Straight Up Love (Boys of Jackson Harbor 2)

“Sydney, language.”

Sydney’s cheeks flare pink. “Sorry, but it’s true.”

I take a deep breath. “Please don’t worry until we have more information. I don’t want to promise anything. Obviously, it’s not my decision to make. I’ll know when I know.”

“But you’ll tell us when you do?” Corrine asks in a small voice.

These kids act so tough and grown-up. Most of the time it’s easy to forget that they’re still just that—kids. But I see the vulnerability in the eyes of the fifteen students waiting for me to answer. They need the reassurance that I’ll be here next year because I’m a symbol of what they’ve come to love—bringing words to life on stage. I want to tell them I’m not worried and explain that I’ve been here longer than both of the other teachers in my department. But I bite my tongue just in case I’m wrong to be so confident.

“I’ll tell you when I know,” I promise. I point to the summer theater applications and grin. “But I’m doing children’s theater this summer no matter what, and so should you.”

Jake

Jackson Brews is packed. After a few teases in March, another seemingly endless Michigan winter has finally released us from her clutches, and the balmy temps and sunshine have chased everyone out of their homes and to the streets of downtown Jackson Harbor. It’s one of those nights when patrons have to squeeze through a mass of bodies to get to the bar. Soon enough, school will be out and the tourists will return, and nights like this will be the norm at Jackson Brews. I’m grateful for the tourists and all they do for our community, but seeing the place packed with locals fills me with pride.

Jackson Brews was just a hole-in-the-wall brewpub when I took over. Dad didn’t set out to open a bar; he wanted to brew beer. He was good at it, and before he got sick, he was distributing all over town and into Grand Rapids. The Jackson Brews brewpub was here, but it wasn’t anything special. Customers could stop by and get one of Dad’s brews, and maybe a deli sandwich and some fries. It was functional, but not a destination.

I was in college when Dad was diagnosed with cancer, and when the treatments were making him too sick to work, we all stepped up. Brayden had already been working at Dad’s side on deals to expand distribution. It made sense for him to take over that side of things, but everyone knew he wasn’t the right choice to manage the bar. Carter had just gotten on at the Jackson Harbor Fire Department, and Ethan was in med school. Shay and Levi were both too young, so that left me: a twenty-one-year-old kid who wanted his family’s bar to be the best fucking bar in town. It didn’t happen as fast I wanted it to, but it happened, and I can’t help but be proud. I think Dad would be too if he could see it.

The bell rings as the front door opens. I instinctively glance in that direction but freeze when I see Ava, dressed to kill and looking right at me. Anticipation jackknifes down my spine before I can check myself.

She’s dressed for her date, you idiot.

She squeezes her way through the crowd and steps behind the bar to stand by my side. I inhale deeply and close my eyes for a beat as I process her floral perfume—a junkie taking a hit. When I open my eyes again, she’s surveying the crowd with a shake of her head. “I think I need to cancel my date and help you. Jesus. Where’d they all come from?”

I shrug. “Gorgeous day. I think it’s the first sunny day over forty we’ve had this spring.”

“Do you have the back patio open?”

“Yep, and it’s standing room only out there too.” I wave to a regular then step away to pour his beer and start his tab. I fill a few more drinks and send an order back to the kitchen before turning back to Ava.

Her face is scrunched up with worry. “You need me.”

“You are trying to get out of your date.” When she dodges eye contact, I dip my head to catch her gaze. “Cindy and I have this covered.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” Not that I want her to go on this date, but I’m not going to be the guy who stands in her way either.

“I’m so nervous. I suck at first dates, and the pressure is on, you know what I mean? I’ve pretty much given up on finding someone.” She tugs at the hem of her dress. “But I didn’t dream about growing up and finding the perfect sperm to have a baby with. I dreamed of the perfect guy. What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, nice to meet you. I’m Ava, and I’m hoping we’re a great match so we can fall in love, get married, and have babies ASAP.’”

I swallow hard and put my best-friend hat back on. “Maybe don’t lead with that.”

She shakes her head. “But I’m a thirty-year-old divorcée who can’t even put on her own makeup. I had to have Ellie help me.”

Her eye makeup is darker than she usually wears it, and she’s swapped out her typical light pink gloss for a pink that’s so dark it’s almost red. It’s all a step up from what Ava would do on her own, but not over the top. “She did a nice job.”

“I feel like I should be working the corner somewhere.”

“Relax. You look amazing.” I’m not exaggerating. She’s wearing a little black dress—emphasis on little—with her favorite red heels. I haven’t seen this dress before. If I had, I’m positive I’d remember, so I’m guessing it’s Ellie’s. It shows her off. The neckline exposes more cleavage than she usually does, and the hemline exposes more leg. No red-blooded heterosexual male is going to be able to resist her, even if she uses “I want a baby” as her opening line.

“I feel like a washed-up old lady who’s trying too hard.”

“Well, you look like a wet dream.”

She frowns and studies me. “You mean it?”

Fuck yes, I do. I’d like to pull her into the kitchen, press her against the walk-in cooler, and show her just how much I mean it.