Page 3 of A Lonely Road (Spruce Hill #2)

Chapter Two

Nora

J ust after seven that evening, I eyed the sign overhead, my gaze caught on the swirling script that proclaimed this place The Mermaid Gastropub & Grill . I reached out to stroke a fingertip along the curved fin of one of the golden statues on my way through the door.

I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, smiled at the young hostess who led me to a small booth along one wall, and took the opportunity to glance around the restaurant’s interior.

This was definitely a step up from my usual choice of venue.

There were a dozen or so tables already occupied and another handful of people seated at the gleaming oak bar that stretched across the back of the restaurant.

I studied the tasteful decorations and slightly eccentric art adorning the walls.

A framed article about announcing plans for a new local art gallery hung on the wall at my side, next to a sea glass mosaic depicting a lighthouse on the lake.

This place was as far from a dive bar as it could get, but bustling enough that it might do quite nicely for my purposes.

My gaze drifted to the bar, which looked like a slab from some ancient tree that had been polished to a warm glow. With a sharp intake of breath, I recognized the man behind it as none other than my new—and terribly attractive—neighbor.

In brazen contrast to his torn jeans and stained t-shirt of earlier that day, Jake was in a crisp white button-down, rolled neatly to his elbows. He was joking with one of the customers seated at the bar, currently unaware of my presence.

That man sure cleans up nice, I thought, then kicked myself for the observation. It didn’t matter what he looked like, it was better to avoid him.

After a server with a thin, braided beard and purple hair took my order, I pulled out my notebook, forcing myself not to look back toward the bar.

The atmosphere in the restaurant wasn’t quite the din I usually sought out, but the low hum of conversation around me would do almost as well.

I'd written out several pages of translation notes before the server returned with my meal.

Once he left, I scribbled down more thoughts as I ate.

This place was actually perfect. I was already impressed with how much work I was getting done, even with the distraction of Cute Neighbor lurking at the edge of my awareness .

Just as I was finishing my stuffed mushrooms—which were heavenly enough for me to excuse the golden statues out front—the server reappeared with a plate of strawberry shortcake that I definitely hadn’t ordered. When I opened my mouth to protest, he shook his head to silence me.

“Compliments of the owner,” he said with a sly smirk, glancing toward the bar.

When I followed his gaze, Jake raised a hand in salute, smiling just enough for that dimple to pop.

“Jake Lincoln owns this place?” I asked numbly, tearing my eyes from his stupid, adorable face to blink down at the exquisitely crafted confection laid before me.

Glistening berries were piled high atop the crumbly shortcake and crowned with whipped cream that inspired a few too many rapidfire fantasies in my head.

Had I walked under a ladder? Desecrated a field of four-leaf clovers? How else could I explain this sudden run of unfortunate luck?

“Oh, yeah,” the server replied, grinning at me before he disappeared.

Reluctantly, I dragged my gaze back to Jake, whose crooked smile suddenly did strange things to my pulse. I raised a hand in thanks, shot him a lightning quick smile, then stared blindly down at my notebook until my heart rate calmed.

It was just dessert, nothing to get worked up over. Damn him, I’d never turned down a free dessert in my life. I wasn’t about to start now. Especially when it looked so very delicious.

Of course. Of course Cute Neighbor owns the perfect writing location in this tiny town, for fuck’s sake.

Without glancing back in Jake’s direction, I tucked the notebook into my bag and picked up my fork. Even if I had wanted to, I knew that leaving without sampling at least a bite of Jake’s sweet offering would be unspeakably rude, and hadn’t my goal been to avoid drawing attention to myself?

It was just dessert. A nice, neighborly gesture to the new girl in town. Surely that was all he intended it to be.

Oh. My. God.

I closed my eyes as I took a tiny bite. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d tasted something so decadent.

At the very least, I was grateful Jake was the owner of the place and not the chef.

Being able to actually concoct treats like this might sway me dangerously close to warming up toward him.

Hell, I was already thawing as the delicate shortcake melted on my tongue.

I smiled weakly at the server when he returned with the check, then tucked cash into the vinyl folder and slung my bag over my shoulder.

Before I could slip out of the booth, I spotted Jake heading straight toward me.

He wore fitted khaki pants and they were just as flattering on his long limbs as the ripped jeans.

A memory of the lean muscles of his arms popped unexpectedly into my head, reminding me of what was now hidden beneath his pristine dress shirt.

I swore under my breath and stood quickly, preferring to meet him on closer-to-equal terms. Considering he was nearly a foot taller than me, it was probably moot, but it made me feel slightly more in control.

“Good evening, Ms. Cassidy,” Jake said smoothly. “How was your dinner?” The corners of his eyes, which shone crystal blue in the dim light, crinkled slightly as he smiled.

I lifted my chin, feigning a confidence I didn’t feel. “It was excellent, thank you. I had no idea you owned a . . . gastropub.” It came out more like an admonition than a statement of fact.

Jake’s grin widened. “Family business. My dad made the mistake of letting my sister choose the name, so she’s responsible for the mermaids.

She was obsessed with them as a kid. Before my family bought the place, it was called Smugglers Den, in honor of the town’s history during Prohibition.

Legend has it there was a fair amount of rum-running and smuggling going on in Spruce Hill at the time. ”

“Oh.” I was surprised by how freely he shared information. And by how interested I was in everything he had to say.

That was entirely new for me, and I wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it.

“I hope my presence didn’t detract from your visit,” he said conspiratorially, like he was trying to win me over. “I promise I’m not stalking you. I didn’t want to sound pushy by suggesting you come in right after you got here.”

With a resigned sigh, I adjusted my bag and allowed myself a tiny smile. “I guess my night was not entirely ruined,” I replied. “And the shortcake was delicious.”

“Chef Bea is an absolute godsend. ”

It was difficult to keep my eyes from the unbuttoned collar of his white shirt. He was extremely attractive and I was overcome with the desire to observe him, to study every facet of the man—physical and otherwise.

As a woman in a new town still trying to get the lay of the land, I desperately wanted to avoid the distraction this handsome neighbor posed.

Jake Lincoln owned a restaurant that seemed to be a pillar of the community. He was friendly, helpful, respected by his staff. Involvement with the town’s golden boy would plant a spotlight over my head, and that was the last thing I needed while I settled in.

“I’m glad you came by,” Jake said, his voice low, soft in a way that threatened to summon goosebumps along my skin.

“I like it here.” I didn’t mean to blurt the words, but they escaped nonetheless.

His smile bloomed like the sun from behind a cloud, and my regret withered immediately. For a moment, it looked like he was searching for the right thing to say, then he gestured toward the bag where I’d stowed my notebook. “Are you a writer?”

“Sort of. I’m a translator, actually,” I replied. Surely work was a safe topic of conversation? “Freelance stuff, for the most part.”

I tried hard to keep my expression neutral, but I saw the way Jake studied my face. Work was something I loved, something I found intensely fulfilling. Now, I felt dangerously close to babbling out more than I ever intended to reveal to him .

Jake nodded, a small smile curving his lips. “Very cool.”

“It’s getting late, I should probably head home.” Relieved that this interaction went smoother than the last, I took a small step back, then I remembered seeing his truck in the driveway when I left the apartment. “Did you walk here?”

“Yeah, I did. After the rain earlier this week, it turned into a beautiful day. We get such a small window of nice weather, it’s hard to resist the chance to enjoy it.”

Nodding, I hummed in response. I’d put too many miles on my car in the last few years. If I wanted her to survive, it might be worth cutting the poor girl some slack, new battery or not.

I gave myself a swift mental shake. Was I truly considering coming back? I’d gotten more work done in the past hour than I had in a single day in months, sure, but could I knowingly subject myself to his curious gaze while I worked?

The answer didn’t come quickly, so I flashed him another brief smile. “Right. Well, I’ll see you around. Thanks again for the dessert.”

Jake smiled. “Any time,” he replied. “Have a good night, Nora.”

The sound of my name on his lips did something strange to my insides. “You too, Jake,” I said, forcing myself to use his in return.

I watched as he strode back to the bar and couldn’t bring myself to regret the sight of his stellar ass as he walked away.

The man definitely cut an impressive figure.

It was a moment before I recovered my senses and left the restaurant, then drove home with the radio off, allowing a pensive silence to surround me.

Starting out in a new place was no easy feat, as I knew only too well, but I really hadn’t expected it to be any different this time around.

As I turned onto my street, I thought back to the last few places I’d lived—a big city, a tiny rental house in the middle of nowhere, a suburb of endless cookie cutter houses and carefully manicured yards.

In total, I'd made a bare handful of personal connections throughout my adult life, and the most notable were Audrey and Jamal, who’d never really known me as anything but “Nora from 4F.” After college, I'd set out to see new places, to figure out where I truly belonged, but the endless quest was growing tiresome.

And it was pretty freaking lonely, if I was willing to admit that to myself.

I parked in the driveway and turned off the ignition, gazing absently at Jake’s truck next door.

Was I thinking about dating him, for heaven’s sake?

Maybe he wasn’t even interested in me—maybe he had a girlfriend.

Or a wife! I knew next to nothing about him.

So what if he looked at me the way I’d looked at the strawberry shortcake after that first bite? It didn’t have to mean anything.

“Girl, you have been alone for too long,” I scolded myself. “How can you even think about getting involved with someone right now? ”

My hormones must be out of whack, I concluded—biology didn’t care about logic. If I’d wanted to get laid, I should have taken it up with Audrey and Jamal back when I could still get lost in the bustling population of a city much larger than Spruce Hill, New York.

I kept that mantra on repeat as I invented excuse after excuse not to return to Jake’s restaurant over the next week, but no matter what music I blasted or how many channels I flipped through, the silence of the apartment became overwhelming to the point where I could barely think straight, nevermind get any significant amount of work done.

“Normal people like quiet while they’re working,” I told my reflection one evening. “Only freaks like to drown out distraction by working in a bar.”

Unfortunately, my reflection stared mutely back at me until I sighed and turned away from the mirror with a huff.

I tucked my notebook and laptop into a canvas messenger bag, slung it across my chest, swallowed an oath when I couldn’t resist checking my hair one last time, and walked out into the warm evening.

It doesn’t mean anything.

I repeated those words to myself as I strolled down the street toward The Mermaid.

Jake Lincoln was probably not interested in me, anyway.

I sure as hell wasn’t looking for a relationship—or even a hookup.

This was simply because I needed a place to get some work done. That was all there was to it .

Jake was not behind the bar this time. Just for one mad moment, I felt a rush of something that I’d swear was relief but which felt suspiciously like disappointment.

A second later, my quick scan of the restaurant found him seated at a table with a ledger and calculator before him. His gaze had already locked onto me, and the air sizzled around me the moment our eyes met. That slow, crooked smile of his started a low burn deep in my belly.

Hormones or otherwise, I was in deep trouble.