Page 3 of Must Have Been Love

The younger man – Jesse – waves at me as I start up my engine. I wave back and turn my wipers to high, thankful that the bar is in the main town, just up from the dock, so I don’t have to try to find my way around this place in the pouring rain.

It takes less than a minute to drive up the road and make the right to where a low roofed building overlooks the water. I park in a graveled spot next to the overhanging canopy that shades stacks of outdoors chairs and tables, and stare out, feeling stupidly emotional.

This was where my dad grew up. And where he spent the last years of his life. Did he think about me? Did he think about calling me?

I would have visited. Ishouldhave.

“I’m here now,” I tell myself.

“Excellent.”

Dear God, how is Lee still on the line?

“I’m gonna hang up,” I tell her. “I need to put my phone away if I’m going to dash through the rain to the bar.”

“Take photos. Send them to me. Call me once you’re situated.”

I will, but I feel like I need to be alone right now. I hang up and grab my purse, deciding to leave my luggage in the car until the rain lightens up. I want to explore before I decide what to do next.

According to the lawyers, there’s an apartment at the back of the bar. The same apartment my dad lived in until he relocated to the mainland when he got sick. I’ll be staying there for a while.

“Here goes nothing,” I murmur to myself as I open the car door and the sound of rain hitting the tin roof of the bar fills my ears. It’s a short run from the car to the canopy, but I still manage to get soaked, the thin cotton of my skirt and top clinging to my flesh like it’s afraid.

I have to dig through my overstuffed purse – way too full of fliers and tissues and a half-eaten bag of M&Ms – to find the code and keys the lawyers gave us. I key in the numbers then unlock the three rusty locks, hearing the groan of metal scraping against metal. When the last one is unlocked the door swings open and I quickly close it behind me, taking a look at the place that I now own.

The bar consists of one room with tables and chairs piled neatly across the wooden floor, like whoever was here last thought they’d be back in the morning. There’s a large wooden counter at the end of the room, along with liquor bottles attached to optics that haven’t been used in a while.

It feels almost ghostly in here. For a second I consider leaving. Just turning my back and agreeing with my mom that the best thing to do is contest the clause.

But then she’ll be right and I’ll be wrong, the way I always am.

I walk over to the bar, running my finger over the sticky wooden countertop. Dust clings to the pad, turning it a dark gray. Drops of rain fall from my hair onto the dust, moistening it, as a shiver wracks through my body.

I’m not sure if it’s because I’m soaked to the bone and it’s cold or because it feels like there are way too many memories in this place.

I’m just about to pull my phone out and call Lee back – for moral support more than anything – when the door I closed securely behind me is shoved open. The sudden noise makes me jump and I shiver again, goosebumps breaking out on my body as I turn around to look at the doorway.

And the man framed inside it.

Holy hotness, he’s good looking. I blink, taking in the expensive suit, the white shirt buttoned to the top, and the perfectly knotted tie, all packaging the tall, broad body that wouldn’t look out of place on a viking. One with brown hair though, because he has the thickest, glossiest, brushed back hair I think I’ve ever seen.

But it’s his face that draws my gaze. He has one of those straight, strong noses that leads down to the perfect lips – not too full, not too narrow, just perfectly balanced and currently pressed together.

I’ve always been a sucker for a man with a chiseled jaw. But those jaws are usually stubbled, belonging to a guy with long hair, a suntan, and no 401K or designer suits to his name.

This guy though. He has an aura about him. If I had to categorize it, right now it’s screaming ‘don’t mess with me.’

My breath stutters at the way he looks ridiculously angry and handsome at the same time. His jaw is twitching, his lips pressed into a mean scowl, and his ocean-blue eyes are glaring at me.

My heart starts to pound. I can’t remember the last time I had such a visceral reaction to somebody I’ve never met before. Especially not an angry guy in a suit. I’m all about happiness and free love.

Shame my body doesn’t seem to remember that right now.

Luckily, he goes and spoils it all by opening his mouth.

“How many fucking times do I have to tell you people? This is private property,” he rasps. “Get out of here. You’re not welcome.”

I’ve had a lot of server jobs in my life. Dealt with thousands of annoyed people whose meal was cold or wrong or they’re just having a bad day and decided to take it out on me.

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