Just Another Summer Crush (Coconut Beach #1)

Chapter 1

chapter one

Wendy

“Iwant a refund. I’m checking out,” Mrs. Givens says.

She’s been in the Pelican Room for a few days, and she isn’t supposed to check out until Wednesday. Her flower-patterned duffel bag is swung over her shoulder with the leather strap digging into her arm.

I stand behind the front desk with my best customer-service smile locked in place. “I’m very sorry to hear that. May I ask why?”

“The ocean is too loud.” She says it with her eyebrows knit together like she’s reporting a crime. “I need peace and quiet without the constant whooshing. It’s nonstop. Are there any places on the island where it’s not like that?”

Considering she’s dead serious, I’m forced to swallow down my laugh. The last thing I’d ever want to do is be disrespectful. “I’d personally suggest somewhere that’s not seaside. The middle of town may be the best because the buildings and tourists block most of the noise.”

The location of this place is the main selling point. It’s called Seaside Bed-and-Breakfast because of it.

“Had I known it was like this, I would’ve stayed somewhere else.”

“I completely understand.” I keep my expression neutral, and my eyes stay locked on her—a skill I perfected over years of managing difficult guests at jobs where the customer is always right, no matter what. “I’ll be happy to refund the remaining night on your reservation.”

She huffs and gives me attitude. “What about tonight?”

My teeth are clamped together so hard that my jaw aches because we can’t take another bad review on the booking apps right now.

I glance at the clock on the wall and see it’s after three in the afternoon.

“Unfortunately, all cancellations require a twenty-four-hour notice. It’s our policy.

” I stay kind but firm in a way that comes easy to me.

“That’s ridiculous,” she mutters under her breath. “You can still rent the room tonight. You’re not even fully booked as it is.”

“I understand, but it’s been the owner’s policy since 1976. That was way before I was born.” I point to the faded yellow sign behind the desk. “I wish I could, but unfortunately, I can’t.”

Mrs. Givens shakes her head while I print her receipt and walk her through the refund process. She’s focused on anything other than me. Once I’ve finished giving her the spiel, I walk around to hold the door open for her with a grin.

“Have a good day. Sorry about the ocean loudness,” I offer with a wave.

She rolls her eyes before taking the elevator to the bottom floor.

The second I’m alone, I drop the act and return to the counter.

The ocean is a constant through the open windows.

It’s the same low roll I’ve heard since I was born.

The whole building smells like salt and sunbaked wood and the coconut candle my grandmother likes to keep lit by the staircase even if I believe it’s a fire hazard.

The last thing we need is to have this place burn to the ground.

The B&B has ninety days of operating costs left before the accounts hit zero. Once that happens, the doors will have to close. My biggest fear is losing this place.

I let out a long sigh, not even wanting to think about that.

Right now, we have three rooms booked out of eight, an electric bill that’s behind, property taxes that are months late, and a leak in the Seahorse Room’s bathroom I’ve been catching with a bucket.

There is no extra money to make repairs or catch up the bills, which has added insurmountable pressure.

Most days, I feel like the only one concerned about the future.

Two months ago, I was managing the W in California.

It’s a worldwide hotel chain so elite that it only needs one letter.

Now I’m secretly sinking my own savings into emergency repairs for my grandmother’s bed-and-breakfast. I’ve crunched the numbers four times today, waiting for them to magically change, but they never do. At least not for the better.

Since I had to let all of the staff go because we couldn’t afford them, I’m housekeeping too. Just thinking about everything I have to do this summer exhausts me. It’s only June!

I grab towels and head to the second floor to strip the Pelican Room since Mrs. Givens won’t be needing it.

The third stair gives me the same groan it’s always made.

Midway to the second floor, I notice the seashell wallpaper peeling at the corners.

I’m tempted to rip it off because it’s a problem I can actually fix.

One thing at a time.

It’s something I’ve repeated to myself since my feet landed back on Coconut Beach Island.

In the Pelican Room, Mrs. Givens left wet towels on the floor and an empty bag of chips on the nightstand.

I strip the bed and restock the bathroom, then toss everything dirty into the hallway hamper.

A year ago, I was overseeing a staff of forty, helping celebrities, dignitaries, and even royalty.

My college degree didn’t prepare me for this. The worst part is, I chose this.

When my little sister, Josie, called me in tears about the state of things, I didn’t hesitate packing up my life.

The same week, I drove across the country because that’s what family does.

Even though the B&B is currently treading water and my grandmother describes her financial ruin as things being a little tight, I have hope that I can turn it around.

Hope is a dangerous emotion. Some might even call it delusional.

I carry the hamper down the hallway and hear my little sister’s voice from the lobby on the first floor.

“Wen? You up there?” Josie singsongs. She doesn’t have a volume setting below eight.

I drop the hamper at the base of the stairs and find her with one of her friends, Mia Bishop.

The two of them are sandy, like they just came off the beach.

Josie’s hair is in a messy side braid with some strands threaded with beads and small shells.

Mia has her camera bag slung over one shoulder and enough bangles on her wrists to set off a metal detector.

She co-owns a mobile bookstore with her roommate, Juniper.

They sell romance books out of a mint-green VW van they converted to be a mobile bookstore.

Mia also does face paintings at the beach and takes photos on the side.

She’s a little entrepreneur, but so is my sister.

They’re both holding large iced coffees from Salty Sirens, the coffee shop on Main Street. Josie slides one across the counter toward me, and I instantly light up. I love knowing someone is thinking about me. It doesn’t happen often.

“I thought you might need this,” my sister says.

“You spoil me,” I say. “Thank you. I need a lot of things. A million dollars would be nice.” I happily take it because turning down caffeine in my current state is the type of negativity I don’t need in my life. Ever. “Where have you two been?”

“Had a beach day. Mia was taking pics of the new releases for Instagram, and I modeled.” Josie hops up onto the counter, bare feet swinging. “I also sold three necklaces to tourists on the way back.”

“She made thirty bucks and treated us to liquid caffeine. It’s nice, having rich friends,” Mia adds, holding up her cup for a toast. “Josie’s basically stimulating the economy.”

“Appreciate and respect your hustle,” I say, and Mia grins. “But speaking of the economy …” I pull up the spreadsheet and turn the laptop so they can see. “I noticed two more comps in the system this morning. That’s five free nights so far for June, and it’s only the first.”

Josie shakes her head. “Gran is out of control these days.”

Mia leans over the counter to look. “Who’s she giving free rooms to?”

“The Bees.” That’s what Gran’s friend group calls themselves.

They’re all over the age of sixty, and they think they know what’s best for this town.

“They can’t keep treating this place like a time-share.

” I push the laptop back and shake my head.

“I’ve walked her through the numbers several times over the past month.

She keeps telling me the universe will handle it and to stop stressing. ”

“The universe doesn’t pay electric bills,” Mia says.

“That’s exactly what I said. You get it.”

Josie nudges my shoulder, and I know what’s coming.

Sometimes, she’s as woo as our grandma. “But the universe will handle it. She’s not wrong.

And on top of that, I believe in you. If anyone can save the B&B, it’s you, sis.

It’s like you were born for this. Especially with your degrees and all of that experience you have from the W. ”

“I can’t guarantee anything,” I explain. “It’s like gambling. There is a risk involved. But what if I can’t save this place, Josie? What if we lose it?”

“We won’t. That can’t happen. I know you won’t allow it,” she says. “It’s a come hell or high water situation.”

“But—”

“No buts,” she says.

Josie is twenty-six and has looked up to me her entire life.

She didn’t doubt me when she was ten and I taught her how to surf or when I handled a school bully for her.

My sister has so much confidence in me, and I don’t want to let her down, but she doesn’t realize how bad it really is.

I feel like I’m the only one who truly understands, and it’s maddening. The silent stress is unreal.

Not too long ago, I called my parents, who are currently living in Canada because it was their lifelong dream, and asked them what to do.

My mom told me to follow my heart. It’s why I’m here.

My conscience wouldn’t allow me to stay in California, and I gave up everything to be here—my job and my five-year relationship.

My phone buzzes, and my eyes snap to the screen to read the preview. Josie’s and Mia’s do too.

Adam

I miss you so damn much, Wen. I’ve been thinking about us. Can we talk, please?