An Unexpected Love Story (Love Story Book Two)

by Schurig, Rachel

  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.

  “You still with me, Brooke?” Paul asked, waving his hand in front of my face.

  I smiled, trying to put such unhappy thoughts out of my head. “I’m even more tired than I thought,” I told him. “Guess I really shouldn't come out.”

  “Oh, come on, Brooke,” he said, his voice taking on a pleading quality. “We never have any fun without you. And you know Joel will be all kinds of moody tonight, now that he’s free from Justine’s clutches. Come on, say you'll come.”

  “You really are a whiney little girl, aren't you?”

  “You'll have a good time, I promise,” he said, changing tactic. “You haven't been out in ages. And you know you’ll be super busy this weekend, with the convention. You could use a bit of relaxation first.”

  “Fine,” I said, laughing in spite of myself. Paul’s persistence had gotten me into lots of trouble over the years. “I’ll be there.”

  Paul gave me his best wicked grin. “Good. We’ll have fun, promise. You won’t regret it.”

  Chapter Three

  As it turned out, I did regret it. Not that it was Paul’s fault. I could say it was because of Justine, but I’m old enough to admit when I have no one to blame but myself.

  The night started out typically enough. Hardy’s bar was one of the few places in town that actually stayed open later than eleven p.m., so it was typically the busiest place for miles—which wasn’t really saying much. But they served good food and even better beer and had satellite TV playing every sporting event imaginable. Everyone always made fun of Hardy’s, a typical dive bar in a typical podunk town, but we all secretly loved it. It was laid back and comfortable and a great place to chill out with friends.

  As was often the case, I was one of the few girls in our group. In addition to Joel, Paul, Trevor, and Tom, we were also joined by a few guys who worked with Trevor out at the car dealership. They were okay guys, but had a tendency to stare at me in a way that made me uncomfortable, until I finally glared at them both so hard they got the point. Tom’s girlfriend was there, too. A nice, pretty girl named Carrie. Unlike most of the group, she had grown up in Presque Isle, twenty or so miles away, so I didn’t immediately know her. She seemed nice enough, but pretty much concerned herself only with Tom, sitting close to him throughout the night and whispering in his ear as she giggled.

  For the most part, I liked hanging out with Paul’s friends and had a good time when I was with them. They teased me a bit, but I actually found it comforting. It made me feel like I was one of the gang, instead of the slutty girl that all the other girls should be intimidated by.

  The evening progressed as they normally did. There was a hockey game on, and we all got a little trashed watching the Red Wings beat up on the Maple Leafs. By the third period, I’d had enough to drink to warrant my standing up to scream at the screen along with the boys.

  “That was the worst call I’ve ever seen!” I yelled, shaking my beer at the official on the screen.

  “Easy there, Murray,” Paul said, laughing a little as he pulled me back down to my seat. “We’re up 5-1, there’s no need to spill your beer.”

  “True,” I said, settling myself onto my chair. “I love the beer.”

  Paul was still laughing. “You know,” he said, suddenly leaning closer to me. “I really love you like this. All relaxed and having fun. You should let go more often.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, I so have time for that. I have a business to run, you know.”

  Paul shook his head. “No one ever really understood why you came back,” he said. “You always hated that place. Everyone figured you’d be working at some major corporation in New York or Chicago by now.”

  I took another sip of my beer. “That was the plan,” I sighed.

  “So why’d you do it then?” he asked. “Why’d you come back?”

  I was already feeling my buzz start to slip a little at the tone the conversation had taken. I was so not in the mood to go there tonight.

  “I couldn’t resist the idea of coming back to be near you,” I said instead, winking at him. Now it was Paul’s turn to snort.

  “Yeah, right. I know how the balance of this relationship goes, Murray. I’ve been chasing after you since we were what, fifteen? Pining after you. Desperate for whatever little crumb you’d be willing to give me.”

  “Like you’ve ever pined after anyone.”

  “I did, when you left,” he said, his eyes suddenly growing serious. “I knew I missed my chance with you. I was afraid you’d be a big-city girl in no time, never to return to me in our little town.”

  I found myself staring at his eyes and realized I was willing myself to feel something more about the intensity I saw there. It was no use. I liked Paul a lot, I always had. I liked hanging out with him and having fun and even flirting with him. But there was just nothing else there.

  “If I recall,” I said, keeping my voice light and playful, trying to rouse him back to his former low-key mood, “you were seeing three different girls at the time I left for school.”

  Paul gave me a little smirk. “Yeah, well, it’s hard to keep the ladies away from all of this.” He waved his hands down over himself as he raised an eyebrow at me. “It’d be cruel to deny them.” His face turned serious again as he looked down at his beer. “But I would’ve given it all up for the chance to say Brooke Murray was my girl.”

  “Oh, Paul,” I said, wrapping my arm around him. “Don’t get morose. You promised me a good time tonight, remember?”

  “Yeah,” he said, downing his beer and standing up. “Come on, Murray. The jukebox is free and you should be dancing.”

  Though Emily and I had long decried the limited options of the jukebox at Hardy’s, I joined Paul on the little dance floor all the same. After four bottles of Bud Light, I figured it was the kind of night where classic rock was appropriate. Tom and Carrie soon joined us, seeming to do their best to procreate right there on the dance floor. Paul caught my gaze and rolled his eyes, making me laugh and feel happier than ever that I was hanging out with him.

  After about half an hour, I was feeling sweaty and tired, in that good way that always seems to accompany dancing. I told Paul I needed a break, and he joined me back at our table, now nearly empty save for Joel, who seemed immeasurably depressed at the loss of Justine.

  “Cheer up,” I told him, plopping down in the seat next to him. “Come on, I’ll buy you a beer.”

  “I miss her, Brooke,” he said, his voice sad and pretty slurred. I realized that he was hammered. How much had he been drinking tonight? I felt bad for not noticing. I had known Joel for ages, and though I hadn’t been able to associate with him much since Justine had come onto the scene, he was an old friend. I should have tried harder to cheer him up earlier in the night.

  “Joel, you’re gonna be fine,” I said bracingly. “Trust me. You can do so much better.”

  “I don’t want better,” he moaned. “I just want Justine.”

  “Why?” I asked, unable to help myself. How could such a witch inspire such sadness by her absence? It defied logic. “I mean, what was so great about her?”

  “She had such nice hair,” he sniffed. “It always smelled good. And pretty skin, too. You know how her skin was always so pretty?”

  “If by pretty you mean covered under an inch of makeup,” I muttered. Joel didn’t seem to hear me. “Was she nice to you?”

  “Well,” he said, screwing up his face as if he was struggling to remember. “Sometimes she was.”

  I rolled my eyes, not all surprised.

  “Come on, Joel,” Paul said. “She was mean and demanding all the time. She made you freaking miserable, man.”

  “I know,” Joel agreed, nodding his head sadly. “But she was always there.”

  “You
’re just lonely,” I told him, patting his back. “You’ll find someone else. You’re a great catch.”

  “What in the hell do you think you’re doing, bitch?”

  I looked up, my stomach dropping at the sound of the voice. Sure enough, Justine was standing just behind me, her arms crossed, an ugly glare on her face.

  “Good to see you, Justine,” I said, my voice dripping with sweet sarcasm. “You’re looking nice tonight.” If you considered three inches of stonewashed denim skirt nice. Which, apparently, she did.

  “Shut up,” she snapped. “What do you think you’re doing with him?”

  “I’m not with him,” I snapped right back. “But it wouldn’t be any of your business if I was.”

  “He’s my boyfriend,” she hissed. “You better get the fuck up from that table now, bitch.”

  “Sorry, Justine,” I said. “I thought you said boyfriend, but I must have been mistaken, seeing as how he dumped you yesterday. I guess I couldn’t understand you, since I don’t speak trash.”

  As I turned back to the table, I could hear the blood pounding in my ears. A huge part of me wanted to get up and punch her in the face. The better part of me refused to sink to her level. Just as I lifted my beer to my lips, eager for a pause to get myself under better control, I felt someone shove me, hard, from behind. As my beer sloshed down my T-shirt, I sighed. Sorry, better self, I thought. You’re about to get outvoted.

  I stood up and turned to Justine, happy to see her shrink back a little. I had quite a few inches on her. “Did you just touch me?” I said, my voice low.

  “Okay, girls,” Paul said, coming to stand between us. “Let’s not get kicked out the bar tonight, okay? Justine, just go on home.”

  “But she’s with him,” she snarled, pointing down at Joel. For the first time since she had arrived, I looked at him. He was staring at her with a confused expression, looking like he might throw up.

  “No, she’s not,” Paul said. “She’s with me. And we are here trying to cheer up your ex-boyfriend, since he’s feeling so down about recent events. So just leave, okay?”