Mitch jogged down the Cape house stairs with a mix of mounting stress and increasing excitement. The Cape was teaming with both citizens and tourists to participate in the last day of the Coast Week event.

The celebration of the state’s coastal resources occurred every year with groups of volunteer-organized events to clean every inch of the coast from the shores to the tide waters, bagging, and responsibly disposing of trash that had found its way into the marine habitat.

He looked out over the crowd of people trying to find the platinum head he’d grown so fond of seeing. Finally spotting Claire along the shoreline just south of the lighthouse, he made his way toward her. She was going to be pissed, but part of his decision was to protect her as well. She had her event planning business, which was her livelihood. He didn’t want to see her lose it in any potential nasty litigation.

A warm sensation filled his chest as he got closer. Her soft voice met his ears, gentle like the waves gliding onto the sand on a calm summer afternoon. He needed to tell her, tell her it was for her own good, and find a way to keep her at arm’s length when all he wanted to do was pull her in closer.

There was more than one way to hurt a woman, and for some damn reason, he was doomed to hit on all of them when it came to Claire.

He was no good for her. He knew it, she knew it. Hell, the whole town knew it.

Pulling in a deep breath of ocean air, he shoved his doubt away and grabbed the garbage bag she held out to him as he approached.

“Thanks.”

She grinned. “Where’ve you been? We’ve all been slaving away for over an hour now.” As she continued to pick and prod through the rocks along the edge of the water, she jerked her chin toward the cape between the house and the South Cove beaches.

A collection of trash bags, six feet tall, was being loaded into Charlie Jones’s truck. The contractor’s bald head gleamed in the afternoon sun but wasn’t a hint brighter than his fire engine red beard. Mitch grinned. The man did good work. He’d been working with Ryker back when his buddy thought turning the Cape into a housing community would be a good way to right his past, but when the project changed, Charlie just rolled with the punches and put his boys to work with renovations on the house with a drive to accommodate visitors to the town’s new community center.

“I had some work to catch up on.”

Wrinkling her nose, she asked. “Are you going to tell me already? It’s wicked torture waiting to hear.”

He swallowed the need to give her whatever she wanted and forced out a casual chuckle. “You’ll find out with everyone else. But don’t worry about it. One way or another, you’ll provide an art program.”

She frowned as she shoved a plastic cup into her trash bag. “But I don’t want to just give art lessons. Hell, Max Stanton could do that.”

Max was the son of the town physician but used his hands for sculpting not healing.

Taking a stick with a nail poking out one end from a bucket, Mitch carefully navigated the rocks, trying to get close to the water without getting wet. “Look, I understand. You want to make a real difference. I get it. That’s the very reason I want the city attorney position.”

He stabbed an empty cigarette pack, disgusted that anyone still smoked and even more disgusted that anyone still threw their garbage on the ground instead of in a can. “Unfortunately, my reputation doesn't help me, not here anyway. Thankfully, Portland is another story.”

She froze in the middle of tying down a full garbage bag. “Portland? My parents live that way. I feel like I hardly see them anymore.”

Gripping the knot she made, he slung the bag over his shoulder, handing his bag over to her. He continued to poke about the rocks for trash as he talked. “Yeah. I have to keep my options open just in case. There’s a chance that I won’t get exactly what I want either, and if that happens, I need to have a way to still do the work I know I’m meant for.” Clearing his throat, he added, “They’ve a wicked smart city council in Portland, and the city is bigger than Cape Van Buren, giving me the potential to do even more. They seem very open to my ideas and how I think I can help.”

“But you can do that here,” she said, a frown forming between her brows.

“That’s my plan, but Cape Van Buren doesn't see in me what Portland does.”

They made their way off the rocks and back onto the lawn, dodging a few locals as they went.

She swung around. “I don’t get you.”

He shrugged, unable to follow her train of thought, but feeling as though he were being accused of something. “Don’t get what?”

“You. You play at being this big womanizing, life of the party kind of guy when really you’re a compassionate, generous man who wants to give back to his city. Why don’t you show that guy to the city council?” She stomped off.

Jogging to catch up with her, he flung the bag he carried onto Contractor Jones’s truck, then grabbed her upper arm and swung her around to face him. “I did.”

“Really? When? At your interview?” she scoffed.

“Well, yeah.”

She gripped her hands into fists. “Why haven’t you been showing them that all this time? What a waste. And now what? You’re going to leave and go live in...Portland?”

“What’s wrong with Portland?” He wasn’t following at all and with mounting frustration, jammed his pole into the ground.

“Hey! You better watch what you’re doing, young man. Your mother will have a fit.” Maxine yelled from the back porch of the Cape house, a cobalt blue jar in her hand.

Mitch glanced down and winced. He’d jabbed the pole right through a bed of purple asters. Carefully pulling the pole out from between the stems of the flowers, he sent an apologetic shrug to Maxine.

Turning his attention back to Claire, he asked again. “What’s wrong with Portland?”

She stared at him hard, then finally said. “Nothing. Portland’s amazing.”

They walked around the Cape house to the front porch, where a sign-in sheet and a stack of directions sat under a paperweight on a small table. She turned the sheet, running her finger over the names as if taking count.

Suddenly, a group of children burst through the front door all screaming at once. “Miss Claire, Miss Claire!”

She started in surprise, then straightened from the desk. Her frown reversed into a smile, brightening her whole face, and he couldn’t help being stunned by the transformation. Claire had an easy, friendly style with the kids, asking them questions about the start of their school year. She also let them all know she was very pleased to see them at the Cape, helping to take care of the town, and the pleasure on the face of each kid from such praise was a testament to the bond she’d created with them.

He watched the light in her eyes, the genuine happiness on her face. She loved working with these kids. A picture of her, holding a baby, swaying in front of a large window, popped into his head and left him with a yearning that confused the hell out of him.

She didn’t belong to him, a future with her was not his to hope for, but at that moment, seeing the compassion on her face, hearing the kindness in her voice, he wanted it more than anything.

“Now, off you go. Today’s the last day, so let’s find every tiny piece of trash you possibly can.” She placed a hand on one of the children’s head and ruffled his hair.

“Okay, Miss Claire, we’re on it!” They took off down the stairs and toward the flat beach area of the shore just south of the house.

“How do they know you so well?”

“I hold a paintbar at Blayne’s store once a month. It’s like the wine and painting bars for adults but with chocolate milk. The kids love it.”

Standing alongside her, his chest expanded with something unfamiliar, and he struggled to label it. “You’re so good with them. You’re going to be an amazing mother someday.”

She stiffened. “No. No, I’m not. I love kids, don’t get me wrong. But I’ll never go through that again.”

“Claire, you can’t back away from a future, from happiness, because of something that happened in your past.”

She tilted her head at him. “Of course, I can. We all do.” With a sigh, she turned back to the table and straightened the papers as if keeping herself busy until he left, but he refused to walk away.

“You hold the future of my program in your hands, Mitch. It could be gone with a stroke of a pen. To top it off, you may be moving away. All of it is just further proof that growing attachments only sets a person up for pain.”

The drive to pull her into his arms, shield her from all the pain and uncertainty in the world, was so strong that he had to shove his hands into the front pockets of his pants to keep from doing so.

The truth was right there, crushing his chest, and his brain immediately strategized on how to fix the problem that now faced him.

“Meet me at the lighthouse tomorrow night at seven,” he said.

“Why?”

“Just do it.” He gave a two-fingered salute from his temple and went to find Ryker. Maybe his buddy could talk some sense into him.

Fucking hell.

He was falling in love with a woman who didn’t want to be loved.