The Other Half (Door Peninsula Passions Book 1)

by Katherine Hastings

  Laughing, I shrugged. “It’s fine. I’ve got a frozen pizza at home.”

  “Frozen pizza?” Her nose crinkled up. “Now I really feel bad. Let me buy you dinner and a drink. A thank you for taking me fishing and an apology for making you put it back.”

  “You don’t need to do that.” My head was shaking back and forth, and I was grateful this time it did my bidding instead of nodding like I knew it wanted to.

  “Please? I owe you. And honestly, I’m starving and have no food at my house.”

  Great. Now I would seem like a total dick if I said no. There it went, my head nodded before I’d given it the go-ahead. “Fine. We can run to the Pen Pub.”

  Her smile lit up the dark now surrounding us. “Okay.”

  With a heavy sigh, I gathered up our fishing rods and tossed them in the back of the truck. Hank hopped down and got in, situating himself in the center before Cassie jumped in beside him. After I closed her in, I grumbled at my loss of sanity while I made my way to the driver’s side. Remembering this was all Jo’s fault, I made a mental note.

  Kill Jo after dinner.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Cassie

  Jake jumped in the driver’s seat and I tried to steal another look at him, but Hank’s big head blocked the way. His long pink tongue lolled out while he panted, little drops of drool landing in a puddle at his feet.

  “Where is this place?” I asked, craning my head around the big dog so I could see Jake’s face situated underneath his camo cap.

  “Just a mile up the road.” Those blue eyes locked with mine for only a second, but it was all it took to send me back into a free-fall of desire. If you had told me a week ago I’d be lusting over a guy in relaxed fit jeans and flannel shirts, I’d have asked what kind of drugs you’d taken. But here I was, hot and bothered once again by the big guy in the big truck. Donovan wouldn’t have been caught dead in a truck, preferring the limo or, on the rare occasion when he felt like driving, the Lamborghini.

  Donovan. I’d barely thought of him since my talk with Grandpa. Knowing he was bad for me, along with the rest of my friends, I’d sent them all a message I’d be going away for a while, and out of touch. I’d ignored the few messages they’d sent asking me where, and eventually they’d disappeared. Even though I hadn’t officially broken up with him, I hoped he’d gotten the hint. And knowing him, he already had a gaggle of girls crawling across his lap while he sat on his yacht somewhere in the Caribbean. Considering I never really cared about him, or any of my “friends” for that matter, it didn’t bother me at all thinking he’d already replaced me. Now that I had some distance from them and a little clarity, I saw what my grandpa had pointed out. I saw how toxic they were to me, and how lonely I was even when they were with me. They weren’t real friends, and I knew that now.

  The truck started down the road and it rumbled through me, mimicking the vibrations that had traveled down my spine when Jake had wrapped his arms around me to help me fish. Being enveloped in his arms flooded me with a sense of security I hadn’t felt since before I could remember. Safety lingered in his arms, a powerful protection paired with a chemistry I knew he couldn’t deny. All I wanted was for that fish to fight me all night long so I could stay there just a little longer.

  “What kind of cuisine do they have there?” I asked, peeking around Hank.

  “Cuisine?” Jake arched a brow and stifled a smirk. “It’s a bar. It’s got great bar food, but it’s not cuisine.”

  “Oh,” I answered, feeling silly I’d asked.

  “Where did you say you were from again?”

  Shit. I knew eventually this would come up. Not wanting to lie, but also not having a choice, I stuck to the story I’d told him and Jo. “Chicago.”

  “Figures.” He laughed. “That explains the aversion to nature, the dress, and the fact you’re searching for cuisine.”

  “Shut up,” I retorted, glad he didn’t press it and ask for more information. This was one of those times I was glad he was the strong silent type.

  We pulled into a bar and Jake hopped out. Unsure if I should wait for him to open my door, I fumbled to find the handle. Before I could get it open, he appeared in my window. My door swung open and he stepped aside while I climbed out.

  A gentleman.

  “Don’t fall.” That smile lit up his face.

  “Shut up!” I laughed and landed safely on the ground.

  “Hank, we’ll be back soon, buddy.”

  Hank wagged his tail while Jake closed him in. Together we walked up to the bar situated in the middle of a field at a deserted countryside intersection.

  “Welcome to the Pub,” Jake said, opening the door.

  A long bar with stools filled with patrons stretched across the large single room we walked into.

  “Hey, Jake!” the bartender said with a wave. His eyes fell to me, then back to Jake and bulged.

  “Hey, Kyle,” Jake said, shaking his head against the silent accusation.

  With a sly nod, Kyle ducked his head of shaggy brown hair and turned back to the customers he’d been chatting with.

  “Bar okay?” Jake asked, and I nodded.

  We found the last two open stools and slid into them. Jake’s hand brushed my thigh while we got situated and both our eyes shot together before dropping back to the coasters Kyle slid in front of us.

  “Whiskey coke?” he asked Jake, and a nod confirmed it. “And for you?”

  “Grey goose martini, straight up, extra cold, extra dry, extra dirty with two olives please.”

  Their furrowed brows mirrored one another while they turned to look at me.

  “A martini? Seriously?” Jake snorted.

  “Why? What’s wrong with that?” I shrunk in my seat.

  “Nothing at all. Coming right up,” Kyle answered after blowing out a puff of air that tousled his shaggy brown hair.

  “Do you even know how to make a martini, Kyle?” Jake teased, and I wasn’t sure which one of us it was directed at.

  “I think I remember. Just need to find a glass.”

  “Is that stupid? Should I order something else?” I asked, embarrassed by my drink choice for the first time in my life. Now that I thought about it, at the Ox I’d never been asked to make anything other than basic mixed drinks, and those brandy old-fashioneds everyone seemed to drink up here.

  “It’s not stupid. It’s just not something you see in Baileys Harbor all that often.”

  “Wait! Kyle, was it?”

  He looked up from where he was rummaging through random glasses looking for a martini glass.

  “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “Can I have an old fashioned? I’ve made them at the Ox, but I’ve never tried one.”

  “Oh! That’s who you are! You’re the new bartender at the Ox I’ve heard about.” A big grin stretched his stubbled cheeks.

  “Hopefully good things?” I asked.

  “Great things. And something about a red dress?” His dark eyebrow rose, and a smirk lifted his lip.

  “Oh, God,” I whispered, shrinking lower in my seat. Jake’s laugh only threw salt on the wound. “Not my best wardrobe choice.”

  “I heard it was an excellent choice. Hell, I’ve been hearing about it all day!”

  “Small town,” Jake said between chuckles. “Word travels fast here.”

  “I can see that.” Palming my face, I dissolved into laughter. “Note to self... wear nothing but jeans and t-shirts when in Door County.”

  “Well it’s nice to put a face to the woman I keep hearing about. I’m Kyle. I own this place with my wife, and I’m slinging drinks tonight because Sam called in sick.”

  I gripped his extended hand and shook it. “Hi, Kyle. I’m Cassie.”

  His dark brown eyes examined my face, and he tipped his head. “It’s so weird. I feel like I know you from somewhere, but I can’t figure out where.”

  Hearing my grandfather’s warning in my head while trying not to come undone, I shrugged. “I’ve got
one of those faces I guess.” He likely had seen me before. In my lavish lifestyle, I ended up in magazines and on TV at times. I doubted he watched Access Hollywood or E! News, but the way he looked at me had me ready to bolt out the door.

  “Hmm. I guess.” A quizzical look tipped his head before he stopped his intense inspection of my face. “Brandy old fashioned? Your first, you said?”

  “Mmmhmm.” Trying not to let out an obvious exhale of the relieved breath I held, I nodded my head.

  “It will be an honor to serve you your first one! Menus?”

  “Menus would be great. This one made me throw back my dinner.”

  Sucking air through my teeth, I smiled. “Sorry about that.”

  Jake smiled back. “I’m just teasing. It’s fine.”

  As horrified as I was about the thought of killing the creature, he had a point. A lot of points, actually. Who was I to judge him for fishing and hunting? I loved meat. And the way he got it was a lot more humane than I gave him credit for. It didn’t mean I was going to run out and buy a gun and join him in the woods, but I could at least climb off my PETA pedestal and give him some kudos for his conservationist attitude.

  “What’s the burger of the day?” Jake called to Kyle while he muddled the cherry and orange with the bitters in my glass. It was a new skill I was learning since these Door County people couldn’t get enough of their old fashioneds.

  “You want it,” Kyle called back with certainty. “Burger, BBQ, bacon, onion rings, cheese curds, and cheddar.”

  “You’re right. I want it!” Jake laughed.

  “Wait. Is that all on the burger?”

  “Oh, yeah.” A goofy grin deepened Jake’s dimples.

  “You’re kidding!”

  “They have ridiculous burgers here. Every day a new one with some really bizarre, but delicious, things piled on them. You’ll love it.”

  “I’m not having one!” I scoffed. “I’ll just get a salad or something.”

  With the shake of his head, he let out a sigh. “Please tell me you’re not one of those girls.”

  “Those girls? What do you mean?”

  “The ‘I’ll just have a salad, no carbs, no gluten, gotta watch my figure’ girls.”

  Heat flushed my cheeks. I was exactly that kind of girl since that’s exactly what I would say about ordering food.

  When my answer stalled out, he rolled his eyes. “You are one of those girls!”

  “Well, I do have to watch my figure!” I defended.

  “So, you live on salads? Sounds enjoyable.”

  “Well, I eat other stuff.”

  “You need to try a burger. Seriously, Cassie. You haven’t lived until you’ve tried to fit your mouth around a Pub burger.”

  “I can’t! It’s a burger! With cheese!” The thought of eating something dripping with grease sent a shiver down my spine. “I can’t even remember the last time I ate a burger.”

  “Well after tonight you will. You can tell people the last time you ate a burger was that time you were with Jake at the Pen Pub. Kyle, we’ll take two burgers of the day. And an order of cheese curds.”

  “Cheese curds? What the hell is a cheese curd?”

  “You’ll love it. It’s breaded deep-fried cheese.”

  “Deep fried?” The way my voice shot up even startled me.

  “Yes. Deep fried. You’ll love them.”

  “Honestly. I can’t! It’s gluten. Carbs. Deep fried. I literally can’t!”

  “You girls and your fucking carbs. I eat carbs all the time. Are you saying I look fat?”

  Taunting eyes met mine, then I raked him with a gaze. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on that body I was certain bulged with muscles beneath his blue flannel shirt.

  “No.” I sighed.

  “Good. Eat the carbs, Cassie. Eat the carbs.”

  Groaning, I set down the menu. “I’m going to have to do like ten thousand hours of yoga to make up for this.”

  “Totally worth it.” He grinned and winked at me.

  Kyle appeared and set the old fashioned in front of me. “One old fashioned, on the rocks, extra cold, extra wet, extra brandy. Two cherries.”

  I laughed at the good-natured jab and took the drink. They both watched with bated breath while I took a sip.

  “Well?” Kyle asked, leaning on the bar.

  “It’s delicious!” I took another sip of the sweet and strong drink.

  “Old fashioneds kick the crap out of martinis any day of the week. Boom!”

  He pounded Jake with a fist bump then strode away wearing a triumphant grin.

  “Look at you go. Drinking sugar and everything!” Jake teased, and I shot him a glare. Admittedly, I’d forgotten we muddled a sugar cube in with the orange and cherry and if I’d have remembered, I’d never have ordered it. But not wanting to be “that girl” I shut my mouth and kept on drinking. And now that I had ordered one, I didn’t know how I was ever going back to my martinis.

  “Big night for you, huh, city-girl?” Jake said. “Fishing, old fashioneds, and soon... cheese curds and burgers.”

  “You may be laughing now, but when I’m five hundred pounds, I’m forcing you to push me around in a wheelchair when I can’t walk anymore.”

  “With pleasure.” He smiled and something popped inside me.

  I don’t know if it was the smile, the admission he’d take care of me, or the deeper meaning that meant he’d still be around down the road, but those two words, even said in jest, nearly sent me tumbling off my bar stool. While my stunned expression transformed into a grin, I struggled for my comeback. But before I could answer, the door burst open and a sea of green and gold spilled in.

  This time it wasn’t the Packers colors I was so accustomed to seeing at the Ox. It was men in baseball uniforms cheering while they came in single file.

  “Haaaaabaaaaa!” They cheered, drawing out the word.

  “Haaabaaa?” I asked Jake while we watched them pour in.

  “It’s the Baileys Harbor baseball team. Harbor. Haabaa.” He smiled and shrugged. “It’s a locals thing.”

  The bar exploded in applause for them when they entered.

  “Looks like they won today.”

  “Haabaaaa!” They roared again when they made it to the bar. Kyle moved fast and started handing Bud Lights to all of them.

  “So, this is like, a thing?” I asked, trying not to laugh.

  “Yep. Each town in Door County has a team and they go to war every Sunday. Today they played Egg Harbor. It’s a grudge match.”

  “This small-town thing really is a world of its own, isn’t it?”

  “That we are. And us Haabaa boys don’t like to lose.”

  “Am I a Haabaa girl now, too?”

  “Depends.”

  “Depends on what?”

  “There are levels to being a local. There’s not a hard and fast rule, but the general guidelines for calling yourself a local are all pretty similar. First, there’s the native, who was born here. That’s me. The local is someone who’s lived here year-round for at least five years. Leaving in the winter for more than a vacation removes the honor and they need to start over. Then there are transplants, who moved up here and stay here the majority of the year but spend part of the winter elsewhere. Then there are summer people, who only come up during the season. In order to be a Haabaa girl, you’d need to be a Baileys Harbor local, meaning you stay at least five years. So, I guess that depends on you. Are you just here for the summer?”

  The weight of his stare pushed me down into my stool. Swallowing hard, I struggled to come up with an answer. He was searching and I knew it, but the reality was I didn’t know. I didn’t know how long Grandpa would make me stay here, and now, after meeting Jake, I didn’t know how long I’d want to stay here. Suddenly the gravity of this small town seemed to suck me to the ground. Did I want to leave anymore? Would I race home the minute Grandpa told me I had redeemed myself? A few days ago I would have bolted back in an instant, but the way those b
lue eyes stared through me had me wondering what I’d do when the call came.

  “I guess we’ll have to wait and see,” I said, trying to keep it vague.

  “Oh,” Jake answered, then turned away and took a sip of his drink. Did he want me to stay?

  “Here you go!” Kyle said, arriving with a basket of some little brown deep-fried balls. I was grateful for the interruption and hoped we wouldn’t have to have this conversation again. At least until I could figure out what Jake’s intentions were. He was still a closed book I hadn’t even begun to pry open. One minute he treated me like a leper, and the next I felt like we were on a date. It was giving me emotional whiplash.

  “It’s her first time,” Jake said to Kyle when he set them down.

  “Ever?” Kyle’s eyes saucered. “You’ve never had a cheese curd, either?”

  I shook my head.

  “Carbs.” Jake rolled his eyes.

  Kyle returned the roll and shook his head. “Women.”

  I stared at the basket of cheese curds while two sets of eyes bore through me. “Do I just like, eat it?”

  “Dip it in the ranch dressing first, then eat it.” Kyle pushed them toward me.

  While they stared at me, I tentatively picked up the crunchy ball of cheese and dipped it in the white sauce. After taking a deep breath, I popped it into my mouth. An explosion of flavor forced my eyes shut as I moaned. “Mmm... it’s so good!”

  Their mirrored smiles met mine while I reached for another one.

  “Told you it was worth it,” Jake said.

  “Atta girl,” Kyle added before scurrying away to another customer.

  “These are amazing. Like... AMAZING!” I ate another. I’d forgotten how much I loved carbs, and these fried balls of cheese might have been the best thing I’d ever eaten. They were even better than the Kobe beef tenderloin I loved back at my favorite steakhouse in New York.

  Jake popped one in his mouth and I savored another. Kyle appeared again holding two plates with burgers stacked so tall with stuff they looked ready to topple over.

  “No,” I breathed while my eyes swelled wide open.