Chapter 4
I cannot let this stand.
After a restless night, I power walk down Main Street toward The Blackberry Muffin. Marilee and I need to have words.
Of course, as revved up as I am on the inside, those words will be sweet, gentle, and kind. It’s not Marilee’s fault she has a demon for a brother. The kind of guy who would walk into a house like he owned it (which, fine, he technically does, but only technically) and—without so much as an apology for scaring the living daylights out of a girl—have the actual gall to stay where he was so clearly unwelcome. (Which was on the other side of my bedroom wall!)
Thankfully, I was able to avoid the man when I left this morning, but not before I passed the bathroom and caught a whiff of his knee-weakening body wash that smelled like a flannel-clad lumberjack come to life. He must have just showered and left before I was up, because the steam still clung to the space.
Y’all. I can’t even.
I breeze past The Purple Seashell, with its gabled windows on the upper floor, its lavender walls, its brilliant ocean views. Not today, Seashell. I don’t have time for your cheeriness. Or maybe I could use some of it to rub off on me. Either way, it won’t affect my behavior. On the inside, I might be a roiling mass of feelings, but I know from observation that dwelling on them will do no good.
Directly across from the inn, I can tell The Blackberry Muffin is bustling even from the outside, where it sports a blue-and-white-striped awning and a wooden bench. I enter to find not a single table available—not surprising, since it’s nine a.m. on a Saturday morning. The smell of sugar sprinkles the air, and the canary-yellow accent wall behind the register chirps a bright hello, as does the teenager working there.
And I can’t help it. Just like that, the familiar sights, sounds, and smells bring a peace like nothing else can. Which is probably a good thing, because I don’t want my irritation at Blake to make Marilee think I’m irritated at her.
Even though she could have told me her brother would be showing up. Give a girl a little warning and all that.
“Hey, Cynthia,” I say to the owner, Marla’s granddaughter, pushing all negative thoughts aside. “Is Marilee in back?”
“Yeah, she’s finishing up another batch of muffins. You want me to get her?”
“Maybe just let her know I’m out here if you get a minute. For now, can I grab an apple fritter and a hot coffee with a splash of cream, please?”
“You got it.” She flashes me a braced smile.
“Thanks, babe.” I pay, then turn and scan the crowd for familiar faces—and let’s be honest, most of them are. There’s a few of the Loveland brothers, tossing back coffee and dressed like they’re about to head out for a day of work in the fields or maybe even taking a break from a morning of already working, if the dirt on their jeans is any indication. Chloe’s boyfriend Frederick is with them, and he’s joking and slapping Nathaniel Loveland on the back.
Then there’s the older crowd—Earl Flanders and Ned Chamberlain, with their bald heads and raucous laughter—playing a rowdy game of checkers in the corner.
In the back, my friend Jordan Carmichael’s hanging out with his son Ryder, who is coloring in a book and talking away, his adorable face smeared with chocolate. Jordan’s got on his standard joggers and T-shirt, and he keeps looking over at the swinging door that leads back to the kitchen where Marilee works.
I’ve long suspected he’s got a thing for my best friend, but the one time I mentioned it to her, she waved it off as impossible. In Marilee’s mind, Jordan is simply a close friend (probably her next best friend after me). Besides, I think that after Donny, Mare’s just closed herself off to love. It’ll take something big and drastic to shake her out of the fear of being betrayed again.
Last, I see Greta Graber and her best friend—my aunt, Bea—chatting with their heads together by the to-go counter.
Sauntering over, I join them. “Morning, y’all. What’s the latest gossip?”
“Look, Greta, it’s our girl!” Aunt Bea grabs me into a hug, pulling me to her large chest. With her sturdy frame, the woman could have been a linebacker, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t the sweetest little thing this side of the Mississippi. “We sure do miss you.”
Greta and I exchange a secret smile. “I’ve barely been gone a few weeks.”
“But after having you around constantly for almost thirteen years, it’s just not the same. Though I couldn’t exactly call it quiet.”
I laugh. “With April and Scarlett there? I don’t imagine so.” My cousin and her seven-year-old daughter moved back from San Francisco at the end of March, and they’re living with my aunt and uncle for the time being. It’s one of the reasons I finally decided to get my own place. Not only because the three-bedroom house was feeling tight—and April and Scarlett definitely needed their own rooms—but because there was someone else there to help Aunt Bea around the house. Her arthritis has gotten worse over the years, and her quilt-making business tends to exacerbate it. But she refuses to give it up because she’s stubborn like that. So I helped as much as I could.
Now, though, April’s got it handled. Her sister Stephanie helps too when she’s not busy running her clothing boutique, Just Peachy.
“Still, we miss seeing you whenever we want, sweetheart,” Bea continues.
I nudge her. “In a town as small as Hallmark Beach, we see each other just as often as when I lived at home. Take this morning as a case in point.”
“True, true.”
Cynthia calls Aunt Bea’s name and slides two drinks across the counter. After my aunt grabs them, she turns and holds them in the air. “I’d best get this hot chocolate to your uncle. You know how Burt likes his sugar hit in the morning.”
I laugh, picturing my crazy, lovable uncle with his stained coveralls, slight hunchback, and wiry hair. In many ways, he’s the opposite of my dad—a quiet man who died from cancer when I was eight—but the brothers were alike in all the ways that mattered, starting with their big hearts.
It’s no wonder Mama completely fell apart when he died.
My aunt and her best friend leave, and I wait for my own coffee, watching for a peek of Marilee. She’s probably flitting away in the kitchen, and you know what? I don’t really need to disturb her. I can wait until tonight to talk with her about Blake.
But just as Cynthia finally delivers my drink and I turn to leave, Marilee breezes through the kitchen door, flour dancing across her cheeks and spilled down her apron. “Morning, Luce. Cynthia said you wanted to see me.” She’s about to hug me when she’s nearly tackled by a tiny body. Apparently I wasn’t the only one watching for her.
Squatting down, Mare pulls Ryder into a huge hug. “How’s my favorite guy?”
“I had chocolate pancakes, Lee-Lee! They were delicious and I pretended my fork was a sword, but Daddy said I should probably stop, only when I said I didn’t wanna, he pretended with me.” He chatters on and on, and I might as well be dead to Mare in this moment, because the woman is only capable of focusing on one person at a time—whoever is right in front of her. I can’t complain though, because it’s what makes her an amazing friend.
Tapping my fingers along the edge of my cup, I take a sip—ah—and wait my turn with a smile on my face.
While Marilee and Ryder discuss the finer points of fork swordplay, Jordan joins us. “Let’s let Lee-Lee get back to work, huh?”
Marilee glances up and grins. “Say that three times fast.”
Ryder starts doing just that, and Marilee joins him until they’re both in fits of laughter. Casually, I glance at Jordan to gauge his reaction. Pure adoration is shining from his face. Who knows? Maybe it has nothing to do with loving Marilee, and everything to do with seeing his boy laugh. The last several months have been tough since Ryder’s mom, Georgia—who Jordan never really dated, but co-parented with well enough—passed away.
Jordan puts his hand on Ryder’s shoulder. “Come on, little dude. We’ve got to get started on our hike before Grandpa and Grandma come pick you up tonight.” He’s really good about letting Ryder see Georgia’s parents on the regular, despite the fact they live one town over.
Marilee straightens and swipes at her apron, which does nothing to dissipate the flour stuck there. “Wish I could join you. Have fun.”
“Thanks. We still on for tomorrow night?” Jordan asks.
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss Sunday movie night for the world.” She bends down and gives Ryder a kiss on the head, then squeezes Jordan’s elbow before he leads the kid out the front door. Finally, she turns to me. “Sorry about that. How are you?”
“I don’t know, Mare.” I cock my head and offer a teasing smile that covers the sudden nerves zipping up my spine. I hate confrontation and any manner of unpleasantness. “How do you think I am?”
She blanches. “Right. Blake.”
“Yeah. Blake.” Wearing as big a smile as I can muster, I grab her hand and squeeze. “Couldn’t you have at least warned a girl?”
“I swear I didn’t know he was coming, Luce.” Guess she can see through my facade. It’s no secret that I’ve been holding a grudge against Blake on Marilee’s behalf for the last six years.
Of course, that’s not where my hurt concerning Blake Moffitt began. But it’s definitely an easier offense to point to.
The bell over the door jangles, and in walks a tourist couple I don’t recognize. We step aside, closer to the wall so we aren’t in the way.
“It’s fine. Really. I just wish I hadn’t wasted the rest of our bananas.”
“He told me about that.” Marilee offers a wry grin. “Sounds like you had pretty good aim.”
“What can I say? It’s a gift.” I shrug. “I’m the best darn banana slinger in the West.”
After we both chuckle, Marilee sobers. “I know you aren’t his biggest fan, but…” Her voice is tight, quiet. Soft. “Are you okay if he stays with us?”
“What? Of course. It’s your house.”
“It’s yours now too. And I want you to feel comfortable.”
“I don’t feel uncomfortable.” Okay, maybe I do. Because somehow, the memories of high school Blake and what he meant still have the power to sear me when I really let myself sink into those feelings—which is almost never. But also… “I just don’t want him to disappear and disappoint you again.”
“You know I forgave him a long time ago.”
Yeah, I know. That’s the thing about my best friend. She’s forgiving—a little too forgiving, if you ask me. It means people often walk all over her. Case in point: her terrible ex. And also, her brother, who put his own needs over hers.
But maybe I should be happy he’s here, for her sake. I just need to let go of my protective instincts and allow her to enjoy her brother’s visit without worrying about how I’m going to react.
I squeeze her hand again. “Forget I said anything, okay? I’m sure you guys will have a great time hanging out.”
“You can hang with us too. Like old times.”
Ha. No thanks. “Unfortunately, I’ve got a ton of work to do this weekend. I’ll probably be working super late while he’s here.”
Her gaze meets mine, and her eyes squint. Uh oh. I know that look—the one where she doesn’t want to tell me something that I’m not going to like.
“What?”
“It’s just that…he’s not leaving after the weekend.”
Seriously? Well, it’s not like he can afford too much time away from his fancy restaurant job that Marilee’s told me he has. Maybe a week, tops? I can handle that. I paste on a bright smile. “That’s okay. Have I mentioned my workload is suuuuuper heavy lately? I can use a few extra hours of work time every day. When’s he leaving?”
“Not soon.”
“Define not soon.”
The bell jangles again behind me.
“Maybe he should be the one to tell you. And he’s not just here to visit. He’s here…well, maybe he should tell you that too.”
Ugh, seriously? “Mare?—”
“Lucy! There you are.”
I turn to find Tiny strong arming his way past the line of tourists waiting to be served. When did it get so crowded in here? The man finally reaches us, and he’s huffing and puffing.
“Tiny, what’s wrong?” I ask.
Hands on his knees, he sucks in air, holding up a finger. Finally, he straightens. “You’ve gotta come quick. I’ve tried calling you. Tried The White Mocha, then figured you might be here.”
“Back it up. Where do I have to come, and why do I need to come quick?” I glance over at Marilee, who shrugs and looks just as confused as I feel.
“Because.” He tosses a glare at Marilee. What the what? Then he points a meaty finger her way. “Her brother is moving in right next door.”
“Right next door to what?”
“The Robin.”
That doesn’t make any sense. The Green Robin sits between Rainbow Ice and Just Peachy Boutique—both of which were in operation the last time I checked. “I don’t understand.”
“His food truck. He’s parking it just behind the sidewalk between us and the ice cream parlor. It’s next to the walkway that leads straight to our front door.”
Sweet macaroni. That little…
I swing my gaze back to Marilee. “Did you know about this?” I’m trying to keep my tone even, but in this situation, I feel the frustration edging my voice is a little bit warranted.
She holds her hands up. “He told me this morning that he was going to open his food truck for a little while this summer, but none of the details.”
“Okay.” I breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth. At least my best friend isn’t turning against me. “I’ve gotta go.”
“Lucy…”
“Sorry,” I yell with a wave. Then I follow Tiny out the door, and I run with fire in my veins.
Because Blake the Flake may have weaseled his way into my house—my private sanctuary—for an indefinite amount of time. There’s nothing I can do about that. But if he thinks he can also mess with my workspace? Especially when I’m in charge there?
He’s got another thing coming.