An Unexpected Love Story (Love Story Book Two) (21 page)

Shirley, a rather grumpy woman in her mid fifties, shrugged at me. “No idea. He said he needed the night off and asked me to come in. I would have thought you’d see it on your schedule.”

She had a point; I did approve all the schedules for the inn and restaurant. Yet another thing I had let slip since John came back. Suddenly I remembered my conversation with Paul that afternoon; he had told me he had plans, but I had assumed he meant for after work. “We’ll probably end up at Hardy’s,” he had said. Making up my mind in an instant, I grabbed my purse from my office. The inn would survive one night without me.

I pulled up in front of Hardy’s ten minutes later and scanned the room for Paul. Unfortunately, I found Justine first. I groaned; so much for my carefree night out. Justine was sitting alone at a table on the other side of the bar, but I was sure Nikky or some other awful girl couldn’t be far away. I pulled out my phone, figuring I would call Paul and find out where he was, maybe go and meet him. I would rather be anywhere but where Justine Marker was.

Before I could even find Paul in my contact list, I saw him across the bar, walking from the direction of the bathrooms. I smiled at the sight. Paul was dressed in faded Levis and his old Styx T-shirt. “They’re they best band ever, Brooke,” he would say firmly whenever I teased him about them. “The best band. Ever.”

I forgot, sometimes, how good looking Paul really was, even dressed down like this—especially dressed down like this; the consequence, probably, of having known him so well for so long. Few people could do T-shirts and jeans as well as Paul. The old material of his shirt stretched across his broad chest, the black of the fabric making his tanned forearms stand out. I could remember, quite clearly, exactly how soft that fabric felt between my fingers when I pulled it over his head. I shook my head to dispel such inappropriate thoughts. I saw Paul stop at the bar, bumping fists with someone sitting there. Whatever the guy said to him made him laugh, because he threw his head back a little, his sandy blond hair hitting the collar of his T-shirt. His hair was longer than I remembered it, and I felt a pang. Different hair, different aftershave. What else had I missed?

I didn’t have to wait long to find out. Finished with his conversation at the bar, Paul turned and headed straight to Justine’s table, kissing her on the top of the head before sitting down across from her. Immediately she leaned forward over the table, intent, I was sure, to show off her cleavage.

I felt a surge of rage shoot through me at the sight. Paul was with Justine? After everything she had done to me, everything we had said about her, Paul was here, on a date, with fucking Justine Marker?

I wanted to kill him. Seriously, I had a flash of what it would be like to just
kill
him. And her. God, what I wouldn’t have given in that moment to stride over and slap her. How dare she? How dare
he
?

Before I could do anything but gape at them in horror, Paul looked up, his eyes immediately meeting mine across the room. They widened slightly, but he gave no other response. He said something to Justine and got up from the table, walking directly to me. Behind him, I saw Justine turn, her eyes narrowing at the sight of me.

Paul didn’t bother with hellos. “Come here,” he said, taking me by the elbow and leading me into the little entry vestibule. Once the door closed behind us, I jerked my arm away from him.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I hissed.

I was surprised to find that Paul looked nearly as pissed as I felt.

“Just go home, Brooke.”

“What the hell is going on, Paul?” I asked, ignoring him. “Are you, like, with her now?”

“What’s it to you?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“Are you kidding me?” I cried again, my voice rising to a shout. “Tell me that you’re kidding, Paul.”

“Listen, Brooke,” he said, leaning forward so his face was directly in mine. “Who I go out with is none of your business, okay? You have no right to show up here and be pissed off when you don’t like what you see.”

“It’s Justine Marker, Paul!” I yelled. “You know I hate her, you know all the crap she’s done to me!”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not on a date with her,” he shot back. “But none of that shit has anything to do with me.”

His words hit me like a blow to the gut. “How I feel has nothing to do with you?” I asked, pissed anew to hear the shaking of my voice. “The things that have happened to me have nothing to do with you?”

Paul sighed. “God, Brooke, why are you doing this to me? You have a boyfriend. You’re all blissed out in your new life with the cool guy from the big city. You have exactly what you always wanted, right? So why do you care what I do?”

Exactly what I always wanted
. Is that what I had with John? He was pretty much the way I would have pictured my dream man when I was growing up. Gorgeous, sophisticated, exciting. Then why did I feel like I was about to burst into tears?

Paul was watching my face closely, and suddenly his softened. “Look, Murray. It’s not a big deal with Justine and me, okay? We’ve just been hanging out lately. I know you don’t like her, so I didn’t tell you about it. But it’s really not something to get worked up over, okay?”

He had a point, of course. There was no reason for me to be so bothered by who he dated. In the years that I had known him, Paul had dated tons of girls. I had always teased him about being a player, and he would, in turn, tease me about being a hussy. It was something we had always had in common. So why did the idea of him with Justine make me so upset? I literally felt sick to my stomach at the thought.

“I’m sorry to put a damper on your night,” I finally said, trying to pull myself together. “You’re right, it’s none of my business.” I turned to go, but Paul once again caught me by the elbow, turning me to face him. He looked at me for a long moment, not speaking. I felt my cheeks start to color, though I hardly knew why. His gaze was intense, his eyes a fraction of a shade darker than they usually were. Staring up at him, I felt my stomach dip sharply.

But then Paul sighed and released my arm. “Drive safe,” he said softly. I stared at him for a moment longer, seemingly unable to pull my eyes away.

“Night,” I whispered, not understanding what I was feeling.

I don’t know how long we would have stood like that, staring at each other in the vestibule, had Justine not chosen that moment to burst through the door.

I groaned, knowing I could not handle a run-in with her.

“What the hell’s going on?” she asked, her voice cold.

“I’m just leaving,” I said, turning to go. “Have a good night.”

“Get lost, Brooke,” she said.

I spun to face her, some of the rage returning. “What the hell part of ‘I’m just leaving’ did you not understand?”

“I’m serious,” she said, taking a step toward me. “Stay the fuck away from him. You think he’s yours, don’t you? That you can just screw him whenever you want and then throw him away—”

I raised my hand to slap her, unable to take it anymore, but Paul grabbed my hand before I could make contact.

“Just go, Brooke,” he said, sounding tired. “It’s not worth it.”

“
She’s
not worth it,” I clarified. And then, because I was pissed at him as well and feeling mean, I added, “isn’t that what you always tell me about her? That she’s not worth it?”

I just caught a glimpse of her enraged face before I spun on my heel, not wanting to look at either of them for a second longer, and strode out into the night, my anger fueling me all the way to my truck.

It was only once I was inside that I let myself think about Justine’s words, about what she had said about Paul and me, and about how very right she actually had been.

Chapter Twenty-four

For the first time in my life, things were awkward between Paul and me. We had been friends for ages, had dated and hooked up, wanted different things, lived in different cities, but through it all we had remained friends. Now, for the first time, I wondered if we had lost that. We didn’t talk about Justine or our fight at the bar—in fact, we didn’t talk about much at all. I had no idea if they were together still or if my parting shot had caused him any problems. When we did talk, it was only about work, and Paul regarded me with a blank and indifferent expression that, for some reason, made me feel slightly nauseated. I constantly asked myself why I should care so much that he was dating Justine, but I couldn’t come up with a reason. All I knew was that his seeing her felt like the worst kind of betrayal.

Then, in early April, something happened that pushed Paul and Justine right out of my mind. Something that would, in fact, change my entire life.

I was eating dinner with my parents down in the inn’s restaurant. Mrs. Miller had made lasagna that night, and I was concentrating so hard on eating that I didn’t even notice that my parents looked worried.

“Brookie,” my mother said as I dug into my second piece of garlic bread. “Your father and I have something to tell you.”

I looked up at her, the bread dangling from my fingertips. This wasn’t going to be good, I could tell.

“What?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”

My mom looked at my father. He stared at me helplessly for a minute, silent, then cast his gaze down to the floor, looking lost. I felt a stab of fear. Was someone sick? My mom sighed and reached out for my hand.

“Sweetie, we’re selling the inn.”

I stared at her in confusion for a minute, before turning my attention to my dad. He was still looking down at his plate, as if unable to meet my eyes.

“I don’t understand,” I finally said. “What are you saying?”

“We’ve gotten a very good offer from those developers, and we’ve decided to accept it,” my mother said.

“Wait, you’ve already decided this?” I asked, my voice raising. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Paul at the bar, looking over in our direction.

“Yes.”

“Without talking to me about it? Without even consulting me? Are you freaking kidding me?”

“Don’t use that language,” my mother said automatically.

I stared at my dad. He was still gazing down at his plate. “Dad,” I shouted. “What the hell is this?”

When he raised his head, I was shocked to see tears in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Brookie,” he whispered. “I really messed up.”

“But it can’t be final,” I said. “You haven’t signed anything yet, have you?”

“No, I wasn’t talking about the sale,” he said. “The sale is necessary
because
I messed up.”

“What are you talking about?”

“There are debts,” he whispered.

I waved my hand. “I know about the debts. Why do you think I’ve been working so hard? We’re almost clear.”

“No, Brooke. There are debts you don’t know about. Private agreements between me and a few businesses in town.”

“Wait, you took out private loans? Without telling me?”

“This was years ago, Brooke,” he said, his face pained. “Way before you came back. I’ve been paying them back—”

“I would have noticed payments from the inn’s account,” I started to say, but he held up a hand.

“I was using my own money. I didn’t want you to know. These people were friends of mine. They assured me not to worry about it, to pay what I could. But then…”

“What?”

“Duggan Development bought Betty’s store last week,” my mom said, her voice quiet. “Apparently their plans require more land than just our property. Once the sale went through…Our debt was on the books at Betty’s. They’re demanding repayment or they’ll take us to court.”

I stared at her, openmouthed. This couldn’t be happening.

“How much?”

“It doesn’t matter,” my mother said. “We can’t get money from the bank—”

“You don’t know that. Let me talk to them—”

“We tried, Brooke,” she said, sounding tired. “You know what happened to our credit when Daddy got hurt. They say we’re a bad risk.”

“I’ll take it out in my name,” I said. “I have excellent credit.”

“You’re not doing that,” my dad said firmly. “You’re not going into debt because of me. I won’t allow it.”

“But, Dad,” I said, feeling like I was about to burst into tears. “It’s the
inn
.”

As I said the word, I suddenly understood just how much this place had come to mean to me. After all my years of complaining, all the months of resenting it since I came back—somehow, in the middle of all of that, I had fallen in love with this place. It meant more to me than I could have ever guessed. The thought of it being torn down caused a physical pain in my chest.

“I know that, baby,” my dad said, his own tears starting to spill over now. “I know how much it matters to you. I know how hard you worked to save it. I’m so sorry.”

I couldn’t believe this was happening. I looked back and forth between my parents, completely at a loss for words.

“They are offering us a fair price, Brooke. More than fair, I’d say,” my mom said. “They could use the debt to force us into a bad deal, but they’re not doing that. We’re lucky, really.”

“Lucky?” I couldn’t believe she could use that word to describe this situation. What the hell were we going to do?