Page 27 of Must Have Been Love

Oh, he’s the guy in the yellow raincoat from the ferry. That makes sense. I immediately feel myself relaxing because he’s not after something. And I hate that I initially thought that but I’ve lived long enough to know that when a stranger approaches you they usually either want your body or want to con you out of money.

Often, both.

“I meant to stop by the bar to see how you’re getting along, but time got the better of me. I had a gig on the mainland and then I had to work.”

“A gig?” I ask, immediately interested. “What kind of gig?”

“I play the guitar and sing a little.” He looks almost embarrassed. I can see the pink of his skin beneath the sandy scruff of his beard. “I used to play at The Dog before…” he trails off. “Anyway, hi. Have you settled in yet?”

I wrinkle my nose. “It’s a work in progress, but it’s fine.” Truth is, I’m still going through Dad’s stuff. Bit by bit. I can’t stand to sort through things longer than an hour a day. It hurts, knowing that he bought these clothes to wear, not for me to bag them up to donate to charity.

The weirdest thing is his freezer. It’s full of pizzas and ready meals and every time I look inside I want to cry. He bought them fully intending to eat them and now he never will.

I won’t either. It just feels wrong somehow. I’m going to have to throw it all away but it feels like a waste. I don’t know what to do with it so I’ve left it. I haven’t told Lee that because she’ll think I’m some kind of over-sentimental idiot.

I probably am.

“But I don’t know that I’m settled in.” Mylene hands me my iced coffee, then pours a cup of drip for Jesse. “I guess I might never be. Depends how long I stay.”

His brows pinch as though he doesn’t like that answer. “I hope you do. I hope you open The Dog back up.”

I blink, because the man is probably missing the money from his gigs. I’ve heard a few people speculating on when the bar will reopen. I guess it’s important to the island. And the sooner I clean up the sooner I can sell it and the sooner everybody gets their favorite drinking hole back.

“I don’t think I can reopen it,” I say. “I don’t have a liquor licence.”

He tips his head to the side. “That’s not difficult. The local ABC office is right over on the mainland. You just have to show them your documentation and pay a fee.”

“ABC office?” I ask.

“Alcoholic Beverage Control. They issue all the licences for Liberty.”

“Doesn’t it take forever for them to process?” I ask. I don’t know why I’m even considering it. Lee would kill me if I stayed here long term. So would Mom.

“Usually, unless you know somebody with some power there.” He shrugs. “Hudson Fitzgerald got the licence for the hotel in three days.”

Ofcoursehe did. “I don’t know anybody there,” I say. I don’t know anybody anywhere. I don’t even want to run a bar.

Do I?

“Speak of the devil,” Jesse murmurs as we walk out of the coffee shop together. I see Hudson in the distance, one hand holding his phone to his ear as he barks something into the mouthpiece, the other holding his daughter’s as she skips beside him.

I take a sip of coffee. “I don’t think he’ll be any help,” I say to Jesse. “He wants to buy the bar. I can’t see him pushing the licence through for me.”

“He would if we all asked him to,” Jesse says. And for some reason it makes me feel warm that at least one person wants me to stay. I don’t think it’s because he’s attracted to me. Or at least I hope he’s not. If he is, he’s doing a good job of hiding it behind friendliness.

Don’t get me wrong, he’s a handsome man. Tall, muscled, with the kind of good looks you’d expect on a lumberjack in a Hallmark Movie. Once upon a time – okay most of the time – he’d be my type.

But there’s no spark there. Unlike…

Hudson turns around, still speaking fast into his phone, and spots Jesse and me standing outside the coffee shop. His eyes wander over the clothes I’m wearing today – an ankle length brown and pink paisley skirt, with a white tank and a thick vintage leather belt I’ve cinched at the waist.

When his gaze reaches my face I give him a smirk. He doesn’t smile back. Instead, he says something to his daughter and she pulls him into the bookshop on the other side of the road.

“I should go,” I say, because that man always discombobulates me. “Thank you for being so kind,” I say to Jesse. I think I needed it.

“You’re… Wayne’s kid,” he says, stuttering over his words. “We loved him. And I know for a fact he loved you.”

“You knew my dad well?” I ask. A lump thickens in my throat.

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