Chapter 2 #2
Michael tipped his beer toward him. “I’m sure Lydia knows all about them. Me? I’m more of a ‘grab a big cup at Kwik Trip’ kind of guy.”
“Yeah, you’ve always been a connoisseur of gas station coffee.”
Michael chuckled, then leaned back. “So, when will you be getting out of the kitchen and starting on the big-picture stuff?”
“I’m going to speak with Zoe tomorrow about an agenda.”
“Zoe?” Michael’s brows drew together. “You said you’d be working with the owner, and I swear you told me it was a guy.”
“Two days before I arrived, the owner—his name is Ryder— messed up his knee playing trampoline dodgeball,” John explained.
Michael snorted. “That’s why those things should be outlawed.”
“Pretty sure he won’t be hosting another team-building event like that anytime soon.”
Michael’s brows lifted. “So now you’re stuck with—”
“Zoe Goodhue. His daughter.”
Michael leaned forward in his chair, as if savoring the name. “Zoe.” He let it roll off his tongue like he was tasting something familiar. “Wasn’t that Erik’s—”
“Same person,” John cut in.
Michael’s gaze sharpened. “Really?”
“Yep.”
His brother tilted his head. “You always were kind of sweet—”
“She’s keeping things professional. I mean, we’re keeping things professional.”
Michael’s teasing expression disappeared. “Does she hold what happened against you?”
Did she? John couldn’t see how. But that might explain the chill.
“Any big plans tonight?” Michael changed the subject without waiting for a response, cutting him a break.
John stretched, rolling his shoulders. “I’m thinking of grabbing something to eat. Maybe check out one of the bars in town.”
Michael smirked. “Good call. I doubt a coffee shop is prime territory for meeting single women.”
“Not really looking,” John admitted, but one woman immediately came to mind.
Zoe. Smart. Attractive. Unapologetically direct. The trifecta. And—at least as far as he knew—unattached.
A woman he should steer clear of.
Her engagement less than a year ago to Erik Dobre, John’s former friend and fraternity brother, put her firmly off-limits.
He thought about Erik.
Charming. Charismatic. Larger than life.
The kind of guy people noticed. The kind of guy who didn’t mind being noticed.
John exhaled, shoving all thoughts of Erik aside.
He was here to take the Daily Grind national. Not to learn foam art. And not to flirt with the daughter of his new business partner.
Michael drained the rest of his beer and stood. “Well, bro, as much fun as it’s been fun talking about your exciting new career in coffee, I better get going before Lydia serves my ass up on a stick.”
John chuckled. “Then you definitely better get moving.”
After clicking off the call, he tossed his phone onto the bed and stretched.
Even after a shower, he still smelled faintly like roasted coffee. Not the worst scent to carry around.
Pulling on jeans and a sweater, he glanced out the window. The crisp air had settled in, a sharp contrast to the warm start of the week. Where to go tonight?
Bayside Pizza was an option, but sitting alone at a restaurant wasn’t exactly the best way to mingle with the locals. He wanted to get a feel for the community, which meant hitting a bar. No reason to wait for the weekend.
Astrid had mentioned two—The Flying Crane, a bar on the waterfront within walking distance, and the Ding-A-Ling, a short drive away.
John’s gut told him the local crowd would be at the Ding-A-Ling, the one with darts, karaoke and a name ridiculous enough to make him curious.
Which was how, fifteen minutes later, he found himself pulling open the door to the Ding-A-Ling.
A white banner stretched between the porch posts announced “Temptation Tuesday—$10 Fish & Fries!”
His stomach rumbled. Perfect.
If there was one universal truth he’d learned in his travels, it was that the best food came from places with either worn wooden floors or cracked linoleum.
Inside, the Ding-A-Ling was a notch above a dive bar.
The floors had been recently refinished, the thick, solid wood bar top gleamed under the soft lighting, and the brass footrails told him this place had been around for decades. It was the kind of place that carried stories in its walls.
Most tables were filled, the crowd a mix of twentysomethings, middle-aged regulars and a few old-timers nursing their drinks like sacred relics.
Dart games were in full swing, and judging by the alternating waves of cheers and groans, some people were having better luck than others.
On the karaoke stage, a trio of women were delivering a shockingly decent rendition of Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep.”
Not bad.
He was scanning the room for a place to sit when a friendly female voice cut through the noise.
“You look like you’re trying to decide whether to go or stay.”
John turned, finding himself face-to-face with a woman in her late forties, maybe early fifties.
Her dark hair was cut into a long bob, a detail he immediately recognized because his mother wore the same style.
Intelligent hazel eyes studied him, sharp and knowing.
“I’m definitely staying,” he said, flashing a polite smile. “Figured I’d grab a seat somewhere, check out the fish and chips and enjoy a Guinness if they’ve got one.”
Her assessing gaze flicked over him, then she nodded approvingly.
“Oh, you can get pretty much anything you want here.” A beat passed before she extended her hand. “Sage Woodard. This is my bar.”
John gave her hand a firm shake. “John Logan. I came to work with Ryder Goodhue on a project for a couple of months.”
Her expression didn’t even flicker with surprise. “No need to say more,” she said breezily. “I already know all about you.”
John lifted a brow. That was fast.
“You do?”
Sage grinned. “News travels at the speed of light in a small town.” She tipped her head toward someone behind her. “And Ryder is my brother-in-law. This one…” She snaked out an arm and pulled a young woman close. A very familiar young woman. “…is my niece.”
Zoe.
He wasn’t sure whose eyes reflected more surprise—hers or his.
“Hello, John,” Zoe said, her tone carefully neutral.
The sight of him here—shoulders relaxed, that familiar half smile—still felt strange.
She couldn’t look at him without remembering he’d once been slated to stand beside Erik at what was supposed to be her wedding.
That day had never happened, but the sharp edges of it lived on.
And John was, in some ways, a walking reminder.
Still…after that awkward first meeting yesterday morning, he hadn’t brought up the past. She’d seemed oddly relieved—grateful, even—that he seemed content to keep their focus on work.
Before he could respond, Sage patted her niece’s arm and winked. “I’ll leave you two to catch up. Ted’s waving me down, so I’d better see what’s on fire—hopefully not literally.”
Before she strolled off, she gave Zoe’s arm a small squeeze and softened her voice. “Thanks for helping out. I know your mom and dad appreciate you stepping up.”
“It’s nothing—” Zoe started.
“Quitting your job isn’t nothing.” Sage’s gaze lingered just long enough to make her point. Then she turned to John.
“Tell your server Sage says to comp your food and drinks tonight.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know.” Sage patted his cheek. “But it’s a perk of being the boss. Enjoy the fish and chips.”
And just like that, she was gone, already calling out greetings to half a dozen patrons on her way to the bar.
John shook his head. “She’s clearly in her element.”
Zoe only nodded, then gave him an appraising look. “I didn’t realize you were coming here tonight.”
“Neither did I,” he admitted. “Stopped in on a whim. Place has a reputation for legendary fish and chips. Kind of like a chain I once worked with. Someone had the genius idea of putting a giant fiberglass cod on the roof. That’s how they got national attention.”
She smirked despite herself. “And you’re the guy who made that happen, right?”
“Guilty. Though I prefer my seafood indoors these days.” He checked out the bar. “Excuse me. I’m going to grab a seat before they’re all taken.”
He strode toward one of the only two remaining stools and settled in.
To his surprise, Zoe slid into the empty seat beside him.
The bartender, a mountain of a man with a full beard, a shaved head and tattoos crawling up his arms, wandered over.
“Haven’t seen you in a while, Zoe.” His deep voice held the warmth of familiarity.
“Darn job kept me working all the time,” Zoe teased. “So, you know what I did, Ted? I chucked it and went to work for my dad.”
Ted let out a booming laugh. “Always knew you were a smart one.” He glanced at John. “Sage says it’s your first time here. What can I get you two?”
John was about to clarify that he and Zoe weren’t together, but before he could, she ordered, “Fish and chips, lemon and tartar sauce on the side, and the new pale ale Sage is trying out.”
Ted nodded approvingly before turning to John. “And you?”
“Same,” John said. “Except a Guinness instead of the ale.”
“You two make it easy,” Ted said, setting Zoe’s ale in front of her before adding, “Don’t be such a stranger.”
As soon as Ted stepped away, John turned to Zoe. “You don’t have to keep me company,” he said lightly, though something in his chest tightened as he said it.
For a split second, her expression flickered, something unguarded flashing in those blue eyes. Then, just as quickly, her gaze cooled. “If you don’t want my company, I’ll—”
Instinct overruled reason. Before he could think better of it, his hand closed around hers.
Big mistake.
The moment their skin touched, a sharp jolt of heat shot through him—unexpected, unsettling.
He let go like he’d been burned. “Sorry about that.”
Though what he was apologizing for, exactly, he wasn’t sure.
Maybe for the fact that a simple touch had unraveled him more than it should have.
“I just meant…” He exhaled. “I’m sure you have friends you’d rather spend time with. Didn’t want you to feel obligated to sit with the new guy.”
The tightness in her expression eased.
“You’re right,” she admitted. “I am meeting friends.” She reached for her drink. “But they aren’t here yet. And I’m hungry—”
“And there was an empty seat at the bar,” John finished.
Zoe gave him a small smirk. “Exactly.”
Except…he knew it wasn’t quite that simple.
Yesterday, she’d been polite but distant. Today, he hadn’t seen her at all. Until now. And while she hadn’t been outright cold, there’d been a reserve in her eyes, a carefulness that made him wonder if she still connected him to the mess Erik had left behind.
They’d been on opposite sides of the aisle once. He’d been preparing to stand beside Erik as best man, while she’d been ready to walk toward him in white. Then, with a single truth detonated, the whole thing had blown apart.
It shouldn’t still matter. But maybe it did.
Which made no sense. Zoe knew Erik far better than he ever had. And if there was one thing they both knew, it was this: Erik Dobre did what Erik Dobre wanted. No one could talk him into—or out of—anything.
But tonight wasn’t the night to dig into that wreckage.
Instead, he lifted his Guinness after Ted set it in front of him and nodded toward her ale.
“What is this?” A small, reluctant smile played at her lips.
“A toast,” John said.
She humored him, lifting her glass. “To what?”
He held her gaze. “To good work, good company and the surprises life always seems to have in store for us.”
Something shimmered in her eyes—acknowledgment, maybe even agreement—and for a second, he thought she might say something real. But she only tipped her glass toward his.
“Cheers,” she murmured, the clink of their glasses light but lingering.
As she sipped, he did, too, both of them holding the moment just a fraction longer than strangers would.
For the first time since he’d arrived in Good Hope, John had the sense she might—just might—be willing to let the past stay where it belonged.