Take a Chance on Me(21)

Claire had lost too many beautiful rosebuds before their time by leaning into the season too soon.

So despite the mild winter and lack of snow, she had kept the covers on, not wanting to risk the frost. And her American Beauty roses sweltered under their Styrofoam coverings, broiling instead of freezing to death.

Why, why didn’t she just listen to her instincts instead of her fears?

She knelt in the dirt of the city rose garden and lifted one of the containers. Tiny green buds shot out from the cropped limbs, evidence that even in darkness, the roses survived. She pulled the cover off, and the rosebush sprang free as if exhaling.

“Sorry, little rose,” she said and sat back on her haunches, brushing dirt from her gloved hands.

“Talking to your plants again, Claire?” Edith Draper strode up the sidewalk on her way to the library, just beyond the garden. She wore an embroidered Grandmas Are for Hugs sweatshirt and held an armload of books.

“I’m hoping my decision to keep the covers on and protect them from the frost didn’t kill them.”

Edith raised a shoulder. “You can’t live your life by the what-ifs, sweetie. They look fine to me.”

“If I kill these roses, the Deep Haven Horticultural Society will murder me.”

Edith had reached the library door. “They put you in charge because you have the best green thumb in town. Not to mention the most energy. Trust yourself.” She winked and disappeared inside.

Herself would be the last person Claire trusted. She hadn’t made a right decision since . . . well, since she’d convinced her parents to allow her to move stateside and attend Deep Haven High School. But after that . . . yeah, she’d pretty much let down herself and everyone else around her with a string of flimsy life choices.

Claire took off another cover. Again, the rosebush underneath had already started to bloom. Phew. Alive.

She created a stack of Styrofoam containers, then added fertilizer around the roots. Already they looked happier.

She glanced at the sky, the way fingers of twilight stretched out over the heavens. She would have been here earlier, but for the fact that she’d taken an extra shift today. Please, Lord, help them grow.

Claire carried the containers into the small storage shed behind the library, left her gloves there, then hopped on her bike and rode it down the street to her apartment. One of the perks of living in a small town—she didn’t need a car. Not that she didn’t like her Yaris, but sometimes she just loved riding her bike to work and home again, under the starlight.

Her next shift started in ten minutes—not enough time for a shower. She pulled on the black-jeans-and-black-shirt uniform, pinned on her badge, worked her visor over her ponytail, then threw her apron in her over-the-shoulder backpack before scrambling down the stairs and out the back door of the bookstore.

She cast a look up at her new neighbor’s place—dark. Apparently the new assistant county attorney worked late hours also.

She hopped on her bike and pedaled to Pierre’s, clocking in a minute late. Shoot.

The place looked deserted. No late-night rush tonight, the twenty booths and tables in the main room hosting only a handful of diners. She loved Pierre’s, with fishing lures and mounted trout, snowshoes and old Coca-Cola signs, pictures of local hockey teams pinned to the wall. A few framed newspapers heralded Deep Haven events, like the state champion football team and the time their local author, Joe Michaels, won the National Book Award.

Making her way into the kitchen, she breathed in fresh baked calzones, tangy homemade sauce, the scent of fresh vegetables. Tucker Newman stood at the assembly board, working on a Hawaiian pizza. It always cheered her to see him in a hairnet and apron, creating pizza as if it were a work of art. Something had happened to the snowboarder since he started dating Colleen Decker last year. Sometimes she spotted him eating pizza with her family and laughing.

He hadn’t exactly laughed in the first few months he’d begun working here. She had thought he wouldn’t last.

But that wasn’t her call.

Claire read the schedule. They’d put her on the cash register tonight, but with Curt McCormick already manning the counter, restocking cups and napkins and looking as if he might perish from boredom, it seemed that perhaps she could do more damage prepping for tomorrow. She pulled a container of fresh mushrooms from the stainless fridge and headed over to the prep center.

Grace Christiansen stood cutting onions, her blonde hair captured by a hairnet. “I thought you’d gone home for the day,” she said, looking miserable.

“Double shift today. I don’t mind. I thought you were off tonight.” She picked up a mushroom and began to wipe it clean with a paper towel.