Free Lover's Lane by Jill Marie Landis Page A

Avery.
    He wished he’d been as lucky. He wished things had worked out for him and Marla. He wanted to believe in the dream, but time and delving into other people’s heartbreak was slowly disillusioning him.
    Suddenly he found himself wondering what Caroline dreamed of and if she ever saw a man in her future.
    He liked to think he was a good judge of people. The woman he’d met last night didn’t seem capable of hurting a gnat, but something had made her run from the Saunders and keep on running. She had taken Rick’s son away from family who cared about him, not to mention a potential fortune in inheritance, without any obvious motive.
    He shifted on the hard cement bench as the homeless man across the grassy lawn shook the last crumbs of bread out of the bag.
    “Anything else?” Jake asked Kat.
    “Your granddad called. Between you and me, he didn’t sound very good. He wants you to call him. Said it was important. Something about business.”
    Perfect. Maybe he’d call Jackson and segue the conversation into the property overlooking the cove. He wasn’t about to mention the possibility of renting the house to Kat yet. No sense in getting her Hawaiian-Portuguese temper riled up too soon.
    She knew him almost as well as Marla had. She’d think he’d lost his mind.
    “I’ll give him a call,” he promised.
    “I’d say don’t wait. He didn’t sound like himself.”

8
    CARLY WAS BENT OVER, TRYING TO WIPE STICKY MAPLE SYRUP off a bench seat in a booth, when she had the distinct impression that someone was watching her.
    She glanced over her shoulder and froze when she saw Jake Montgomery standing just inside the door, staring at her rear end. Not only that, but he was smiling. The simmering twinkle in his eyes nearly undid her.
    She shot up, forgot about the syrup, and tried to pretend her face wasn’t on fire.
    “This is a surprise,” he said.
    His smile had widened, but she could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to equate the artist he’d met last night with the disheveled waitress with a wet rag in her hand and a grease-spattered apron tied around her waist.
    She wondered how fast his interest would wane. It had become evident to her that professional men often considered waitresses worth no more than a passing flirtation.
    “This is my real job.” She wiped her hands and brushed an escaped lock of hair behind her ear.
    The way he insisted on staring did nothing to help fade her blush. “Have a seat and somebody will be right there.”
    He chose a vacant stool at the end of the counter, picked up a menu but didn’t open it as he watched her finish writing up an order. Finally, still all too aware of his stare, she took a deep breath, walked over to the counter, tossed the rag, and stood over him with her order pad in hand.
    Just looking into Jake Montgomery’s eyes nudged awake thrilling and terrifying sensations that scared the hell out of her. She was beginning to think he might be a man who wouldn’t take no for an answer.
    “What’ll it be?” She tried to sound as if it didn’t matter that he’d stumbled upon this aspect of her life. “Do you know what you want?”
    “I thought I did.” He held her stare, ignoring the menu in front of him.
    “The . . . um . . . tortilla soup is Joe’s specialty. And he makes a mean patty melt, if you’re into red meat.” She noticed her knees weren’t exactly functioning properly.
    “I’ll try the melt.”
    Her handwriting came out uneven and shaky as she made a note on the pad. “Anything to drink besides water?”
    “Diet Pepsi.”
    Carly realized that somewhere between the patty melt and the diet Pepsi, Selma had sidled up to her.
    “Will that be all?” Carly hardly recognized her own voice.
    “For now,” he said softly.
    As soon as Carly turned away, Selma leaned an elbow on the counter, angling so that Jake got a clear view of her ample cleavage and lowered her rusty voice an octave.
    “You in town for long or