All That I Want: A Queensbay Small Town Romance

by Drea Stein

  All That I Want

  Queensbay Small Town Romance - Book #6

  Jake & Colleen’s Story

  by

  Drea Stein

  Copyright © 2017 by Andrea “Drea” Stein.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  GirlMogul Media

  309 Main Street

  Ste 101

  Lebanon, NJ 08833

  www.dreastein.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  V3

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 1

  Colleen McShane pulled the tap and let the Guinness pour slowly into the glass, watching as the dark liquid crept to the top. Not too fast, not too slow, but just right, and she smiled in satisfaction as just the thinnest layer of foam settled at the top. She maneuvered the glass underneath the tap, and her smile grew even wider. She’d managed to draw the shamrock symbol in the layer of foam and, as she set the glass down in front of her customer, she was rewarded with a cheery “thanks” and the push of a bill across the polished expanse of the bar.

  She moved gracefully down the length of the high counter, checking on her patrons, noticing when one needed another round and when others wanted to be left alone. Wednesday night at Quent’s Pub, one of Queensbay’s two drinking establishments, was in full swing, and for a small town in New England before the start of the tourist season, things were hopping.

  She didn’t usually work Wednesday nights, but Quentin Tate, the owner, had called Colleen and begged a favor from her, mentioning something about a family emergency, which was odd because as far as she knew, Quent didn’t seem to have a family. He was an enigma, who, according to local gossip, had turned up in Queensbay a few years ago, started working the bar at the Ship’s Inn, and when Sully, the owner of the Ship’s Inn, had wanted to retire, had bought him out with a suitcase full of cash.

  Quent had surprised everyone and completed a renovation that had transformed the former dive bar into an upscale sports pub, complete with big screen TVs, a decent bar food menu, and a décor that was homage to all things English, the island from where Quent claimed to hail.

  Colleen, having spent a decent amount of time there, was pretty sure that Quent’s accent was London by way of Brooklyn. But she enjoyed his cheery “luvs” and colorful slang as much as the next person and the patrons ate it up. In keeping with the British theme, Wednesday night was New Wave night, and the classics were playing: U2, The Cure, Oasis, and Coldplay. Colleen was in charge of the playlist, and she was getting all of her favorites in.

  She surveyed the landscape, wiped an imaginary water spot off the bar, and smiled. She had called in her own favor from Mrs. Halifax to watch Adele, since her mom was working the night shift at the hospital, but the tips were definitely worth it. Colleen poured the remains of a drink down the drain and set the empty glass into the sink. She needed to get a whole stack of glasses loaded into the dishwasher, but the tap on the keg of light beer was starting to act up. Nothing she couldn’t handle, but without backup, she didn’t want to be fiddling around with things while customers went thirsty.

  “Are you new here?” asked a woman. Her tone was curious, friendly. She’d been watching Colleen for a while, with a cool, appraising stare, but this was the first question she had asked. Her accent was from well south of the Mason-Dixon Line, a slow, syrupy drawl unlike the cool, clipped tones of New England.

  “Sort of,” Colleen said. “I used to work at the Osprey Arms but heard there was an opening here. Another?” The story rolled off her tongue easily enough; though it stretched the truth, it would do for now.

  The woman nodded, and Colleen pulled out the bottle of nice French white that the woman had asked for specifically. Quent had told her it was only for special customers.

  “Quent around?” the woman asked, casually enough, but Colleen detected a tone of interest in her voice. The woman had glossy dark hair that hung in waves below her shoulders and wore a dress that Colleen envied, which would have been more at home at an elegant restaurant than a townie bar in Queensbay.

  “Family emergency. Least that’s what he told me.”

  “Really?” the woman said, one dark eyebrow curling up in surprise.

  Colleen knew the other woman was thinking the same thing she had. Quent didn’t seem like he had any family who would have called him to an emergency. Colleen threw her a smile in sisterly agreement as she wrestled with the finicky tap. It took a while, but she finally got a decent beer poured and sent it down to the middle-aged man at the other end of the bar. He was not so discretely eyeing the woman chatting with Colleen. Colleen wiped her hands and looked a little more closely. Beautiful, yes, she thought of her conversation partner, but maybe not as young as Colleen had first thought. Not that she was judging; hell, she’d be pleased as punch to look that good at any age.

  “By the way, I’m Eleanor DeWitt, but my friends call me Ellie,” she said. “As you can tell, I’m not exactly from around here. After my husband died, I came to Queensbay to be closer to my son. He runs a car dealership in town.”

  Ellie held out a beautifully manicured hand, and Colleen took it, shaking it lightly.

  “Nice to meet you, Ellie, I’m Colleen McShane. Born and bred in Queensbay.”

  “You don’t look it,” Ellie said, “and suga
r, I mean that as compliment. You’re not quite as preppy as the rest of the locals, with their Vera Bradley and L.L. Bean, if you know what I mean. I’m pretty sure the top you’re wearing wasn’t bought within five hundred miles of here.”

  Colleen laughed at the assessment. “I just moved back from Paris. I came back to spend more time with my mother.” Another half-truth, but Ellie was having none of it.

  “Well, if that isn’t a way to say that there was a man involved, then I don’t know what is.”

  Colleen shrugged and said, “I didn’t think it was that obvious.”

  “Oh, darling, there’s always a man, in my experience.”

  Colleen fell silent. She’d never meant to have her life defined by a man. After her father had walked out, she’d vowed never to rearrange her life for any man. But, looking back now, that was exactly what she’d done. No more, however. She had moved back home to start over. It wasn’t the first time she’d reinvented herself, but this time she was taking her time with it.

  “Don’t worry. I can see you don’t want to talk about it,” Ellie said, with a wave of her hand. “Well, no worries, you can tell Ellie when you’re ready. Anyway, here’s to starting over.”

  Ellie raised her glass and Colleen lifted the cup of club soda she kept handy behind the bar, and they toasted. Colleen smiled, feeling the tension she’d been carrying around ease just a bit. The trouble with coming back home was that it felt like all eyes were on her, to see if she was just like she had been before she had left. Ellie, new to town, wouldn’t remember the old Colleen, which felt like a good thing.

  Colleen worked while she chatted with Ellie. Colleen had a feeling that Ellie was keeping an eye out for Quent, but she was friendly enough and nicer to talk to than the guy at the end of the bar, who had parked himself there just as happy hour had begun and hadn’t moved since. She called him Chino Charlie, since she was fond of alliteration. He had told her to call him Charlie when he sat down and plunked a hundred-dollar bill on the bar, as if that would buy him her full attention.

  She had studied him, sizing him up. He wore a pair of tailored chinos, expensive loafers without socks, and an aggressively blue and white striped dress shirt, wide open at the neck with diamond-studded cufflinks at the wrists and an obscenely expensive watch. He was just past middle age and had been getting friendlier as his alcohol intake began to affect him. First it had been a bourbon on the rocks, and then he had switched to beer, but it was obvious he was feeling a little loose. Usually when Quent was working, he would handle guys like that. He ran a tight ship, and customers weren’t supposed to be ogling the servers. At least that was what he’d told her.

  She had snorted at that and responded that she’d been tending bar since she was eighteen and knew a thing or two about handling a drunk. Still, she usually had backup, but tonight, until Quent got in, it was only skeleton crew in the kitchen, none of whom looked tough enough to throw this guy out. Still, she had a few tricks up her sleeve, and she was prepared to use them.

  “You’re not the usual bartender, are you?” Chino Charlie asked, trying to be friendly. She’d already heard about his car, and his boat, mostly because he’d kept dropping hints about the size of its cabin. She knew that he had a house on the water in the next town over, an apartment in the city, and a share in a private jet. She didn’t believe half of it but nodded and tried to be polite but distant. There were a set of keys in front of him, and Colleen was already planning on the best way to cut him off, swipe his keys, and find him a cab ride home.

  Quent had warned her not to try that trick on her own. That, he had told her, required sturdy backup of the male kind. Colleen sighed. She was quite capable of taking care of herself, and Chino Charlie, with his spare tire and flushed face, didn’t seem like he’d be too hard to handle. The music switched over to the B-52s’ “Rock Lobster.” Technically, they weren’t British at all, but she had a soft spot for them and their upbeat, happy style. She loved how the mood of the bar shifted, right along to the music.

  One of a group of women down at the end of the bar waved her down, enthusiasm radiating from her as she sang along to the lyrics. Colleen judged it was girls’ night, or book club night or, maybe it was just “it’s Wednesday night and the week was half over” night. The group was drinking Cosmopolitans, more than was probably good for them. The one who had been corralled into being the designated driver dutifully sipped a sparkling water as the level of giggling rose up around her. Colleen was sure that most of them would regret the Cosmos tomorrow morning, but they were appreciating the fun they were having tonight.

  They ordered another round, and as Colleen broke the shaker in half and poured two perfect drinks into the wide-lipped martini glasses, she told the water sipper, “Next time you come in, and you’re not the driver, first drink is on the house.”

  “Thanks,” the woman said and gave Colleen a smile, slightly less morose at the thought of her good deed paying off.

  Colleen twirled away, feeling good about the energy. She hadn’t had a drink herself tonight, but she loved the festive atmosphere. It was like planning and throwing a really great party, except here she was getting paid. She moved along with the beat of the music, glad she had on her favorite jeans, the pair she had painstakingly tracked down in a beloved Parisian boutique, as well as a shimmery sleeveless top she had picked up at Wal-Mart. Ellie had been only half right as to the origin of her clothes. But no one needed to know, and Colleen loved the mix of the high and low.

  Chino Charlie was getting to the bottom of his beer and doing his best to catch her eye, but she danced away and pretended to be busy checking the level of alcohol in some of the bottles. The door opened, and Colleen’s whole body registered that someone new had entered the pub. An instant later, she knew who it was: Jake Owen.

  Their eyes met across the long expanse of the room. Just then the audio slipped, and Bono’s haunting, sexy voice seemed to linger in the air, catching them in a web of old history, broken trust, and too much attraction. Then, just as suddenly, everything righted itself and the music went on, and the babble of the customers filled the air as if no one else had noticed what had just happened. And Colleen supposed they hadn’t.

  I should do the same thing, she thought, as she turned her back to him, telling herself that it was no big deal that Jake Owen had walked into her bar. She used the mirror behind the bar to her advantage and watched Jake as he squared his shoulders and started to wade his way through the crowd toward her.

  He walked easily enough, his confidence evident as he traversed the length of the room. People called out his name, slapped him on the back, and shook his hand. He was the big man around town and had been since he’d been the star of the high school football team, so good some had thought he’d make it to the NFL. That hadn’t happened, of course, those kinds of things almost never did, but he still took the recognition as his due, moving through the crowd, slowly, deliberately, giving everyone a little bit of time.

  In one part of her mind, the one that was a healthy, red-blooded, living breathing woman, with a pulse and eyes in her head, she registered his broad shoulders and the way his body tapered to his trim waist and then to his long legs. She admired the way that the sleeves of his shirt stretched tightly over his muscled arms. His hair was short, shorter than the last time she had seen him. He must have gotten a haircut. She liked it longer, she decided, even as his dark blue eyes, under the strong slash of brows, caught hers in the mirror.

  She looked away first, focusing on a getting a martini ready and finding what she needed to whip up another batch of Cosmos. Chino Charlie was done with his drink and signaling to her for another, but she continued to ignore him and everyone else until Jake was finally at the bar and standing in front of her. Looking up, Colleen carefully added three olives to the martini that Alfie, one of her favorite customers, liked dirty.

  Jake stood, fingering the collar of his dark blue polo shirt, which was embroidered with the name of his constructi
on company.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  She said nothing as she put the drink on a napkin and placed it in front of Alfie.

  “Working,” she replied. “Are you drinking or standing?”

  A slow, half-smile crept over his face, and he said, “I think I’ll stay and have a drink.” He took her up on her challenge and planted himself right at the bar.

  She scowled. She had meant to frighten him off, by being curt with him, knowing it was better for them both. She’d been doing that for the past few months she’d been in town, doing everything she could to let Jake Owen know to stay away. She’d even taken to crossing the street when she saw him, so they wouldn’t have to talk and, on those rare occasions when they did cross paths, she’d been downright rude. He should know without a question that she was trying to avoid him.

  But here he was, like he’d known just where to track her down.

  “Small town, only a couple places to drink,” he said. “Guess you’re stuck seeing me around, right, Colleen?” he said with a smile that was aimed only at her.

  And it was the smile that let her know. Or rather the way the smile made her feel. She was in trouble.

  “Oh, sugar, you’re always around,” Ellie chimed in with a laugh.

  “You two know each other?” Colleen looked between them, trying to not to let her thoughts show. She knew that Jake couldn’t have stayed alone all of these years, but Ellie was too old for Jake - wasn’t she?

  “We’re neighbors, in the apartments in the Annex over at that Marina,” Ellie said, her tone mild, as if she had guessed what Colleen was thinking.

  Colleen nodded. Okay, that explained it. No need to get worried. Not that she was, in any case. She was going to make sure that there was nothing between Jake Owen and her, no matter how many times he kept showing up in front of her.

  “Is this a better gig than the Osprey Arms?” Jake asked casually, mentioning the other place she’d worked until recently.

  “Sure. Better tips, boss is nicer,” she said and flicked a towel over another invisible spot. She’d switched jobs for a couple of reasons, none of them having to do with the size of the tips. Mostly it was because Jake was too frequent a customer at the Osprey Arms.