Page 4 of Second Chance Serenity

“Sure thing. She’s doing a reading at the?—”

“Library tomorrow,” he interjects with a nod. “I was planning to attend. I’m sorry, this is weird, isn’t it? It’s weird. I’m a big book nerd and my mom loves her stuff so?—”

I reach over the table without thinking and close my hand over his.

He smiles warmly, attraction burning in his gaze. Man, I wish I felt the same. “Not weird,” I tell him. “It’s kind. And since I was planning to attend the reading too, I’ll happily introduce you afterward.”

“That would be great. So great. Now that you know I’m a big reader, tell me about your hobbies. What do you do when you’re not at school?” Liam asks.

“I like to hike,” I tell him. “I bake sourdough and volunteer whenever I can.”

“Sourdough? That sounds delicious.”

“It is. There’s so much you can do with it. Dessert bread, Italian loaves, bagels, sandwiches,” I reply, realizing suddenly that I’m more passionate about baking bread than I am about this date. And that realization makes me feel terrible. He’s being sweet, and I can’t stop comparing him to the man who left me over a decade ago.

“I’d love to try some sometime.”

“Sure.” I smile, then check the time. “I really should be going though. I have budget reports to finalize before tomorrow.”

“Oh, of course. I’m sorry.” He reaches into his pocket and sets some bills on top of the check, then stands and offers me his hand.

I slide mine into his, hoping for a zing. A zap. A connection of any kind—but get none. God, why can’t I find someone—anyone—else?

“Are you okay?” he asks, brow furrowing.

“Yes. Sorry. Mind on work. It happens this time of year.” School starts in just over a month, and I’ve had to hire three new teachers while also managing to squeeze in a new arts program for our middle grades. The budget will be stretched to the max, but with some strategically placed fundraisers, we should squeeze by just fine.

“No problem.” He walks me out of the small Italian restaurant that sits on the water near the edge of town, then leans in to kiss my cheek. “Can I call you tomorrow?”

“Of course. I look forward to it.”

After saying our goodbyes, I climb into the car and lean my head on the steering wheel. Liam didn’t grow up here, which means that he doesn’t have any idea who Michael is. Which means he’s practically the last available man in Hope Springs willing to give a relationship with me a try.

The other few that are left grew up with Michael and don’t want to do anything that would risk drawing his wrath. Pathetic, really. Though I suppose since Michael was a prodigy boxer and star quarterback, I can understand on some level.

Even if it infuriates me.

Michael. Ugh. Ruining my life without even trying. He’s always around. At the school, helping decorate for functions. Volunteering as an assistant football coach during the season. Giving boxing tutorials as extra-curricular after-school events.

Michael.

Michael.

Michael.

I swallow hard and lean back in my seat, taking a deep, steadying breath. Well, I guess that’s it. I’m just going to have to settle for minimal connection or die alone. Who knows, maybe not having a blood-searing, soul-deep romance will be better. After all, the last thing I want is to give someone else the power to break me the same way Michael did…right?

By the time dawn rolls around, I’ve managed to finalize all of my budget reports, set up our first meeting of the school year, and finish planning the annual fundraising ball for the women and children’s shelter in Boston.

The sun rises above the water, casting the ocean in glorious shades of orange and gold. Body slick with a thin layer of sweat from the four miles I’ve run this morning, I stand on the beach, overlooking God’s masterpiece as He paints the early morning.

I’m always filled with such hope when dawn rolls around. Like today, anything is possible. Today, I can let go of the ghosts of my past—at least momentarily—and focus only on the dawn of a new day.

“Morning.”

His voice washes over me like acid rain. I turn and face Michael Anderson, a former Army Ranger and the man who broke my heart when we were eighteen. He stands a few feet away from me, wearing shorts and a loose tank top.

He’s barefoot, as he always is whenever he runs, and his obsidian hair is curly thanks to the humidity and sweat from exercise. Why does he have to be so beautiful?

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