Suddenly Dating (A Lake Haven Novel Book 2)

by Julia London

  “Read what?” Birta said loudly, commanding the attention of everyone. The table quieted, and Birta laughed it off. “I beg your pardon, but I hear a mention of books and I can’t help but go there.”

  “I was saying I love to read books,” Mia said politely. “I just finished The Goldfinch.”

  “I will not take offense that the book was not mine,” Birta said, inclining her head to more polite laughter. “But you do have good taste in books. That was a masterful novel. Did you read it, Lola?”

  Lola blinked, startled to be asked. “I did.”

  “And what did our aspiring writer think?” Birta asked, her smile terribly patronizing.

  Everyone was looking at her. This felt like a setup, but Lola couldn’t imagine why. She didn’t think The Goldfinch was masterful. She glanced at Harry, who gave her a small smile of encouragement. “I thought Boris—the Russian friend?—I thought he was more interesting than the protagonist. And the end was unsatisfying for me.”

  Birta chuckled with amusement and glanced around the table. “I think you missed the point of the book then.”

  Yep. A setup all right, and now, Lola looked like an idiot.

  “Really,” Mia said, as if pondering Birta’s point. “Well I guess I missed the point, too, because I thought the very same thing.”

  With that statement, Mia had cemented her place at the top of Lola’s adoration list. She could kiss her right now, plant a big smacker right on the lips.

  But Birta waved her hand. “I admit that I tend to read with a very technical eye,” she said, shrugging it off. “Now then,” she said, turning toward Harry. “What are you speaking of so intimately in this corner?”

  “Just my idea to give up music and take up fishing,” Everett said.

  “Oh, God,” Mia groaned. “That can’t happen, sweetie. You’re a horrible fisherman.” She regaled the table with a story of a fishing excursion they took together when Everett had spent most of the day below deck, green to the gills.

  The talk turned to his music and a soundtrack he was creating for a film, which gave Lola the opportunity to sink back in her chair while her mind did gymnastics, trying to understand what was happening between Harry and Melissa, and Harry and her. She needed a bottle of wine, a box of Godivas, and some deep covers to slide under as she made sense of this horrible jolt to her heart.

  It was maddening—the company was excellent, and the meal divine, all things Lola would have studied with keen interest under normal circumstances. But her appetite was nonexistent. She couldn’t stop glancing down the table at Harry and Melissa, at the way they talked, their heads together, as if they were sharing a secret.

  The dessert was served; Lola scarcely noticed it until Mallory said, “Look,” and pointed at it. “That’s candy from my store,” she said, indicating the candies embedded in the icing.

  “I thought you closed it!” Mia said. “I went by there Wednesday, and it wasn’t open.”

  “Yeah,” Mallory said, and looked at Lola forlornly. “I need an assistant.”

  Jesus, what was happening? Lola couldn’t handle Mallory’s mood with all the somersaults her thoughts were doing about Harry and Melissa at the other end of the table. Her imagination was running wild now—she’d already written their love story. They were beautiful people, lovers reunited who had realized, just tonight, that they never should have been apart. Harry was with the woman who, by his own admission, he wasn’t quite over, and Melissa . . . well, Lola knew exactly what she wanted.

  Lola was already pining for Harry, mourning her loss.

  She should never have let her infatuation take root and sink deep into her. She should have kept her distance instead of allowing the last couple of weeks to set up shop in her heart and happily wing visions of blissful futures to her brain. Now, the evening of a lifetime was ruined by her own wants and insecurities, and worse, the inevitable end of her fantasy.

  She was startled by the faint sound of her phone buzzing and dug it out of her purse. It was a text from Kennedy: Call me. Thank God.

  “Excuse me,” she said as people devoured their dessert. “I have to take this.” She walked outside onto the deck, into quiet, away from the laughing voices, and called her sister.

  “Lola! You are never going to believe it,” Kennedy squealed when she answered.

  “What?”

  “I got a paid internship! It’s only part-time, but it’s going to pay me something, and it’s with this really prestigious doctor,” she bubbled. “Do you know what this means?”

  “No.”

  “Everything!” Kennedy shouted, and launched into a long and winding tale of how she’d landed the post, talking without a breath. As Lola listened to her over-the-moon sister, she heard people coming out behind her and walked down some steps to the dock for privacy. But once on the dock, she made the mistake of looking back, and as Kennedy nattered on, Lola’s heart dropped. Harry and Melissa were standing at the railing, side by side, talking in low voices as they gazed out at the lake. Harry didn’t see Lola. How could he? He was looking at Melissa with an expression of longing, of regret . . . and desire. As if Melissa were diamonds and whipped cream and sex all in one frothy confection.

  It sucked. It sucked.

  “Why aren’t you more excited?” Kennedy demanded.

  “I am excited, Kennedy. I’m just having a weird night.”

  “How come?”

  “I don’t know. I’m at this party, and I guess I just miss home.” Lola turned away from Harry. She did miss home just then. She missed her quiet life, where her emotions were kept at bay. She missed checking on Mr. Bagatti, picking up nieces and nephews, and joining her siblings on Sundays at Ben’s apartment. She missed it terribly just then.

  “Then come home, Lola. You can write here, too, you know,” Kennedy said. “You can stay with me.”

  Lola smiled. “You live in a room, Kennedy. One room. I’m not staying with you because I’d probably have to kill you.”

  Kennedy laughed. “If I didn’t kill you first. Well okay, if you won’t come home, you’re going to have to gut out your homesickness. But you can do it. If anyone can, you can.”

  “Right,” Lola agreed. She was always gutting things out, wasn’t she? “Thanks, kid. I’m really proud of you, but I need to go,” she said.

  They said their good-byes and ended the call. Lola made herself look up; Harry and Melissa weren’t at the railing anymore, but as Lola started back up the steps, a pair of shapely legs moved into view.

  Lola glanced up into Melissa’s smiling face. “Hi, Lola,” she said.

  “Ah . . . hi.” Well, this was a pickle. Melissa was blocking her way—there was no stepping around her. Lola would have to address her.

  Melissa was holding a drink, and absently combing her silky, long dark hair back with her fingers. “Is there another level down there?” she asked, looking past Lola.

  “Just the dock.”

  Melissa nodded. “Nice evening, isn’t it?”

  “Very.”

  Melissa breathed in deeply. “This is weird, isn’t it? Meeting each other again?” She bounced back a step so that Lola could step up onto the deck.

  “Yeah. Weird,” Lola agreed.

  Melissa’s smile was warm, and even a twinge sympathetic. “So you came with Harry,” she said.

  Lola stared at her, uncertain how to answer.

  “He told me,” she said. “What are the odds, do you think?” she asked curiously. “That I would meet this really cool chick at a party, and say too much about my ex, and then run into her again as my ex’s date. I’m not sure Harry believed me,” she said with a rueful smile. “It’s bizarre.”

  “It’s bizarre all right,” Lola said. It was more than bizarre. She felt as if something in her had shattered, and she was scrambling to pick up the pieces.

  “Look, Lola . . . I’m going to cut through the tension here.”

  “Tension? I don’t—”

  “This has been a shoc
k,” Melissa said, cutting Lola off before she could deny any tension. “I didn’t know Harry had moved on,” she said, pressing a hand to her chest. “I had no inkling he was seeing anyone, although I probably should have guessed that a guy like him would be snatched up.”

  “I didn’t snatch him,” Lola said.

  “I obviously didn’t know he was at Lake Haven,” she continued. “I was just as shocked as you probably are.”

  Ah, but she did know. Hadn’t Harry’s sister said she told her where he was? “We’re not really seeing each other,” Lola said, in all honesty. “We’re roommates.” But that didn’t sound entirely accurate, either. What the hell were they? They’d had fabulous sex, had enjoyed each other’s company. Didn’t that mean there was something between them? Something deeper, something more meaningful than sharing a pan of mac and cheese and fooling around? Or was she really such an idiot?

  “You don’t have to try to make me feel better,” Melissa said. “Believe me, I know what a big mistake I made.”

  What was Lola supposed to say? Yes, you did? Your loss is my gain? But Lola didn’t say that. This situation was obviously different than what had happened with her and Will, but nevertheless, Lola knew what it was like to be the one on the outside. She knew how Melissa must be feeling right now, how crushing it was to see someone you love with another woman. So she said, “Harry and I are just friends,” and the moment the words left her mouth, Lola felt a strange twist in her belly.

  Melissa frowned. “Really?”

  Stand up for yourself! Tell her how you really feel! But Lola couldn’t do it. She kept thinking of the way Harry had looked at Melissa, and vice versa. Of all that history between them, and the time and effort they’d put into their relationship—didn’t they deserve another shot? Could she really upend it after only a few weeks when there was nothing really spoken between her and Harry? “Really,” she said, and the twist in her gut deepened.

  Melissa didn’t have to look so relieved. “Wow, that’s . . . that’s really interesting. It’s just that, I don’t know . . . I’ve had some regrets, you know?”

  Lola nodded. She was best friends with regret, and she was going to be sleeping with a big fat one when this was all said and done.

  “I’ve had some time to think about it, too, and I . . . I don’t know, I’d like to try again.”

  “Yeah . . . I sort of got that,” Lola said. She wished Casey was here. Casey would know how to extract herself from the bomb that was detonating around her right now.

  “Well,” Melissa said, and smiled sadly. “Thanks, Lola. Thanks for understanding. You seem really nice.”

  Don’t be so fucking nice, Lola, she heard Casey whisper in her ear. “Sure,” Lola said. Who thanked her ex-boyfriend’s date for listening to how brokenhearted she was?

  “Want to get a drink?” Melissa asked, as if now they could be besties.

  “Ah . . . I’m going to find Mallory,” she said.

  “Okay. Talk to you later?”

  Lola nodded, and Melissa sashayed over to Harry, who was speaking with the Rosenthals. She watched Melissa put her perfectly manicured hand on his arm and lift her chin up to say something. She watched the way Harry looked down at Melissa and gripped his drink.

  Lola’s heart sank.

  She looked back to the lake. Maybe she should be grateful that her questions were answered now—this was casual sex for him, and he still had feelings for Melissa. Instead of sinking into a pit of despair, maybe she could see this and accept it for what it was. They were friends, and a friend would help Harry get what he wanted. After all, isn’t that what Lola did best? Make life easier for people around her so they could have what they wanted while she kept searching?

  Bitter much?

  The night did not improve, because Mallory was terribly drunk. Mia and Everett had left. So had Melissa and Andy. Lola hadn’t seen them leave, because she couldn’t bear to see Harry say good-bye to Melissa and had stayed outside with Mallory.

  But now it was time to get Mallory out of here. Lola made her way to Harry’s side and touched his arm. He smiled down at her. “There you are. Are you ready to go?”

  “If you are,” Lola said. “We might have to carry Mallory.”

  Harry winced and nodded. He turned back to Mr. Rosenthal. “I guess we’re heading out.”

  “What’s this? You’re leaving?”

  Birta apparently had a pair of elephant ears on her; she’d been at least ten feet away.

  “Birta, thank you for a lovely evening,” Harry said smoothly. “But Lola and I both have to work tomorrow.”

  “We hardly had a moment!” Birta said, pouting like a child.

  Lola thought she’d had plenty of moments with Harry. She’d monopolized him for half the evening, so that even Melissa couldn’t steal him away.

  “I wish you’d stay for a nightcap,” Birta said.

  “Thank you, but no,” Harry said.

  “When would you like me to start?” Lola asked Birta before she could beg Harry again.

  “What? Oh yes. Come Tuesday, darling. I’ll be too exhausted to think tomorrow,” she said, as if she’d cooked the meal and waited on her guests, instead of hiring others to do that for her.

  Lola said she would, then went to find Mallory. She left Birta with her hand on Harry’s arm, shifting closer. Jesus, was there a woman in the northeast who didn’t want into the man’s pants?

  In the meantime, a wobbly Mallory had trapped one of the waiters with some tale that involved a lot of hand gestures. “Come on, Mallory, it’s time to go,” Lola said, and smiled at the waiter. Or rather, his fleeing back. He made a run for it as soon as Lola showed up.

  “Lola?” Mallory said, throwing her arm around her shoulders. “I have been waaaay overserved.”

  “That is an understatement,” Lola muttered and managed to get Mallory moving in the direction of the door.

  Harry joined Lola to help, putting his arm around Mallory’s back, propping her up against him and telling her to use her feet.

  “Feet,” Mallory said, and laughed. “Where are they?”

  They managed to navigate the walk to the drive with Mallory between them, then poured her into the backseat of Harry’s truck when the valet brought it around. As they started toward Juneberry Road, Mallory had rolled onto her side in the back seat. “I’m the worst,” she moaned. “I drank so much.”

  “You seemed kind of down tonight,” Lola said. “Is something wrong?”

  “No!” Mallory moaned. “I’m just a drunk.”

  “No you’re not,” Lola said, exasperated.

  Harry put his hand on her knee and rubbed it. “Save your breath. You can’t argue with anyone that drunk.”

  He was right—Lola knew that firsthand from her childhood. Best to hide under the bed and wait for it to pass. She sagged into the passenger seat. “I hate to see her like this. Whatever is going on with her, tying one on is not going to help.”

  Harry looked in the rearview mirror. “Is she alive?”

  “For the moment,” Lola said. She stared out the window at the road the headlights illuminated. She was dying to ask Harry all the obvious questions—what did Melissa say, did he know she was coming, how did he feel—but she forced herself to keep quiet.

  “Lola?” he said softly. “I need to talk to you.”

  This was it. He’d tell her that he and Melissa were talking. The one thing Lola had feared going into this casual relationship was rejection, and she was quick to head it off at the pass. “Please, not here,” she said low. It was one thing to hear him say that the love of his life had come back, trotting into a party when he had least expected her. It was another thing entirely for Mallory to hear it, too, no matter how drunk she was.

  Harry didn’t say anything. Not a single word. He didn’t disagree, he didn’t agree.

  “You don’t want to talk about Birta, right?” Mallory blurted from the back seat. “That’s why I am so mad, Lola! Why Birta? Why not me? Albert is
so upset about the candy shop.”

  Was one crisis not enough for the evening? Did Mallory have to have one, too? “What are you talking about, Mallory?” Lola asked irritably. “Is your dad mad because you didn’t open the shop Wednesday?”

  “No!” she said, and surged in between the seats, so that her head was between Harry and Lola. “Sort of! No, no, it’s more than that. The books are horrible,” she said with a little hiccupped sob.

  “What books?”

  “My books,” Mallory said, and tried to tap herself on the chest, but missed, and fell forward a little more before righting herself.

  “Are you talking about your accounting?” Harry asked, sounding confused.

  “Yes. That.”

  “That makes no sense,” Lola said, annoyed. “Every time I’m there, it’s full of people. You have so many customers!”

  “You’re not understanding,” Mallory said gravely, and latched on to Lola’s shoulder, gripping it. “The sales are good. But I’m going to tell you a secret.”

  “Please don’t,” Lola moaned.

  “No, wait. It’s not a secret,” Mallory said, frowning. “It’s not a secret because I am thirty years old and I live with my parents, so how can it be a secret?” She whipped her head to Harry. “Did you hear that, Harry? I’m thirty and I live with my parents.”

  “That’s your big secret?” Lola asked, increasingly annoyed.

  “No! The secret is that I can’t do anything on my own because I have brain damage,” she said, and tapped her head with her fist.

  “Mallory, for God’s sake,” Lola said. “You may forget a few things, but you’re really smart and funny—”

  “I am severely . . . severely dyslexic,” she said, grabbing Lola’s shoulder again. “Why do you think Albert set me up in a candy shop? I can’t keep a job!” she cried with such verve that she toppled into the back seat again. “Albert is going to close the shop down! He doesn’t get dyslexia. He thinks it is something I can shake off. Now I don’t know what to do—I love the candy shop, and I love all the kids who come in. But I’m really disorganized, and numbers turn upside down. And I am so mad that you are going to help Birta,” she said, casting her arm presumably in the direction of Birta but hitting the window with her hand. “And not me.”