I hated love triangles. I always had, but I hated them with a passion now that I’d been on the losing end of one.
My fingers tightened around the steering wheel of my 1974 Bronco as I drove down the familiar streets of Mystic Harbor.
Leaving wasn’t an option. This town had a grip on me with its winding roads and whispered secrets.
It was home, for better or for worse. And now, I had to find a way to face the ghosts of my past while hoping for a future that didn’t seem so bleak.
But right now, the grey skies hovering over the town weren’t helping my mood. And neither was seeing Hannah Morgan as I pulled into The Rusty Anchor.
I clicked my tongue, wondering if I could turn around and head back to the docks until she was gone.
The wave she offered me as she spotted my truck told me no.
With a roll of my eyes, I whipped the truck into the front parking space and tossed the shifter into gear.
Instead of crossing to her car, Hannah stuck her hands into the pockets of her well-worn jeans and waited next to the sign eagerly announcing that today was Taco Tuesday at my eatery-slash-bar.
“You’re kidding,” I groaned as I pretended to fiddle with my phone, though I was certain she’d know I was stalling.
I didn’t want to see her. She was one of the two reasons I hated love triangles. Her boyfriend of choice, Owen Turner, small town cop extraordinaire, was the other.
With a subtle flick of my eyes over the steering wheel, I caught sight of her light eyes burning a hole through my dash.
A curse escaped under my breath as I realized I couldn’t avoid this.
I really should have known better, I chided myself.
“On all counts,” I murmured aloud.
I should have realized Hannah was falling for Owen and not me despite the kiss we’d shared. And I never should have rented her the apartment above my bar.
“What were you thinking, Jake?” I said to myself as I rubbed the scruff on my chin before I ran my fingers through my shoulder-length hair.
