Suddenly Dating (A Lake Haven Novel Book 2)

by Julia London

  “Oh. Okay. So what do you do?”

  “Ah, well,” Lola said, and shifted a little. Just say it! Casey’s voice shouted in her head. What are you afraid of? “I, ah . . . I write. I’m writing a book,” she blurted.

  “Really? How fun!” Mallory Cantrell said. “I love to read. What’s it about?”

  Lola filled her in on what she had so far, and then their talk turned to books and the authors whose work they enjoyed.

  “Actually,” Lola said, “My favorite author of all time is Birta Hoffman. My sister told me she has a house on Lake Haven and comes to East Beach to write at a coffee shop every morning. I’ll be honest—I came here this morning hoping I might meet her,” Lola said, and laughed at her own foolishness.

  “Your sister is right, she is in East Beach,” Mallory said. “But she doesn’t come to the coffee shop every day. I’d say it’s more like once a week. If she does come, I’d be happy to introduce you.”

  “You know her?”

  “Sure,” Mallory said with a slight shrug. “Everyone in East Beach knows everyone.”

  Lola could hardly contain her excitement. “So what’s she like?”

  “She’s kind of intense,” Mallory said. “But you’ll see when you meet her. Guess what I do? Never mind, you can’t guess. I own a candy shop.”

  Lola blinked. “Of course! Mallory’s Candies and Curiosities! I’ve seen that shop.”

  “You want to come have a look?” Mallory asked.

  “I would love to see your candy shop. I’m a huge fan. Huge. Me and candy go way back.”

  When Lola had finished her coffee, they packed up their things and went out. Mallory pushed open the coffee house door. “Look at this day, will you?’” she proclaimed, and went out into a crisp, sun-splashed world.

  Lola would later think about the chance meeting and how a great friendship had sprung from it. She and Mallory hit it off—they wandered around Main Street, then ended up having lunch. They chatted like old acquaintances as they strolled along the shore of Lake Haven. Mallory invited Lola to join her at yoga the next morning and even offered to come and pick her up. And Lola didn’t think about Humorless Harry more than twice. All right, fine—she thought of him three times. Maybe four.

  It was midafternoon before Lola returned to the lake house, carrying a basket full of fresh produce purchased at Donovan Farms, which Mallory had told her about. Lola was happy. In spite of the weird roommate situation with Harry, she was beginning to feel like this was the place she was supposed to be, doing exactly what she was doing at this point in her life. In fact, when she sat down with her book, and stared at the same blank page that had been staring back at her for days, she had a breakthrough. Just walking away from the book had helped to clear her head. She realized that her main character was too nice. She was supposed to be a little psychotic, but Lola had written her too weakly. Frankly, she was too much like Lola—her boyfriend had just broken up with her, and she was taking the high road like a boss.

  Lola didn’t want her to take it like a boss. She wrote: Sherri killed Brad with a hammer. It happened to be the first thing she could put her hands on when he said, “I’m sorry, Sher, but I’m just not feeling it.” “Feel this, asshole,” she said, and swung before he even looked up . . .

  That was it. That was exactly what her book needed—a little oomph before the detective showed up and began to put the pressure on Sherri. For the first time in days, words were flowing again.

  Lola worked into the evening, until her stomach began to rumble. She made a vegetable frittata for dinner. Maybe it was the splendor of the day or the organic vegetables, but Lola was fairly certain it was the best frittata she’d ever made.

  After dinner, she worked more on her book, then turned in to read.

  Sometime after ten, she heard her roommate return, his work boots crunching on the gravel drive. She heard him again, in the kitchen now—which, she hoped he noted, had been cleaned to his OCD standards—and heard him opening and shutting cabinets and the fridge. The microwave dinged, which caused Lola to wrinkle her nose. What did people cook in microwaves, really? Other than frozen dinners, that was. Ugh.

  After that, there was only silence.

  She didn’t hear him again that night, or early the next morning. She had gotten herself out of bed and ready for yoga, and was standing on the drive at the appointed time with a mat strung across her back. Lola heard her ride turn off the road, heard the pause as the driver punched in the code Lola had given Mallory. The vehicle started down the drive at the same moment she heard the front door open and those work boots crunching the gravel again. She glanced over her shoulder. “Good morning!” she said brightly.

  Harry had his head down, his gaze on his phone, and was clearly startled by her, and did a bit of a backward hop. He was dressed in worn, faded jeans and a white collared shirt today. He’d brushed his hair behind his ears, had donned a ballcap with the bill at the back of his head. Apparently he’d run out of time to shave. He looked tired. But he also looked so manly and hot that Lola had to look at her feet and quickly remind herself that he wanted to kick her out of her fantastic deal.

  “Morning,” he said curiously, taking her in. “Are you looking for a ride? Because I’m running late—”

  “A ride!” Lola laughed as if that were ridiculous. “Ask you? Oh no, no, no, I would never.”

  The car—a black sedan, just like the ones she saw dropping people at the airport—coasted into the drive. Harry looked puzzled as the car came into view and rolled to a stop. Lola was puzzled, too, when a driver got out, walked around to the passenger side, and opened the back door. “Good morning, Miss Dunne.”

  Mallory had failed to mention that “picking her up” meant having a chauffeur. “Good morning,” she said, and leaned to her left to look inside. Mallory was there, talking on her phone.

  Lola glanced sidelong at Harry, who was staring in disbelief at the car. That’s right, pal, I have a car and a driver, so suck it! She took a step toward the open car door, then paused and looked back at him. “I’m sorry, did you say something?” she asked, cupping her hand around her ear.

  “Nope,” he said briskly. “Not a word.”

  She smiled. “I didn’t think so. Oh, by the way, I noticed that you left some papers or something on the end of the kitchen bar. You might want to tidy that up.”

  He looked surprised. Then annoyed. “Huh,” he said. “I’m surprised you noticed one flyer through the stack of wine glasses you seem to be collecting on the bar.”

  “For your information, the wine glass rack is broken,” she said.

  “Uh-huh. And how’d that happen?” he asked suspiciously.

  “How should I know?” she lied. She hadn’t meant to bump into it. “Have a great day in your freshly ironed shirt.” And with that, she put herself in that car, practically giggling.

  “Who was that?” Mallory asked, her gaze on her phone.

  “The pool guy,” Lola said. She waved at Harry, who was still standing in the same spot as the car pulled around. Lola really didn’t know him at all, but she could not be more delighted that the smug bastard was on hand to see her being picked up in a private car.

  After that morning, Lola didn’t see Harry for a few days. But she heard from him. Oh boy, did she hear from him. He began to leave her notes. The spray of oatmeal on the stove should be cleaned up before it cements there for all eternity.

  Lola responded with, Did you leave the towels on the top of the washing machine because you need them washed? You must have me confused with your mother.

  He shot back, When the trash starts to pile over onto the floor, it’s probably time to take it out.

  To which Lola responded with, Perhaps your sense of smell has been compromised by all the dirt you seem to roll in, but your boots stink. Please leave them outside.

  That was met with a You left the TV on. I like Jimmy Fallon, too, but I don’t need to be blasted by him when I come through the door.
r />   To which Lola wrote, Are you deliberately revving your truck in the morning? Because if not, you might need to get that looked at.

  In addition to receiving his notes, Lola also heard Harry. Generally late at night, when his heavy boots would crunch that gravel like a military parade. She heard the water pipes banging to life when he got up before dawn to shower. She saw neatly stacked mail on the entry console, or a plate and cup washed and left in the drainboard to dry.

  But she didn’t see him. Not that she wanted to see Hardhearted Harry, or cared what he was doing. Nope, she was too busy hanging out with her new friend Mallory.

  Lola loved this woman. Theirs was a friendship made in heaven as far as she was concerned. They had so much in common—failed relationships, a love of reality television, the desire to do something new and different with their lives, an unhealthy obsession with shoes. And best of all, they had so much fun together. Mallory introduced Lola to her friends. Her two closest friends were Natalie Baker, a forty-something real estate agent, and Nolan Tipton, a slender, doe-eyed blond man who wore loafers without socks, sleek dress slacks, and a shirt opened at the collar. He was a bartender at a swank little supper club. He was obviously a man who preferred the company of other men, but he seemed genuinely interested in Lola. He wanted to hear about her book. He said she had pretty eyes and he loved her smile. Compliments from a gay man, but Lola would happily take them.

  She liked him so much that she invited him out to the lake house for a swim one afternoon when Mallory was busy. Nolan showed up with wine coolers, two pink straw hats, and a Speedo.

  They spent the afternoon floating around the pool and sipping the drinks he’d brought. Maybe one too many, because when Harry unexpectedly appeared on the terrace, his weight on one hip, his hands on his waist, Lola was feeling a little tipsy.

  “Well, hello,” Nolan said, and swam to the side of the pool so that he could smile up at Harry. “What’s your name?”

  Harry looked from Nolan to Lola. “Lola? Could I speak to you a moment?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  Harry looked at Nolan again. “Inside,” he said, and turned around and walked back into the house.

  “Who is that?” Nolan hissed.

  “No one,” Lola whispered, and paddled with one arm to the side, then sort of half-climbed and half-rolled out of the pool with a little push from Nolan.

  She grabbed a towel and walked inside. Harry was standing at the kitchen bar, his arms crossed across his chest. “You’re dripping,” he said immediately, and abruptly took her by the arm and pulled her into the utility room.

  The utility room was small, however, and Lola was between the washer and dryer and him, suddenly standing so close that she could smell his musky, manly-man scent. It had been so long since Lola had been this close to a man that she’d forgotten how arousing that scent could be.

  “Why are your eyes closed?” he demanded.

  “Hmm?” She opened her eyes.

  “Who is that?” he asked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

  “Nolan.”

  Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Do you really think it’s a good idea?”

  “What, having friends? You should try it.”

  “Bringing him here,” Harry said, obviously irritated. He looked like he was about to give her a tongue-lashing, but something behind her caught his attention, and he squinted.

  “What?” Lola asked, and tried to turn around.

  “Are those wet clothes just sitting in the washer?”

  That’s right, she’d started laundry earlier today. “Ah . . . probably,” she said.

  He gaped at her. “Good God, Lola, don’t you know they will mildew?” He reached around her, forcing Lola up against the machine so that he could close the lid and start it again. When he did, he looked at her and frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?” she asked, and bit her lip so she wouldn’t smile.

  “What’s the matter, do I smell?” he asked gruffly.

  “Sort of,” she admitted.

  “Yeah, well, I work hard for a living. And you smell like chlorine.”

  His arm, she noticed, was still on the washing machine, still blocking her in. “You’re kind of touchy,” she said, as if she found that curious. “Bad day?”

  “I thought you were here to do important work,” he said.

  “I am! Does that mean I can’t have a good time? Does that mean when someone offers me a wine cooler on a gorgeous day like this, I should say no?” She smiled.

  “I don’t know,” Harry said, his brows dipping into a frown. He braced his other hand on the other side of her, so now she was trapped between him and the washing machine again. “Why don’t you call Sara and ask her how she feels about your little party at her lake house?”

  “Ooh, you’re going to go there, huh?” Lola said. “For your information, I can’t call Sara. She happens to be in Thailand with some friends right now.”

  Harry leaned closer, his brows dipping into a deeper frown. “Then I’ll tell you for her—no guests.”

  Lola’s pulse was beginning to tick with one part thrill and two parts pure irritation. She jutted out her chin, staring him in the eye. They were so close they could have kissed if he wasn’t being such a jerk right now. “Who declared you king of the lake house, Horrible Harry? I can do what I want.”

  “No, you can’t,” he said, and his gaze fell to her mouth.

  “Who’s going to stop me?”

  Harry’s frown turned into a devilish smile, and he said to her mouth, “You want to try me, you little lunatic? Go right ahead.”

  “Lola? Are you in here?” Nolan called from the kitchen.

  “That’s your swim buddy,” he said low, and Lola felt something very warm and very dangerous wiggling down her spine. She pushed away from Horrible Harry and ducked under his arm, slipping on the tile floor where she’d dripped and catching herself on the door frame. She shot Harry a look over her shoulder before she went out.

  “There you are,” Nolan said. “I have to run and open the bar, because those rich bitches will be wanting their cocktails soon. Hey, you want to come to a party with me tonight? It’s on the south end of the lake, down by that big resort,” he said as he wiggled into some jeans that were too tight.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Lola said as Harry walked around her and down the hall.

  Nolan watched him go. “He’s not very friendly.”

  “He’s just . . . passing through,” she said, and waved a hand dismissively. “Thanks for the invitation, but I really should work.”

  “Celebrities will be there, you know.”

  “Like who?” Lola asked.

  “Like . . . supposedly, Amy Schumer. Her folks have a house up here. She’s usually around in the summer.”

  Amy Schumer? Lola’s skin began to tingle with excitement. She said, very calmly, “Well . . . okay.” She shrugged. But inside, she was shrieking with delight.

  “Great. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  She walked Nolan out to his car, waved as he went around the drive.

  Amy Schumer!

  Casey was right! At long last, she was living the kind of life she’d wanted. She was officially hanging out with the cool kids of East Beach, and stodgy, uptight, laundry obsessors could go fold some boxer shorts.

  Nine

  Harry had endured a very long week, filled with many headaches and late nights. He’d lost a crane operator to a DUI and had to scramble to find another one. His crew had uncovered some bones, which of course brought everything to a grinding halt while authorities determined what sort of bones they were. It turned out they were large animal bones, and his crew was cleared to continue the work—but the three days lost to working on that section of the bridge had put them behind schedule.

  He was losing money again, and it felt like it was pouring through his pockets. Not only that, he had some legwork to do in preparing to bid on another subcontracting job,
but it was work he had to do after ten to twelve hours on the job.

  Today, however, he’d left his job site early, because he’d heard that the newest state project was sixty-two miles of toll roads with three bridge spans, and the main contract had gone to Horizons Enterprises.

  He planned to do some research tonight—he wanted to know everything there was to know about Horizons Enterprises. When that company sent out specs for the bridges, he was determined to aggressively pursue it. He wanted at least one of those bridges, but he was gunning for all three.

  He had been looking forward to an inflatable raft, a beer, and a pool overlooking Lake Haven. He wanted a little down time before he cranked up his computer. But of course, his crazy roommate was on hand to blow that idea out of the water.

  He sat in his office now, staring at his email inbox. He didn’t really see the messages there, because his head was filled with images of Lola’s glittering blue eyes, her pert little smile, the droplets of water on her skin. He didn’t know where she went after her friend left. He heard a door slam somewhere and ignored it. After another quarter of an hour of staring at a computer screen and seeing nothing but her, he got in his truck, and went to look for something to eat.

  He didn’t have much luck. East Beach did not attract the sort of people who ate at McDonald’s. There were probably more private chefs than grill masters in this village, and after driving aimlessly, he couldn’t find anything that didn’t require a reservation. He finally decided he’d have to make do with the few groceries they kept on the shelves at Eckland’s Hardware and General Store at the bottom of Juneberry Road.

  He perused the aisles before settling on some chips and dip. This weekend, he would make it a point to visit a real grocery store. Tonight, he would dine like a frat boy.

  Harry parked in front of the house and, holding the bag of chips between his teeth, dug in his pocket for the house key as he walked to the front door.

  He’d hardly cracked the door before he smelled something so savory that his stomach instantly began to grumble. He started for the kitchen, but hesitated mid-stride, startled by the big mess. It didn’t seem as if she’d even had time to do this. Pots and pans, measuring cups, and various dishes were scattered across the bar top. A carton of cream was sitting open on the counter.