Straight Up Love (Boys of Jackson Harbor 2)

Ava

I clean up the remains of my dinner to give myself a chance to steady my breathing. I’m not ready to face Jake yet, so I sit in his office to scroll through my phone. If I were to walk out there right now, I’m pretty sure everyone who looked at me would know I have sex on the brain.

/> Sex with Jake.

Shit. Better not to think about it too much. Even if I want to. Even if I can’t stop . . .

I’m scrolling through Instagram—something mindless to distract me—when my phone rings in my hand. “Hello?”

“May I speak with Ava McKinley, please?”

“This is she.” My whole body tenses at the woman’s use of my full name. Because this is such a small town, a parent of a student will occasionally get my phone number and call to yell at me for their child’s grade—as if their child played no part in it—and after the Billy Joel Christianson incident on Friday, I should’ve known better than to answer a call from an unknown number.

“Ava! I’m so glad I reached you. My name’s Penelope Grimly. I’m calling from Seaside Community Schools.”

“Oh!” Not what I expected. But still awkward. “Hi?”

“Is this an okay time for you?”

“Um, I guess?” I shake my head. I didn’t think my dad was lying about this, but I thought maybe he was overly confident. “I’m not busy right now.”

“I promise to keep it short!” She laughs easily. “I hope you’ll forgive me for calling you unannounced on a Saturday night. Martha passed your information on to me over dinner, and I was so excited to reach out to you about the opportunity we have here. I wanted to call as soon as possible.” She makes a squeaking noise, as if she’s putting the brakes on her own little speech. “Martha said you’re in the market for a new job. She said she wouldn’t forgive me if you took another position before we had a chance to make an offer.”

“An offer?” I’m not only unprepared for this phone call, my mind’s not right. I’m feeling warm and fuzzy from Jake’s words in my ear, his mouth on my skin, and I’m on the phone with Penelope from Seaside Community Schools. Good old Ava, always making her dad proud.

“Nothing is definitive yet.” Penelope gives another squeaky laugh. “Martha shared your résumé with me. She told me about your background and your experience with the children’s theater in Jackson Harbor. You’ve built an amazing program there, and I’m so excited that you’re considering joining us. I want to get the ball rolling on your application process.”

I consider putting her off and explaining that there’s been a misunderstanding, that, as far as I know, I still have a job next fall. But then I think about that news making its way back to my father. It’s probably best that I play along. “Thank you for calling, Penelope—may I call you Penelope?”

“Yes, please do, thank you!” Her tone of voice isn’t unlike that of a teenager receiving a promise ring from her first boyfriend. Either Penelope is totally impressed by what she knows about me or she’s a great actress. Or maybe it’s neither and she’s just half squeaky toy. “Martha tells me that your mother lives near us. Is that true?”

“She’s a professor at Pensacola State College.”

“That’s not far from Seaside at all! Less than an hour, depending on traffic. Does she like it down here?”

I smile when thinking of my mother in Florida—the freckles covering her cheekbones, her magnetic draw to the beach, the way she always tilts her face toward the sun. Mom was never overtly unhappy in Jackson Harbor, but she radiates joy in her new home. “She’s been there for thirteen years, so I think it’s safe to say she’s a fan. It’s hard to come back to snowy Michigan when you’re used to the sunshine.”

“Yes, I imagine. Most people who move down here can’t imagine leaving, and Seaside is particularly close to my heart. I hope to get you down here for a visit soon so you can fall in love too.”

Wow. What kind of favor do Dad’s friends owe him? “I . . . Thanks.”

“Listen, I don’t want to keep you, so I’ll cut to the chase. May I email you some pertinent details? You can look them over and then we can schedule a call at a time that works for you.”

“That sounds good. Thank you, Penelope.” I give her my email address—curious about the position now, despite myself. I don’t plan on leaving Jackson Harbor if I can help it, but Dad’s right. It’s always good to have a backup plan, and after my meeting with Mr. Mooney yesterday, I’d be lying if I said I felt as secure in my job today as I did the night of our date, when he told me I shouldn’t worry.

I end the call with Penelope and shoot Dad a quick message to let him know she called and seems enthusiastic about me. I feel a twinge of embarrassment as I send the text—thirty years old and still trying to make my daddy proud. I slide my phone back into my purse.

My nerves feel frazzled and my heart is racing, and I barely did any talking. God save me if I actually have to go out on the job market and do interviews.

It’s already after nine, and I want to get home early tonight, so I head out front to say goodbye to Jake. When I push out from the kitchen, I’m greeted with the sight of Jake standing across from Molly, his eyes wide as she chatters on about something.

Jackson Brews isn’t mine. It’ll never be mine. But I’ve worked here part-time since my divorce and feel a little ownership of the place as a result. So when I see my perfect stepsister sitting in the middle of a space I consider to be so completely my world, talking to my Jake, it throws me off balance.

Jake looks as if he’s been knocked off balance too, but in a different way. Jealousy twists my gut. I’m in the simple black dress and flats I wore to dinner at Dad’s, but Molly looks like she just stepped out of a fashion magazine. Her pink shirt is perfect for her fair complexion, and the low cut shows off her collarbone and the swell of her abundant cleavage—the only place you need to look to know Molly and I share no DNA. Her makeup is perfect, her hair a silky sheet of blond.

Jake practically jumps when he sees me, and I wonder with an acute pinch in my chest if he’s regretting the things he said to me in the kitchen. In this moment, I forget what a dick my father was to her. In this moment, with Jake’s attention swinging so quickly—magnetically?—back to my stepsister, I hate her a little.

It’s not Molly’s fault that she’s practically perfect in every way, but it’s pretty tough not to resent all that. Couldn’t she just be pretty or smart? Vivacious or athletic? Why did she have to be everything? And why did I have to fall so damn short?