Love Next Door (Lakeside #1) by Helena Hunting

“His license has been suspended.” My dad sighs. “He, uh, wrapped the truck around the McAlisters’ mailbox because he was drunk, so he’s been charged with a DUI.”

“Oh my gosh. What the hell was he thinking?” The question is rhetorical. I can already guess what must have happened. He went out with his friends, got carried away, and drove his drunk ass home but didn’t manage to make it to our driveway before he hit something. This isn’t the first time this has happened—although the last time, we never could prove he was drunk since it wasn’t until the next morning that we found his truck parked in the ditch, between two trees. Luckily he never injured anyone—not that it’s any better.

“Apparently he wasn’t. I don’t think he realized how drunk he was. He tried to walk the rest of the way home after he hit the McAlisters’ mailbox but ended up sleeping in the ditch. The McAlisters found him in the morning when they went to take old Rufus for a walk.”

I run a palm down my face. I can only imagine the gossip. The McAlisters live about fifteen houses down the road from us. We’ve known them our entire lives. Billy dated their youngest daughter back in high school for a very brief period, and my dad built their garage a couple of years ago.

Everyone knows everyone else’s business back home. That’s what living in a small town is like, all the Nosy Nancys with ears to the ground, salivating like hungry dogs over the newest piece of gossip. And now my family is a prime target.

“How long is his license suspended for?”

“Looks to be about a year, but Bernie said he might be able to get it reduced to six months.” Bernie Sawyer is the town lawyer. Yes, it’s kind of hilarious that his last name rhymes with lawyer. He lives in a huge house that is basically the dividing line between the summer homes and the permanent homes on the lake. He and my dad have been friends since they were kids.

“That’s still a long time. Even when he gets his cast off, someone is going to have to drive him around. I guess it’s good it’s not snow season, huh?” My hometown of Pearl Lake is on part of a snowbelt, which means winters are long and there’s an endless amount of white powder to contend with. It’s great for tobogganing, skating, and skiing and not so great for driving.

“It’d be better if we weren’t in the middle of a huge renovation project.”

“But you still have Aaron, right?” Billy might not be able to do the heavy on-site stuff, but they have Aaron Saunders, who is close in age to my brother. Aaron mostly handles the plumbing and electrical work, but he can also fill in for Billy.

“Yes, but he’s already working overtime. It looks like I’m going to be back on-site for the next few months.”

That puts me on alert. “Who’s taking over the paperwork if you’re back on-site? Please don’t say Mom.”

“Not sure I have much of a choice.” He chuckles, but there isn’t any humor in it.

“There has to be another option, Dad.” A couple of years ago, my dad had the great idea to hire on my mom to do some of the bookkeeping. Except it didn’t go well, and I had to come in and clean everything up over the Christmas holidays so it wouldn’t be a complete cluster come tax time. After that he had to hire someone else to come in and help out, since he couldn’t juggle every aspect of running the company.

“There isn’t one, unless you’re looking to move back home for a few months instead of visiting for a few days.”

I laugh, but it’s flat. I love my family, but I worked my butt off to get a scholarship to a college in Chicago. Away from Pearl Lake and all the things it doesn’t have to offer, like anonymity and opportunity.

I spent four years earning my bachelor’s in business administration. I worked two jobs, aced all my exams, and walked out of college and straight into a job with a sweet paycheck. For a while, I felt like I had succeeded. Gotten out of Pearl Lake and fulfilled my dream of living the city life in Chicago, which everyone back home refers to as “the city,” as if it’s the only city there is. To me, it was. Yet now I’m currently still jobless, and in two days I’ll be homeless as well.

To me, moving home means I’ve failed. It means facing all the people I left behind and have basically avoided for the past decade. It means going back to where everyone knows everyone else’s business. But I honestly don’t have anywhere to stay in Chicago that isn’t an Airbnb, and I don’t have the kind of money to sustain that.

I must take too long to answer because Dad fills the silence. “Did you manage to get another job out there in the city?”

“No, I haven’t found anything yet.” I’ve applied for a bunch of positions, but none of them are what I really want to be doing—and to be honest, I don’t even know what that is. I have always been singularly focused on getting a job so I can continue to live the city life. Only I never stopped to ask myself what it was I wanted to do as a profession. And now that I’m in a position to find a new job doing something I love, I’m a bit lost.

“What is it exactly you’d want me to be doing for you, if I agreed to stick around for a while?”

“Same kind of thing you did last time. Help manage the books, field calls from customers, set up deliveries, make connections with the other companies in town. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I could really use your help, Darlin’. Just for a few months, until Billy is back on his feet.” My family and friends have this habit of saying my name in a way that sounds like Darlin’ instead of Dillion.