First Choice, Second Chance Read online

  First Choice, Second Chance

  Love Around the Corner, Book 2

  Lynn Rae

  Published 2014

  ISBN: 978-1-62210-114-6

  Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © Published 2014, Lynn Rae. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  Liquid Silver Books

  http://LSbooks.com

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  Blurb

  Conscientious Emily Fontaine is on a mission to prove her marketing and public relations skills. When she volunteers to restore a historic statue, she isn’t prepared for her attraction to one of her fellow committee members.

  Paul Ellison has stayed out of circulation since his wife’s death, but once he meets Emily, he can’t resist her quiet allure, despite the difference in their age.

  When the statue that brought them together is vandalized, and both Paul’s daughter and sister strenuously object to their burgeoning relationship, Paul and Emily realize the sacrifices they’ll have to make for each other. Will Paul have a second chance at love?

  Dedication

  To my family.

  Acknowledgements

  I owe inspiration to Gutzon Borglum, my mother’s ever-evolving gardens, and my service on numerous committees of a historic nature. And again, thanks to editor Melissa Baxter for making this story better and Peri Elizabeth Scott for providing guidance and encouragement.

  Chapter 1

  “It needs something,” Mr. Szabo said as he wiped his hands on his white baker’s apron.

  Emily Fontaine propped her hands on her hips and peered at the planter outside Szabo’s Bakery. Yesterday, the Palmer Main Street Association had arranged the delivery of the new fall floral arrangements to participating businesses, and there had been several complaints already about Mrs. Volker, the local florist’s, plant choices. Since Mayor Shelly Laskey couldn’t be on her feet for more than a few hours a day thanks to her new knee, the task of soothing fell to Emily and Angie Peterson, the mayor’s administrative assistant.

  “They’re pretty Halloween-looking.” Angie nodded her brunette head in perfect counterpoint to Mr. Szabo’s shakes of dismay.

  Emily thought the planters were lovely. The florist had placed decorative kale, pale spiky grass, and dwarf rudbeckia in dark green urns. Right now, the purple-and-gold plants were small, but they’d fill out nicely when the Sugar Beet Festival parade floats rolled through town in a few weeks.

  “What do you think it needs, Mr. Szabo?” Emily had worked as Palmer’s temporary Main Street consultant for almost five months, and she’d gotten to know most of the movers and shakers in town as a result. Mr. Szabo ran his family bakery and was a ringleader for most of the businesses on his block. If he didn’t like the urns, he’d likely turn most of his neighboring merchants against them by the end of the day.

  “Something, I don’t know, happy. That orange and purple makes me think of black cats. Bad luck and all that.” The baker shook his head at the thought of a Halloween color scheme. Emily bit back her retort that lots of folks liked spooky things and instead tried to pacify. Her job was to coordinate promotional events and market for the small business owners. That’s what the grant funding her position specified, so it wouldn’t do to antagonize the florid man. She was already suppressing a lot of anxiety in general this morning.

  “Maybe some pink-and-blue tulips? Those are happy.” Angie smiled with her suggestion as Emily held back a sigh. There were no tulips to be had in October.

  “How about I talk with Mrs. Volker and see what she might suggest?”

  “No, don’t you go to her saying I’m complaining about her work. She’s on her own since her husband’s run off to West Virginia with that manicurist, and I won’t have you making her come out here and fix these things.” The baker sent her a challenging stare from his pale gray eyes, and Emily knew she was trapped. She’d have to solve the problem herself. Mr. Szabo had no problem expressing dissatisfaction with the other woman’s work, but he wouldn’t stand for his complaint to be made known to others.

  “I could go to the nursery and pick up a few plants to fill in. Something more cheerful.” Emily made the offer while reminding herself to make a call to Mrs. Volker to explain why she was messing around with her arrangements. It would take most of the day to select plants and then add them to the thirty or so planters scattered along the sidewalks surrounding the village green, but she would do it if it created goodwill among the mayor’s more vocal constituents. Thinking of the village green reminded her she needed to get to a meeting within the next few minutes, planter crises be damned.

  “I suppose that could work. Tulips and daffodils would be nice. Pink and blue.” The delusional baker nodded his head as if he’d solved the problem. Emily arranged her mouth in a pleasant smile instead of scoffing at the idea of forcing spring bulbs in a fall garden. Mr. Szabo wiped his hands on his apron and toddled back into his shop, the open door releasing a sinful aroma of frying donuts and freshly baked chocolate-chip cookies.

  “What about the statue meeting? Shelly is beyond angry her doctor told her she couldn’t do both that and mayor’s court tonight. Speaking of which, I really have to get that docket ready now.” Angie’s eyes narrowed as she contemplated her to-do list.

  “You go ahead back to the office and do what you need. I’ll go to the nursery after the meeting. I have a feeling I’ll want to get some fresh air by then.”

  “Thanks, Emily. I don’t know what I’d do without you stepping in like this. I’ll have some fresh coffee ready for you in the conference room.” Angie waved goodbye and walked down the sidewalk toward the municipal building. Identical green urns holding kale and flowers stood at precise intervals down the entire block. Lots of plants, lots of pots. Emily wanted to remind Angie she didn’t drink coffee, but it would be easier to just heat up some water in a mug for tea once she got back.

  She took out her phone to snap a picture of the plants for reference. Mrs. Volker had done such a nice job, and it was a pity people were so suspicious of anything new. Another sweetly scented whiff from the bakery captured her attention. Perhaps she should pick up some fresh cookies to share at the upcoming meeting. They might put everyone in a happier frame of mind. Emily turned on her heel and went back to the bakery to purchase some treats for the inaugural meeting of the Spanish-American War Monument Restoration Committee. She wanted to make a good impression since this was her first opportunity to take charge of something in Palmer, even though it was a temporary assignment.

  “Just hold my place, Paul. I’ll be up and running in a couple of weeks, maybe three if the damned doctor gives me the go-ahead. Then I’ll be in there to take care of things properly. Three hours a day for work, that’s all I’m allowed. I’m good, but not good enough to get through a whole day’s tasks in a few hours.”

  Paul Ellison nodded agreement with his sister as he exited his truck. Shelly Ellison Laskey’s agitated voice carried over his new smartphone. She was filled with angst over the fact that her recent knee replacement was keeping her from attending a meeting about one of her beloved Palmer monuments, so he was keeping her chair warm in the interim. Paul had skipped his usual second cup of coffee at the diner afte
r lunch so he could make it over to the town hall in time. He’d been happily lost in a magazine article on trouble-free composting when his phone alerted him it was time to go.

  “Do you hear me, Paul?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Just take notes, and don’t let Roger and Dave run rampant all over it. Knowing them, they’ll stir up some sort of corporate sponsorship and plaster bumper stickers all over Great-Great-Uncle Peter and install some sort of fountain out of his privates. Or even worse, paint him the school colors as some sort of pep-rally thing. And then where would we be, I ask you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Shelly sighed over the phone, and Paul smiled, glad she couldn’t see him. She was such a manager of everyone and everything around her. It was a good thing she’d turned her type-A personality to running Palmer for the last few years. The city now operated at a monetary surplus, and her husband Mike wasn’t being driven insane by her directives and decrees. Instead, the inhabitants of city hall had to jump when she brandished a list.

  Paul considered his two fellow committee members as he manually locked up his Scout’s doors. Someday, he’d have to get around to rekeying it with automatic locks. Dave Morcross and Roger Attlebee were big community supporters and not afraid to shell out their money out for a cause. Their interest in something historic was out of character, but they might have discovered a newfound appreciation for the heritage of Palmer. He wasn’t sure who else was on the committee, but it would certainly be people he’d known for years.

  “Listen, sis, I have to go, almost to the building.” It wasn’t a lie; he was approaching the back doors of the brick, Art Deco municipal building, and he wanted to shut off his phone before he had to swing one of them open.

  “Fine. Just keep them under control. If only I didn’t have mayor’s court tonight, then I could use my three hours for the statue meeting. Emily isn’t up to it.”

  “Who?” He didn’t know an Emily.

  “Emily Fontaine? She’s that new marketing person we hired with the grant. I told you about her. She’s fine with designing flyers and websites, but she couldn’t say boo to a goose.”

  Paul knew his sister would be happy to say “booyah” to a flock of geese. This Emily Fontaine was probably capable of conducting a meeting, but compared to Shelly, anyone other than Eisenhower would come up short in actually running it.

  “Oh, time for my pain meds. I’m depending on you, Paul.”

  Shelly hung up her phone, and Paul gratefully slid his into his pocket. He glanced down at his faded jeans and worn, tan shirt. Maybe he wasn’t dressed up enough for a meeting at the mayor’s office, but he had other plans for the day besides listening to people discuss how sad it was the bronze, Buckeye cavalryman had pigeon droppings all over him—like getting back to that composting article and another cup of coffee.

  He made his way along the aqua-tiled hallway to the conference room beside the mayor’s office where he found Roger and Dave deep in conversation about the upcoming high school football game.

  “Hey, Paul, what do you think our chances are tomorrow night?” Dave asked as he crossed his arms across his barrel chest.

  With a noncommittal shrug, Paul took a seat in one of the faux-leather chairs closest to the door. He wasn’t all that interested in athletics in general and hadn’t paid attention to the Palmer High School schedule since he’d graduated over thirty years before. All three had made their homes and raised their families in Palmer, and they’d managed to build a casual friendship as they’d marched into middle age, despite Paul’s science-nerd inclinations.

  “We haven’t got a chance in hell. Triad’s bigger, more experienced, and on the juice.” Roger shook his head.

  “Naw, you don’t know that,” Dave said as he leaned back and gave his confidant a disbelieving stare.

  “The hell I don’t.” Roger’s flushed face glowed with certainty. “Sue goes to Curves with the school nurse over there, and she was talking about it just the other day, rampant acne, tempers flaring, shrunken balls.”

  “Sounds like our school board,” Paul said, pleased to score some points off Dave, who’d served as president of that illustrious organization for seven years.

  “Piss off, Paul,” Dave shot back just as they all heard a tentative knock on the door frame. Paul swiveled his chair and looked up at a young woman holding a bakery box. She was beautiful. Dark red hair curled around her ears and neck to curve across her shoulders, which were covered in a soft-looking sweater in a muted shade of green that clung to a torso Paul immediately stopped staring at. Her pale cheeks were highlighted with a pink blush, and she glanced at them with caution. It had probably sounded like a locker room when she’d arrived and now she was faced with a trio of graying men almost past their prime.

  Paul lurched to his feet and ran right into the box she was holding, nearly knocking it out of her grasp. Her green eyes widened, and she grasped the edges of the container so tightly it began to fold in on itself. Paul reached out to steady it before the contents fell out.

  Dave and Roger harrumphed, both with slightly abashed expressions on their faces.

  “Sorry about the language,” Dave muttered.

  Paul helped her lower the box to the table but said nothing. He just stood there and stared. The scent of warm cookies and flowers filled his nose and overwhelmed him.

  “Are you here for the Spanish-American War Monument Restoration meeting?” she asked in a soft voice, glancing at him before she acknowledged the other two men.

  “Yes. Yes, we are,” Roger spoke up and introduced all of them to her, and she shook the other two men’s hands before turning to Paul.

  “Hello, I’m Emily Fontaine.”

  He took her small hand in his and ignored how soft it felt. “Paul Ellison.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Emily’s pink lips curved up, and she met his gaze for a few long heartbeats. She had amazing green eyes. “It’s nice to meet all of you.”

  “Here, here, take a seat.” Roger gestured at the empty chair between his and Dave’s, and the young woman made her way over. In addition to the soft sweater, she was wearing trim gray slacks and as she settled into her chair, Dave’s eyebrows went up as he very obviously looked her over. Paul scowled at his friend, and as Emily looked up she caught his expression. A faint line appeared between her brows, and Paul sank to his seat with embarrassment. Not only had she walked in on foul language, he’d mussed her baked goods and then frowned at her. Not an auspicious way to start the meeting.

  Emily stood in front of a display of vivid chrysanthemums in three-inch pots and tried to talk herself into a better mood. It was a sunny afternoon in early October, she was poking around the plants at the nursery, and the strained meeting at the mayor’s office was blessedly concluded. She’d managed to keep order, set a few goals, and have her fellow committee members agree to visit a similar sculpture in a neighboring town for research purposes. Almost as good as Shelly herself would have managed.

  She’d felt uncomfortable with the men in the room initially, her ever-present anxiety thundering in her veins when she’d felt their gazes on her, but as the meeting progressed, Dave and Roger had joked and teased their way back to a more easy interaction with her. Since the mayor was out of commission, she had to be able to get along with them. If she didn’t do well as Mayor Laskey’s standin at something as simple as this, she didn’t have a hope of getting a recommendation from the woman when it came time to apply for another job, or holding onto the one she had if it became permanent. So, she’d just have to get along with the two crude men and overlook their off-color comments.

  No, it was silent Paul Ellison who bothered her at this point. Shelly Laskey had proudly proclaimed that a long-dead Ellison had modeled for the statue during Emily’s job interview in May, and made it clear the current Ellison clan was going to be involved in the restoration from the start. Evidently, Emily had made a poor impression on Paul since he hadn’t said much the whole meeting ot
her than agreeing with whatever his friends said. It was too bad. She’d liked him as soon as she’d seen him. Something about his dark eyes and shaggy, salt-and-pepper hair had appealed to her, and she’d had a warm glow of hope for a moment he might become a friend.

  Sniffing in a whiff of fertilizer, wet soil, and late-blooming jasmine, Emily decided to concentrate on the task at hand: finding something cheerful for the planters downtown. The chrysanthemums came in a wide variety of colors, and as she picked up a pot of tiny white ones, a vaguely familiar voice called out a greeting. She glanced around the deserted aisles to find Paul Ellison a row away, holding up a blooming Black Magic sedum. He smiled at her, and she couldn’t resist giving him one in return.

  “That’s a nice chrysanthemum.”

  Emily stopped staring at him to gaze at the plant she held. Nice was a polite way to describe such a pedestrian specimen. She shrugged her shoulders and complimented his plant, which was much more attractive than the utterly bland one she had.

  Paul narrowed his eyes and looked down as he put the sedum back on the shelf. Before Emily could wonder if she’d somehow insulted him by complimenting his taste in greenery, he circled around the markdown daylilies at the end of the aisle and approached her.

  “I’m surprised I ran into you here, but I’m glad, too.” He cleared his throat and chafed his lean hands together, rubbing off potting soil. “I want to apologize for the language Dave and Roger were using earlier. They didn’t realize you were there, and I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”

  Emily was taken aback for a moment, but his sincere and gentlemanly apology delighted her. It seemed he didn’t dislike her after all. “Thank you. They seemed repentant.”

  “I think they were. They might not say so, but they know how to behave themselves. Neither one of them would want someone using that sort of language around their wives or daughters.”

  Paul gazed at her unflinchingly with deep brown eyes, and Emily stared back until she realized they’d reached that awkward place in an unplanned meeting where you either decided to keep talking or made your excuses and wandered away. Some compulsion to continue their conversation welled up. “I noticed you didn’t include yourself in that. Do you know how to behave yourself?”