of her shoulders. “The Claire I knew and loved had the fire to match her hair. That Claire would never give up this easily. She was this remarkable woman who would use the amazing talents she’d been blessed with and would wow everyone.” He released her, turning to the side. His hand landed in his hair and he tugged on the ends. “I miss her so much.”
Oh, she wanted to toss back an angry barb. Wanted to fuel the fight so she wouldn’t have to deal with the truth of what he had said. Get under his skin as much as he’d quickly been able to get under hers.
Coward.
Only moments ago she’d asked God to help her. What if Evan’s words were an answer to her prayer? It would be easier, less terrifying, to shrug him off and tell him to mind his own business. To throw in his face that he’d abandoned her and therefore she couldn’t trust him and he had no right to miss her. But if she truly wanted to learn to live, that would take change and risks and honesty.
“I don’t know what to do.” Her voice was hoarse.
“Claire.” He scrubbed his hand over his jaw, then up his neck. “What do you love?”
You.
Her stomach tightened as an anxious feeling rolled through it.
That couldn’t be right. She didn’t—couldn’t—love Evan Daniels. Not still. Not now.
Yet the way he was looking at her, believed in her, was rooting for her to win even though he was the one she would beat... She loved him. The man at her side was everything she’d fallen for in high school, only amplified.
“Do what you love, Claire. Find that, and do it. I just want you to be happy.”
He’d said something similar last night when he’d asked if she still painted. The world was richer when you did.
She looked up and her gaze landed on The Craft Shack, a tiny store filled with art supplies squeezed between two restaurants on the square. It forever smelled like a mix of tacos and Italian beef inside.
“Evan.” She latched on to his arm, jiggled it. “Evan!” More jiggling. She pointed toward the store with her other hand. “You’re a genius!”
“You’ve got forty minutes.” He propelled her in the direction of The Craft Shack. “Go.” He pushed on her back gently. “Move.”
She tore through the square and across the brick road at a full-out sprint. The bells hanging at the entrance of the craft store performed a samba when she exploded through the door. With frozen fingers she pawed through her pockets until she located one of her credit cards. “Paint.” She dropped the card onto the counter. “I need tons of paint. Quick. And these.” She scooped brushes and cups and other supplies into her arms.
Minutes later she was squatting on the ground, painting murals all over the snowmen she hadn’t pushed over when she was considering giving up. A crowd gathered behind her, whispering excitedly. Evan caught her eye and sent her a thumbs-up.
“Mr. Daniels!” Mr. Banks waved his arms as if he was landing a plane. The man wore a bright green, head-to-toe snowsuit, as if he was out skiing.
Evan crossed his eyes for Claire’s benefit and then acknowledged Mr. Banks, so that the man would stop flapping his arms.
“Your goose is cooked.” Mr. Banks puffed out a breath. “The head fell off.” He pointed across the square.
Evan grimaced. “It appears I have some hostage negotiations of my own to deal with.”