All That I Want: A Queensbay Small Town Romance Read online

  “Going to take up space or order something?” she said, turning her back on him.

  “A beer,” he said, putting a fifty-dollar bill on the table.

  “Queensbay IPA?”

  “You remember?”

  “It’s my job,” Colleen said as she poured the amber liquid into an icy glass. She didn’t want him to think that it was anything special. She remembered people more by what they drank than by their names, another bartending trick. Have a customer’s drink ready as they walked in, and they tipped well. Simple math, good business.

  She set it in front of him and leaned on the counter, watching as he took his first sip.

  “Did you come here to find me or avoid me?” she asked before she could stop herself.

  He smiled at her, and her stomach did a little flip.

  “Let’s just say I knew exactly where you’d be.”

  She pulled back slowly, but he kept looking at her, his eyes level with hers, and she felt a slow flush creep up her skin. It was a compliment, sly and sweet, and it had her completely undone.

  She had always thought of Jake Owen as the boy the next door, the hometown boy that made good. He’d never really left Queensbay but hadn’t let that slow him down. He owned his own construction business. Word was that he was invested in more than one commercial property around town, and he drove a shiny new truck. Colleen knew he had a sweet little fishing boat parked down at the marina. Fortune had smiled on him, and, goddammit, people liked him for, well, being himself with them. People liked Jake Owen because he was a good guy, which meant that he was so not her type.

  So she pulled back, gave him the briefest of smiles, and told herself to stop flirting with him because he was safe. It wasn’t nice to let him think there could be something between them. Chino Charlie was calling to her, his finger swirling around his empty glass. She swung a towel over her shoulder and decided that it was time to deal with him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jake shoot Charlie an angry look, but he said nothing.

  “How about a cup of coffee?” she offered, using the towel to hold her hands steady.

  “I don’t want coffee. How about you pour me another beer, honey?” Chino Charlie said, his words slightly slurred; his eyes were unfocused, and his face flushed. She thought he would have been handsome, except for the extra weight he carried around his face, which was beginning to shape into jowls, probably from too many nights like these.

  “Sorry, I think you’ve had enough.” She kept her voice cheerful as if she had just agreed to pour him another.

  “I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough,” he said and slammed his hands flat on the bar top. The sound was loud and sudden, and Colleen winced despite wanting to appear tough. He was loud enough that the other patrons noticed, and the bar quieted just a fraction, so the upbeat tune from The Police suddenly became very clear. She noticed that Jake had tensed, leaning in toward them. She didn’t need a white knight to get involved with this. Her job, her mess to clean up.

  So she held firm. If it got ugly, she’d have to call for backup, but in the meantime she wanted to try and avoid a scene. A scene was bad for business.

  “Sorry, sir, I think the Guinness tap might be out. If you can wait a moment while they change it out, I’ll get you a water.”

  “I’ll have a shot of bourbon,” he said, his voice low and menacing.

  She nodded as if considering it, meanwhile thinking that he wasn’t going to back down and gracefully accept a cup of coffee.

  So it was time to play tough. She was aware that Jake was off his bar seat and moving in. She didn’t need his chivalry. She’d been taking care of herself for a long time, and she wasn’t about to stop now.

  She leaned over the bar, looked Chino Charlie straight in the eye and said, “Last thing you need is more bourbon.”

  “If you won’t serve me, I’m sure I can find someone else in this town who will,” he said and made as if to pick up his keys.

  Colleen was faster and managed to swipe them just out of his reach. She jumped back in success and to make sure there was a decent distance between her and him. His face darkened and she took a deep breath, ready to weather the storm.

  “Give them back,” he yelled.

  “No way.”

  He leaned in and planted both hands on the bar, getting right in her face. She swallowed and held her ground. Now she was rethinking her decision about not calling for backup. Even the skinny dishwasher would be something.

  “Do you know who I am? I’ll get you fired if you don’t give me those keys. Give them to me now.”

  They were at a stalemate, but Colleen was ready, had a plan worked out, and was ready to implement it.

  “Hey mister, I think the lady here told you to back off.” Jake Owen’s voice was calm but loud enough to be heard above the beat of the music.

  She blew out her breath, not sure with whom she was more annoyed: Jake and his assumption that she needed help or Chino Charlie and his belligerent attitude.

  “I don’t need your help,” she hissed at Jake and shot him a look for good measure, one that had withered many a man who had stood in her way, but he held his ground, his eyes focused on the drunk Chino Charlie who was standing, albeit with a bit of sway, as if the floor itself was moving.

  She turned her attention back to Chino Charlie and smiled. It was the smile that Olivier had told her had won his heart. It was the smile she thought she would always wear, a lifetime ago, back in France, when the days had been sunny, and her life had seemed dreamy. It stopped the drunk, and he looked at her, desperately trying to focus on her. She was pretty sure he was seeing doubles of her.

  “Look, sailor,” she said, her voice pitched low. He grunted, pleased.

  She leaned in. “You don’t want to go out there now. It’s dark, and I hear there’s a storm heading in.”

  “My boat’s berthed at the marina. I just have to get there. Maybe you can help me find my way?” he said. Colleen kept smiling. She wasn’t going to walk him to the marina and she wasn’t going to give him his keys.

  “How about this. I’ll call a cab and the front desk at the hotel at the marina. You go back to your boat, get a good night’s sleep, and I’ll make sure breakfast is on the house tomorrow. Chef there makes a great Eggs Benedict. You can pick up the paper and your keys then. What do you say?”

  The man straightened up and seemed to realize that he was being offered a lifeline. Colleen was aware that most of the bar was watching this little scene, including Jake, who looked like he wanted to hit someone. Chino Charlie sensed that public opinion was not on his side. Or maybe it was the sheer bulk of Jake standing near him that had him rethinking his attitude. At last, he smiled, as gamely as he could, and asked, “Are you going to be serving me the coffee?”

  “Guess you’ll just have to stick around and see.” She added a wink for good measure, and the jerk took it as a sign of goodwill and nodded.

  The tension eased out of the room; already, Colleen could feel the vibe picking up, as the rest of the patrons turned their attention back to themselves and their own good time. She kept the smile up, but clenched her hands together so that no one could see them shaking.

  She called back to the kitchen, got one of the dish washers, whose cousin drove a cab, to call it in and had him walk the guy out into the fresh air and the bench conveniently located just outside for such situations. Drama handled, Colleen was about to go back to work when she felt his stare on her. Jake was looking at her hands, a slow deliberate look, then he met her eyes. She unclenched her hands and placed them on the bar, willing them to be steady. The confrontation had left her a little shaken, the surge of adrenaline coursing through her, wearing itself out. Jake stood there, his own arms crossed over his chest, his eyes dark with suppressed emotion.

  “What?” she demanded.

  “Nothing,” he said, the word conveying that it was anything but.

  “Fine,” she said with a shrug. “Are you going to keep drinking, o
r just stand there and take up a paying customer’s spot?”

  Colleen turned away and sighed as she pulled down the tap, letting the beer run down the side of the cold glass, annoyed at how the situation had gotten out of hand. She’d misjudged how belligerent Chino Charlie would get. Still, she had taken care of the situation, and she hadn’t needed any help, not really. She watched Jake. He had taken a seat at the bar, near Ellie. He was slowly sipping his beer, watching her, his jaw tight with tension.

  He looked angry. At her. She didn’t know why. She hadn’t done anything. If anything, she should be angry with him for butting into the situation.

  “Taste better than warm beer from the can?” she asked and was rewarded with a smile and laugh. She meant it as a jab, but he returned it with a flash of humor.

  “One of the pleasures of being a grown man. I can now drink beer in a glass. In public.”

  She nodded and started to slip away, suddenly needing to be away from the intense way he looked at her. Like he cared about her.

  “You okay?” he asked, his voice low, laced with concern. It confirmed her worst suspicions.

  “Why?” she said sharply, as she stopped.

  “The guy was getting in your face, and he didn’t seem like a nice guy.”

  “Happens,” she said. “It’s part of the job. I was going to offer him a cab home, make him come back for the keys in the morning no matter what. I was handling it.”

  “So you didn’t need any help?”

  “Didn’t need any help,” she confirmed as she wiped down the bar between them.

  “Had it under control?”

  “Totally under control.”

  Jake shook his head and kept looking at her, making her think that he was seeing too much of her.

  “Collen McShane, you always did have to be the smartest one in the room,” he finally said.

  It was her turn to snort with laughter, the tension partially broken.

  “It was high school in this hick town. The standards weren’t that high,” she said.

  “And here we are, both back in the same hick town.”

  “Guess that means I’m still the smartest one in the room.”

  “And, I guess that just makes me the dumb quarterback looking for a good time.”

  “Am I going to have to kick you out, too?” she said and meant it as a joke.

  He had said his line with practiced good humor, and she had no doubt that if she told Jake Owen to bug off, really bug off, he would. But just for a moment she was enjoying it, the little flash of flirting, even if she knew it could go nowhere. He smiled at her and, for just a moment, she felt her heart skip a beat before it settled down with a flutter. Traitorous hormones, she thought. Jake Owen was too damn easy on the eyes, always had been, even if he wasn’t her type. Nope, she liked her guys more refined, less muscly, less like the buff, tanned, former quarterback sitting here in front of her. Of course she did, she told herself.

  “Not tonight,” he said.

  She didn’t have to say anything more because someone called for her, and she was back in the moment, working, doing what she did best.

  Chapter 2

  He watched her the rest of the night, knowing she knew that he was watching her. Earlier, he’d been evasive in his answer to her. He had come to Quent’s because he knew she would be working there. He’d heard from his bookkeeper, who’d heard it from the sous chef at the Osprey Arms that Colleen had been asked to leave her employ there because the owner’s wife wasn’t all that fond of her.

  Since Jake felt partially responsible for that particular situation, he’d swung by Quent’s Pub and found that Quent could use a little help behind the bar. A tip to his bookkeeper, who had tipped off the sous chef, who had tipped off the owner, Sean, and Colleen had found herself smoothly out of one job and into the next. So yeah, he had come in here to check on her and see how she was doing. Word on the village streets was that she was a hit, wresting away control of the playlist from Quent and bringing a much-needed bit of feminine softness to Quent’s old-school but gruff style of hospitality.

  He’d deny any part in it, of course, but he couldn’t say he minded watching her tend the bar. She was elusive to track down, but whenever they were together, tensions ran high, usually in a simmering, slightly sexy kind of way. At least they did for him. For her part, she seemed content to ignore him, and it was driving him crazy.

  Seeing her in Quent’s, in her quicksilver top, with her smile and her whirlwind command of the place had been like a jolt to his system. Sure, he’d seen her around town, but she usually crossed the street when she saw him coming, and she’d always been more clothed. She favored dresses that were flowing rather than clinging and coats and rubber boots or ballet flats, scarves, and sunglasses. Very Parisian, Jake imagined, thinking that he could sketch a picture of her sitting at café table in front of the Eiffel Tour and title it “Parisian at Rest.”

  So it was a surprise, a nice one, to really see her, to see her wearing jeans that hugged her curves and a shirt that showed off her toned arms, a deep V of creamy flesh around her neck, and hair that flowed over her shoulders in a tumble of golden brown waves. And her smile. He hadn’t seen that in a long time. Of course, it wasn’t directed at him. At everyone but him and, by the size of the tips he saw left on the bar, Colleen McShane was working her magic. He settled into a spot where he could keep an eye on her, while talking to some guys he knew about baseball, fishing, and the usual. He listened mostly, so that he could focus on her.

  He would look up, every once in a while, pulled out of a heated discussion about local politics or the game or plain old gossip and look at her. And half the time he was surprised to find that she was looking right back at him. Not staring at him, and certainly not so much that she didn’t move with the grace of a conductor behind the bar, filling drinks, cleaning old ones, making guys laugh and getting women to spill their guts to her. But nope, they were now, unofficially, he thought, keeping an eye on each other.

  Jake watched closely, looking for anyone else in the mood to hassle her, but unfortunately no further need for him to get between Colleen and some other guy with too much to drink occurred. He stayed the rest of the night, until last call when she made it clear he needed to get out. He wanted to offer to help, but she didn’t need it. She was orderly, easy, and confident, but there was no mistaking she was tired all the same. He saw her shoulders sag when she thought no one was looking. She arched her back and dug a fist into the small of it, as if it hurt.

  Not for the first time in the last few months, he wondered just what Colleen McShane was doing back in Queensbay, lifting trays of glasses and pouring drinks. Last he had heard, she was living in Paris, working as an interior decorator, shacked up with a count or duke or whatever they had over there. Whispers had abounded of a flat on the Left Bank and a chateau in Provence. Queensbay, as charming as it was, was a far cry from that kind of life. Paris was the type of place she had always wanted to be, something she had confessed a long time ago to him in one of their brief moments together. And he had never doubted she would get what she wanted.

  But now she was here, slinging drinks and doing her best not to notice him noticing her. His attention made her mad, he could tell. Was she mad because she hated his guts that much, or was she mad because she didn’t hate him enough? He would just have to find out because he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  Now, after last call, he was waiting outside on the small bench. The village was quiet, mostly dark, though the marina lights still shone bright, lighting up the sky near the harbor with a softly glowing aura. They wouldn’t dim until later, but the whole village had a sleepy, settled air. He took a deep breath, clearing out the smell of the bar with the tang of sea air, seaweed, and salt. It was a bracing, distinctive scent, and you either loved it or hated it. He loved it.

  “Need a ride home?” he asked when she finally stepped out, a jacket covering her bare arms. Good thing, as the air was chilly. Clouds pi
led in, scudding across the half moon. Rain by morning, he expected, which was good, as he was told the flowers needed it.

  “I can walk,” she said, a stubborn tilt to her chin.

  “It’s a bit of a hike,” he said, knowing she was living at her old place, halfway up the hill toward the back of town, the side without the water view, the side that gentrification hadn’t quite hit.

  “I’m used to it.”

  She said it like that was the end of it. The drunk was safely tucked into his boat at the marina. Jake had made sure of that with a few quick texts to the harbormaster, but still, he had no intention of letting her walk home alone. She started off, and there was nothing to do but follow her.

  “I don’t think so,” she said, stopping and turning around suddenly enough so that he found the palm of her hand on his chest. She snatched it back as if she hadn’t meant to do that. She didn’t have a ring on, he had never seen one, and that gave him hope. Maybe the count could be counted out of the picture.

  “You shouldn’t be walking alone,” he said as reasonably as he could.

  “It’s Queensbay,” she said, as if that should have explained everything, and normally it would, but not tonight.

  He shook his head. “You saw what happened in there. I’m not letting you walk home when there’s a creep like that around.”

  “That one is passed out on his boat and is going to wake up tomorrow with a headache and bad case of embarrassment.”

  He shook his head again and said, “You don’t know that he’s the only one.”

  “You are not walking me home,” she said and turned. Her stride was quick but he caught up.

  “Seriously, I’ll call the police,” she warned.

  “Officer Sisson’s a friend of mine. I am sure he will agree that having someone walk you home is the safest thing.”

  “You’re not walking me home,” she repeated, picking up her speed.

  She stopped after a few paces and turned half way, looking at him.