Page 1 of Second Chance Valentine

PROLOGUE

Branson

Ten years ago

Music blasts from outdoor speakers and though it’s early evening, the party is starting to rev up. All of our friends are elated about celebrating our high school graduation, but for Ginger and me, it’s bittersweet.

“Hey, man. Congrats! I heard you got a job with a big magazine. You’re going to be a world-famous photographer after all!” Sully says, clapping me on the back.

“That sounds amazing,” Fiona chimes in wistfully, twirling a strand of her honey blond hair. “I would love to travel the world. Maybe after culinary school.”

Ginger is uncharacteristically quiet as she fidgets with the end of her light brown braid. It’s tearing me up inside that I’m the cause of her pain.

“Want to take a walk by the river?” I ask, wrapping an arm around her. She nods.

“We’ll catch up with y’all later.”

Fiona nods. “I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about.”

The June evening air is still a little cool and I drape my letterman jacket over Ginger’s shoulders to protect her from the chill. Water ripples in the moonlight as we pick carefully over the rocks lining the river. This has to be the hundredth time we’ve walked this path together, but it feels different this time. Unsteady, unpredictable.

Ginger stops walking and when I turn toward her, I see fear glistening in her eyes. Something unfamiliar settles in the pit of my stomach. The cold weight of doubt.

“We can do long distance. We’re strong enough. Nothing can tear us apart.” I gather her up in my arms, trying to infuse her with comfort and confidence, although I feel neither of those things myself.

“I know it’s not ideal, but this is my golden ticket. Getting picked up at eighteen years old by a major magazine as a photographer’s assistant. I can’t pass this up.”

“I know,” she sniffs and I can see her trying to put on a brave face. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and I want you to take it. You’re so talented. The world needs to see your work and I want you to be happy.”

She’s always been my biggest cheerleader. If it wasn’t for her faith in me, pushing me to get out of my comfort zone and share my photography with other people, I wouldn’t have this opportunity to begin with.

“It’s just for a little while. Once I get some experience under my belt, I can leverage that into a job closer to home.”

“Will we still be able to talk every day?”

“Some of the assignments will take me to areas with limited service. But I will call every time I get the chance. I promise. Hey.” I raise her chin with my hand. “Chin up.”

She nods. “I don’t want to stand in the way of your dreams.”

“I have two dreams and one of them is you. I’ll go take pictures of the world and when I come back to Evergreen Mountain, we’ll start the life we’ve dreamed about since we were kids. I want to have a bunch of little girls running around that look just like you.”

“Look! Fireflies!” she points. “At least you’ll get to see them before you go.”

It’s just a reminder of everything I’ll miss when I leave Evergreen Mountain. Every June, synchronous fireflies come to the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee. The synchronized flashes are part of their mating routine and taking a walk in the woods to see the show is one of the things we love to do together.

I twine my fingers in hers as we watch. Every few seconds, the woods all around us are illuminated with simultaneous flickers and it’s like we’re standing in a forest of Christmas trees wrapped in lights. We stand there, hand in hand, until the air grows colder and the bugs stop their ritual for the night. Then, her lips find mine and I feel a sense of completion, like I always do when we’re together.

“We’re two halves of a whole, right? Like those heart friendship necklaces. No matter what happens, I’ll always come right back here to you.”

ONE

Ginger

“I’m thinking of doing some cute little petit fours with pink hearts and Mariah is going to make centerpieces for the tables.”

“Oh, that will be nice,” Granny Pearl says in her high, sweet voice. “Oh, I remember the dances we had when I was a teenager. Those were the days when people really knew how to dress. No jeans in sight, I can tell you that.” Her eyes went glassy as she held her crinkled hands up to her face. “Chiffon and chantilly lace as far as the eye could see. And all the boys had a corsage for their girl.”

An idea hits me and I tilt my head, wheels turning. “What if we did a vintage-themed dance?” I say.

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