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?

I shouldn’t be jealous here. This is Jake. It’s fine if he’s attracted to Molly. What do I care?

Except that he’s going to father your child. Except that he just whispered dirty promises in your ear so hot that your belly is still a little weird and fluttery.

“Molly,” I say, trying to be a bigger person than I want to be. I let the kitchen door swing closed behind me and cross to where Molly’s sitting so only the wooden bar top is between us. “Hey!” The word is stretched thin, but the smile she tosses my way tells me she doesn’t notice.

“Ava, I was just telling Jake how awful dinner was. After you left, Dad tried to lecture me again and I blew up. We got in an awful fight and then he and Mom started fighting.” She shudders. “I needed a drink.” She shakes her head. “What a day it’s been.”

“I’m sorry about that.” There you go, Ava. Grab hold of that empathy you were feeling earlier. “Dad’s expectations can be impossible.”

“It’s my fault,” she says. “I only agreed to visit because I thought it would be better to ask the favor in person, but I never should have told Mom I had something I needed to talk about. I should’ve known she would assume it was good news.”

I swallow and shrug. “In her defense, it almost always is with you.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right. I think I’ve given Mom more than a few gray hairs. I’m surprised Dad doesn’t send me her salon bills.”

“Dad won’t budge on the loan, will he?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

She shakes her head. “I realize how bad this is to say when I’m here wasting money on alcohol, and I’m about to waste more money on a hotel when I’m officially a couple of strokes of bad luck away from being homeless.”

“Homeless?” Jake’s been standing by, a silent observer, but his eyebrows shoot into his hairline at this. “Shit. What happened?”

Molly waves a hand. “Lost my job. Can’t find a new one—at least nothing that’ll cover my rent in Brooklyn—and I’m running out of time.”

“Can’t you just move home for a while?” Jake asks.

I wince, but Molly gapes at him. “You want me to move back to Jackson Harbor?”

He shrugs. “You wouldn’t be homeless.”

I drag my bottom lip through my teeth. “He’s right.”

“Nope,” Molly said. “It’s not an option. I’m a New Yorker. You can take the girl out of the city, yada, yada, yada.” She groans. “I thought your parents were supposed to help when you were having hard times, but I should’ve known Dad would be all about the tough love.”

“You can borrow some money from me,” I say. Her eyes go wide, and Jake looks shocked too, but hell, I’m competitive with my stepsister, not hateful. “Jill said she’d figure out a way to pay me back. It’s no big deal.”

Molly squeezes her fists together and presses them to her mouth. “Oh my God! You are so amazing! Ava! What did I do to deserve you?” Her eyes well with tears, and my cheeks heat. Her words feel good, even if I don’t deserve them. Her warm smile is full of gratitude and reminds me—yet again—that our so-called rivalry is one-sided.

“And you don’t need to get a hotel room. You can stay at my place while you’re in town.” I practically throw a hand over my mouth, because I cannot believe the words that just came out of there. Maybe it’s penance for years of unfair resentment.

“Get out!” Molly’s blue eyes are bright. More gratitude I don’t deserve. “Ava, you are seriously the best.”

I wave a hand. “It’s nothing. I have the room.” I turn to Jake, really getting into my role as the good sister now. “You have business contacts in New York, don’t you? Any chance you and Brayden could help Molly out?”

Jake blinks at me, then nods slowly. “I might have a lead on a job in the city,” he says, turning to Molly. “I can get some details if you’re interested.”

“Of course!” She pumps a fist in the air. “Way to turn a girl’s day around, you two!”

Jake’s gaze ping-pongs between us. “I think this could work out great, actually.”

I force a smile. “Molly, I’m going to head home. Are you about ready?”

She tilts her head to the side. “I don’t want to leave yet. Let’s have a couple of drinks and hang out.”

I shake my head. “I need some downtime. It’s been a crazy week, but you can stay and I’ll come get you later.”

“No, no.” Molly shakes her head vehemently. “I’m not going to drag you back out if you want to go home. If you give me the address, I’ll just meet you at your place later. I’ll get an Uber.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jake says, turning to me. “I can drive her home.”

Molly beams. “We can catch up! That’s a great plan. Love. It.”

“I . . . Thanks?” Jake was never mean about Molly, never hated on her, but he always understood my resentment. When did they become buddies?

I’m irritated with my own irrational jealousy. I’m being an idiot.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Jake asks me softly, and when I stare at him blankly, he says, “For the baby shower?”

“Oh, right! That’s tomorrow.” I nod. Mother Teresa in my guest room and Harrison’s baby shower all in one day. It’s gonna be a doozy. “Sure. Yeah, I’ll see you then.”

“I’ll pick you up at noon.”

“Okay.” I stare at him for a beat, struggling with the possessiveness I’ve felt ever since I stepped out of the kitchen and saw him talking to my stepsister. I don’t want you to drive Molly home. I want you to kiss me like you did last night, but I want you to do it right here in front of everyone.

He must not hear my telepathic plea, because he’s already moved on, helping Cindy fill a tray with half a dozen of our popular house brew flights.

“Night,” I say softly.

“Good night,” Molly calls as I leave, and I know without a doubt she’d never ruin a perfect kiss by telling the guy she had lube.

Jake

When Molly asked for her third beer, I decided it was time to take her home before tipsy turned into drunk. Before her little touches—on my wrist, my biceps, the back of my shoulder—turned into . . . more.

I knew Ava was dying to get out of there, so I offered to drive Molly home. Now that we’re alone together in my car, I kind of regret it. The night is dark—the stars and sliver of moon covered by a thick sheet of clouds—and the car is too small. My mistakes weigh heavily on my tongue, keeping me from having the conversation I need to use this time for.

“You still smell good, you know that?” Molly says, turning in her seat and staring at me.

“Molly . . .”

She sighs. “Sorry. A girl can hope, right?”

I keep one hand on the wheel and use the other to squeeze the back of my neck. “Do you have any sales experience?” Just pretend it never happened, and everything will be fine.

“My background is in non-profit fundraising, which is the toughest kind of sales.”

I nod and swallow. “Jackson Brews needs a regional sales rep in the northeast. I think you could be good at it if you were interested. I’m meeting with a few people when I go out there next month, but if you wanted, you and Brayden and I could sit down while you’re in town.”

“Like, an interview?”

I nod, my eyes on the road and avoiding hers, which I’ve felt glued to me since she got in the car. “Yeah.”

“Sure. Thanks. I think . . . That would be awesome. I’m really grateful, Jake.”

“No problem. I hope it works out.” I flash her a smile.

She bites her bottom lip and trails her index finger down my arm. “Was there any other reason you wanted to drive me home?”

Shit. “Molly, I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong—”

Pulling away, she takes a deep breath and rolls her head to face the window. “Please don’t. Don’t give me that speech. It’s embarrassing.”

I pull into Ava’s drive and cut the engine. The house is dark except for the single porch light.

“You’re still in love with her?” she asks softly.

There’s a big list of people I don’t want to have this conversation with, and Molly is somewhere near the top.

“Does something like that usually change?” My voice cracks—my insecurities peeking out into the darkness.

“She rejected you and married someone else. For most guys, that would do the trick. Especially after five years.”

“She’s not married now.”

Molly squeezes my shoulder, and the dome light comes on as she opens her door. “Yeah. And you’re not most guys. Night, Jake.”