That Thing Called Love. Susan Andersen

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      CHAPTER THREE

      JAKE COULDN’T SETTLE DOWN. He’d driven around the area to refamiliarize himself with the spots he remembered and to check out the changes—surprised at how many of the latter there were. Back at the inn, he’d explored both his suite, which had taken all of five minutes, and the grounds of his former in-laws’ resort, which had at least used up a little time. He’d called room service to deliver his dinner, because he was too wired to sit in the dining room.

      But now it was only six-thirty and the walls were closing in. He had to get out of here.

      Grabbing his hoodie, he pulled it on, zipped up, then wrestled his sport jacket on over it as he headed for the beach. He’d walk into town. See if he couldn’t kill some more time.

      He barely glanced at the rugged, panoramic mountain range across the water that stopped the tourists in their tracks. Head down in the wind, hands jammed in his pockets, he strode purposefully along the boardwalk, one of the additions that was new to him.

      Moments later, he reached Razor Bay—only to discover they’d already rolled up the streets.

      “Shit.” How could he have forgotten that? It used to be just one more reason added to the many that’d had him dying to get out of this backwater burg. There was bugger all to do in the low season. Hell, it only offered a limited selection of distractions during the high.

      The Sunset Café, Bella T’s Pizzeria and a new Vietnamese sandwich place were still open, and those likely only because it was Friday night. At least in the summer both Harbor Street and Eagle Road were jumping until eleven.

      Remembering Austin talking about his friend’s mom getting them pizza, he almost went into Bella T’s. He tried to convince himself that he had an urge to do so simply because the place was new to him and he was curious. But he wasn’t that good a liar. He knew damn well the fuel driving that machine was the off chance of seeing his son.

      Even if Austin was in there this very moment—and what were the odds of that?—did he really want a public face-off with the kid? Jenny was right: he needed to give Austin time to get used to the fact that he was back in town.

      He didn’t know why just thinking her name made a vision of his son’s guardian dragon pop into his head. But not only could he see her shiny hair, those big dark eyes and smooth olive skin, the damn mental picture was high-def.

      He blinked the image away. Where the hell had that come from? She was so not his type.

      He gave his shoulders an impatient hitch, looking for a more comfortable fit in his skin. The more he thought about it, the more his earlier idea—to have li’l Ms. Salazar help pave the way with Austin—seemed like the way to go. At the time it had merely been one of those throwaway ideas that sometimes popped off the top of his head. But it was a solid plan.

      Of course, it was also predicated on her agreeing to it. And given her opinion of him, that was one big-ass if.

      Suddenly recalling the Anchor, he headed for the narrow walkway that was cut between the General Store and Swanson’s Ice Cream Shack. The pedestrian shortcut led to Eagle Road, which paralleled the long curve of Harbor Street and comprised the rest of the town’s business district, and to the parking lot behind that. As Razor Bay’s sole bar, if you didn’t count the one off the lobby at The Brothers—which tonight he definitely did not—The Anchor was one place still bound to be open.

      He spotted the white-framed mosaic sign he remembered the instant he cleared the tiled walkway connecting the two streets. It spelled out the bar’s name in sea-hued bits of tile on the bump-out over the marine-blue building’s three front windows. The same twin neon anchors from his youth flashed yellow and blue on either end of the sign, and what he’d swear were the same neon beer signs dotted the windows.

      He felt an edge of anticipation and had to admit he was curious. He’d left town before he was old enough to be allowed in the bar. Back in the day, he’d tried to lay hands on some fake ID with the thought of going there, but it hadn’t panned out.

      He snorted. Hell, even if he’d scored the best fake identification ever produced, it wasn’t as if there’d been a hope in hell he’d have gotten away with using it. Not in the Anchor. In a town this size, everyone pretty much knew who everyone else was.

      Pulling open the door, he walked in.

      Dimly lit, the interior sported dark wood-plank floors scuffed from years of foot traffic, and matching, if less beat-up, walls covered in black-framed photos that appeared to be black-and-white shots of midcentury Razor Bay. He wouldn’t mind taking a closer look at those.

      A long bar with tall stools took up most of the back wall, and the two blackboards behind it, whose chalk menus were highlighted by art lights, showed a surprising selection of microbrewery beers and ales. A jukebox, pinball machine and a couple of dartboards took up a small slice of real estate down at the end of the front wall to his right. Tables and chairs took up the rest of the floor, and a few small booths occupied the wall opposite the gaming section.

      He СКАЧАТЬ