An Unexpected Love Story (Love Story Book Two) (2 page)

“You handled that well,” he said, still laughing as he wiped down the counter. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I saw steam coming out of your ears, but other than that…”

“Thanks,” I said, setting my binder down on the bar and pulling myself up onto a stool—not an easy feat in my black pencil skirt. “Give me a Jack and Coke, would you?”

“Miss Murray, I’m shocked,” he said in mock-scandalized tones. “I thought you never drank in front of customers!”

“Then it’s a damn good thing I still have half an hour before we open for lunch.”

“Good point,” he said, pointing at me in approval before pulling out a clean glass and filling it with ice. “How annoyed are you, exactly? Two fingers of Jack worth, or more than that?”

“Two fingers is fine,” I said. “I do have work to do.”

After Paul made my drink, he leaned across the bar toward me, grinning wickedly. “I gotta tell you Murray, you’re pretty hot when you get all authoritative with the old fogies.”

I made a face at him. Paul could be a terrible flirt—of course, it probably didn't help that I occasionally agreed to go out with him. I must remember to stop encouraging him.

“Don’t you have work to do?” I asked.

He shrugged, his grin growing even wider. “Why? Wanna sneak into a broom closet or something?”

I couldn't help but laugh. On some guys, a line like that would have earned a spilled drink in the crotch region, but I found it nearly impossible to be offended by Paul. It probably had something to do with the fact that I had known him for most of my life. In addition to our recent habit of hooking up every few months, we had also “dated” back in high school, whatever that meant. With his sandy blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a seemingly permanent I’m-up-to-no-good grin, Paul was sexy, funny, flirtatious, and completely harmless.

“You better watch out,” I told him, leaning toward him slightly. I crossed my legs, knowing my skirt would rise up a bit and show off my legs, and shook my hair out behind me, giving him my best come-hither expression. I stifled a laugh when I saw his eyes widen slightly. Guys were so predictable. “You wouldn't want to piss off the woman who signs your pay check.”

Paul appeared momentarily dazed, so I took the opportunity to enjoy my drink in peace. Looking around the dining room, I felt my spirits dip a bit. On my list of things I wished I could change about the inn, the restaurant was tops. We managed to keep it pretty full with guests during the high season, and locals kept it going the rest of the year, but I personally hated it. The walls and ceiling were covered in wood paneling, giving it a dark and outdated feeling. The small number of windows in the space only added to that vibe. The food was good quality, but had little imagination. Meat and potatoes ruled the menu. I suppose it worked for our clientele, but I longed to modernize it, make it something really special. I was tired of catering to the way things had always been; I wanted us to innovate.

“Sweetheart,” my father said, joining Paul and me at the bar. “I was thinking I’d like to bring in someone to lead some turkey-hunting tours.” My dad’s voice was overly casual, the way someone might sound when trying his damnedest to put one over on his daughter. “I think it could be a real benefit for our guests, maybe even bring in some new clients. And I happen to know a turkey-hunting expert—you remember my friend Bill? I’m sure I could talk him into coming in a few days a week to help us out.”

So much for innovating.

“Dad, we can’t afford anything like that right now,” I said, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. It was no wonder my parents had ended up half broke before I came home to help turn things around. “Which I told your friend Bill when he inquired about a job ten minutes ago.” My dad had the good grace to look abashed. “Besides,” I went on, not quite willing to drop it yet. “Turkey-hunting season ends in less than a week.”

Paul snorted behind the bar, and my dad blushed. I sighed, feeling exasperation mix with a flash of respect for his loyalty. He was a good man, my dad. Unfortunately, that didn’t always translate to good business sense.

“Dad, you can’t keep hiring your friends to do a bunch of crap we don't even need doing,” I said, squeezing his arm. “I know you want to help people out, but you’ll do a lot more harm than good to your actual employees if this place goes out of business. We’ve talked about this, remember?”

“I know,” my dad sighed. “I just feel bad.”

“Bill is a grown man, with social security and a pension. You are not responsible for him.”

“Yeah, Mr. M.,” Paul said, shaking his head. “Besides, I heard he’s been out buying a bunch of fancy jewelry for that new girl of his. Hardly sounds like he’s struggling to put food on the table.”

I thought it was quite a stretch to refer to Bill’s sixty-five-year-old lover as a new girl, but I kept my mouth shut, knowing Paul was onto something.

My dad’s eyes lit up, the way they always did when presented with a new piece of gossip. “I’m not surprised,” he said, leaning across the bar conspiratorially. “Bill just can’t resist a younger woman. It was just the same with the last one. What was her name? That widow from up in Marquette?”

“Mrs. Jenkins,” Paul said, meeting my eyes over my dad’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” I mouthed. Once you got my dad going on gossip, he would forget just about anything that had been bothering him. Paul nodded his head minutely in my direction before returning his attention back to my dad, who was now going on about the scandal that had erupted when it turned out Mr. Jenkins was not quite so dead as Mrs. Jenkins had led everyone to believe.

Knowing my dad was in good hands, I got up from the bar and headed out through the restaurant. Kellie, the dining hostess, gave me a little wave as I passed her podium. “All set?” I called out.

“We’re good to go,” she said. “I figure I’ll open a few minutes before twelve. You know how the Hartfords like to get here right at noon.”

“Thanks, Kel.”

I took one last look around the dining room before heading to the main staircase, knowing things down here were pretty well taken care of. It was hard to mess up lunch in this place; you made some steak sandwiches, made sure you had plenty of Cobb salad and hot coffee, and you were pretty much good to go.

I was much more concerned with the current state of the guest rooms. We were a small inn, with only twenty rooms. About half were family rooms, with two double beds and a seating area, while the rest were better suited to couples with a single king-sized bed. In addition, we had one phenomenal suite, which was my personal favorite and where I headed now.

As it had been a while since we’d had a full house, I decided I should go through each room and make sure we weren't in need of anything. The most frustrating part of my job, bar none, was the constant breakdown or loss of everyday items. I was constantly on the lookout for broken lamps, torn bedding, missing towels. It drove me crazy.

The suite was situated on the third floor and had the best view of the lake of any hotel in the town. At one time, the third floor had essentially been an attic. A renovation by the previous owners had added several more rooms to the floor, but the suite, situated at the back of the property, had kept its slanted ceilings, gabled windows, and turreted corners. Furnished with dark woods and luxurious linens, it had a romantic, cozy charm that I was crazy about.

When I was little and the suite was unoccupied, I used to sneak up to the third floor and hide here to get away from the guests and noise below. Emily and I would sit in the cushioned window seat, the space just big enough for the two of us, and stare out at the lake, talking for hours about school and boys and the things we wished for our futures.

Never would have seen this one coming
, I thought to myself, as I finished my inspection of the suite and headed down the hall. Right back where I started from—single in Alpena, my life revolving around the comfort and pleasures of paying guests. And no Emily to keep me company now.

My inventory of the guest rooms took me right up to dinnertime. Since I had skipped lunch, I decided I would go and find my parents and see if they wanted to eat with me in the dining room. Wednesday night was usually pot roast, and our cook, Mrs. Miller, made a mean pot roast.

“Looking for your folks?” Paul asked as I made my way into the dining room, my stomach sinking a bit as I took in the meager number of diners. We counted on the restaurant to get us through these slow months.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to put the stress from my mind. Worrying only aggravated my ulcer. At my last check-up, my doctor had told me that I would need to either stress less or give up coffee, and God knows I couldn't live without coffee.

“Your mom said to tell you they were eating in the apartment and you were welcome to join them.”

I perched on a barstool, considering. I liked to stay in the main building until the dinner hour was over, at least, and I knew if I went home, I wouldn't want to leave again. The draw of pajamas after a long day in heels was just too enticing to pass up.

“I think I’ll just grab something here,” I said, moving to get up again. Paul held up his hand to stop me.

“Just sit,” he said. “You look dead on your feet. I’ll send someone to the kitchen to get you a plate.”

I smiled at him gratefully. When he wasn’t trying to get into my pants, Paul could be really sweet. He motioned for one of the waiters to come over and instructed him to bring me the special. “Thanks,” I said, patting his arm. “You're a model employee. That reminds me, I found three loose doorknobs upstairs. Could you take care of that tomorrow?”

“Sure thing, since you seem content to never hire a full-time handyman, like you promised me last year.” In addition to tending bar, Paul often helped out around the inn with minor projects, a job he was constantly bemoaning but always eager to perform. I think he enjoyed working with his hands; he was certainly good at it.

“I’ll pay you for your time, whiner.”

“You really like throwing that back in my face, don't you? The whole you being my boss thing.”

“I have so few pleasures in my life, Paul. I have to find amusement where I can.”

Paul threw his head back and laughed. “Yeah, Brooke Murray is living the clean and virtuous life. Right.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked. “And don’t forget the aforementioned boss thing.”

“Murray, you know I’m madly in love with you, as is every other male in the county, so take it as a compliment when I say clean and virtuous are the last words that come to mind when I think of you. You drink like a fish, swear like a sailor, and you walk around this town in your little skirts and tight sweaters like some kind of hybrid of sex-kitten and ball-buster.”

“But, Paul, that’s just part of my charm.”

He laughed again. “And you have no idea how charming it really is.”

My food arrived from the kitchen, and I turned my attention to stuffing my face. I had never been one of those girls that refused to eat in front of a cute boy. Any guy that was turned off by a healthy appetite was not worth my time.

“So, what are you up to tonight?” Paul asked as I used a biscuit to mop up some of Mrs. Miller’s amazing gravy.

“I was gonna turn in early,” I said, taking a slug of the beer he had poured for me. “You’d be surprised how busy this week turned out to be, seeing as how we have no guests.”

“Getting ready for the geek squad?”

I pointed my fork at him. “You better be nice to these guys, Paul. I mean it. They’re giving us some very good business, and we owe it to them to provide them with a nice stay. That goes for all the staff—smart-mouth bartenders included.”

He held up his hands. “I’ll be nice, I promise,” he said.

“You better,” I warned, turning back to my food.

“You do have a full day until they get here though,” he said. “That’s plenty of time to get ready. Why don't you come out with us tonight?”

I gave him a shrewd look over my beer glass. “Who, specifically, is us, and what are you guys planning on doing?”

“Us, specifically, is Tom, Joel, and Trevor, and whoever else they invite. We’re going to Hardy’s to watch the game and have a few. Very low key.”

“Joel, huh? Is Joel’s girlfriend going to be there, by any chance?”

Paul leaned closer to me, a grin on his face. “No,” he said, his voice low. “And you didn’t hear this from me, but word is he dumped her, finally.”

I gave a low whistle. “Wow. Well, it’s about time.”

Paul laughed. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“Paul, you know that girl is a bitch. And I do not use that word lightly.”

“She does have certain bitch-like qualities,” he agreed. “And God knows she treats you like crap.”

I frowned, taking another sip of my beer. Just as all the other people Paul had mentioned, I had known Justine Marker for most of my life. She’d been a downright witch to me in school, and her behavior hadn’t improved much since we’d grown up. I didn't like to use the word hate, but I figured I came about as close to hating Justine as anyone else in the world.

Unfortunately, behavior like that was not unique to Justine. I had never had very much luck with girlfriends, with the exception of Emily, of course. It seemed like once we reached junior high, every girl in town suddenly saw me as a threat, rather than as a friend. Like it was my fault that I’d had to start wearing a bra before everyone else. Did they think it was fun being the object of lust for a bunch of thirteen-year-old boys? Did they have any idea how terrible boys were to the girls they liked at that age? Yet it turned them all against me, even girls Emily and I had spent our elementary school days playing with every day. In my experience, there were few things scarier in the world than a girl with a jealousy issue.