Chapter 5
After living in big cities for more than a decade, I almost forgot how anything out of the ordinary attracts a crowd in a small town.
“Just a little bit farther,” Thomas calls as he waves me back, his arms flailing wildly about. “Alberta, Collette, come on, ladies. Please stay out of the way and let the man park his vehicle.”
The two older women, who are standing extremely close to my food truck, sneer at him but do step back. A tad. Enough so that I won’t hit them, anyway. They aren’t there to help. Just observe. Of course, Alberta is the head of the town council, so she’s got a vested interest in helping me settle in.
Collette, on the other hand—and the other random groups of people standing around, watching me at nine-something in the morning—is just there because there’s nothing better to do. And because she’s one of the local gossips and likes to have her nose in everyone’s business. But I can’t let their watching eyes upset me. They’re hopefully going to be paying customers in the near future, and I can’t afford to make them mad with what Dale calls my resting-grump-face.
So I offer a little wave of thanks to them for moving and use the truck’s side mirror as a guide. I inch back so I don’t hit anything. There’s not a ton of space between The Green Robin and Rainbow Ice, but it’s the only place on Main Street where the town council could accommodate my truck. Thankfully, it’s actually the perfect spot, located right in the middle of the downtown hustle and bustle. The beach is just on the other side of the buildings, and across the street are more shops and eateries. The best part, though? Rainbow Ice already has tables, chairs, and umbrellas just outside, and the owner, Chad, has agreed to let my customers sit there if I pay him a monthly fee for the service. After all, our offerings don’t conflict at all. If people want ice cream after they’ve eaten their grilled cheese lunch, they can just hop right inside the building and grab some. It’s a win-win for all of us.
That’s one thing I have always liked about my hometown—there’s room for everyone here.
I finish parking, cut the ignition, and hop out of the truck, making my way toward Thomas with an outstretched hand. The guy’s a few years my junior and doesn’t look much like he belongs in a beach town with his fair skin, freckles, and poofed-up red hair, but he’s nice enough from what I can tell. His coffee shop, The White Mocha, is just across the way. We met there this morning to go over paperwork, and he gave me a cup of Joe, on the house. It was quite tasty, and I can safely say I’ll be back frequently.
He shakes my hand. “Alrighty, looks like you’re in business. When do you plan to start firing up the grill?” He tosses some finger guns my way.
Dude’s trying so hard to be casual, but it’s difficult to take him seriously in his bright green Hawaiian shirt. Of course, next to him, I look extremely overdressed with my slacks and button-up shirt. I know it’s probably too much, especially when I’m working the grill, but Dad always said to dress for the job I want. “Respect is earned, not given,” he’d say.
So even though I’d personally be more comfortable in shorts and a T-shirt, I am always sure to present myself as a businessman first, a cook second.
“As soon as I can,” I say. “I need to buy some more supplies, finalize a few things, but if all goes according to plan, The Urban Melt will be open sometime next week.”
“Over my dead body.”
Whipping around, I find the last person I expect to see.
Lucy Reynolds is—thankfully—more fully clothed today than last night, wearing jeans that hug her curves, a blue shirt that says “Y’all Ain’t Right,” and a flannel long-sleeved shirt tied around her waist. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a bouncing ponytail just the way I remember it from when we were teens, back when I used to tug it playfully just to see her smile.
But unlike when we were younger (when she looked at me with something akin to hero worship), right now she’s shooting laser beams with her eyes. And the goal appears to be slicing me in half. Or, at the very least, cutting me down to size.
I sigh and open my mouth to ask what in the world her problem is now, but Thomas steps around me. “Morning, Luce.”
Luce? Is everyone that casual with her, or just him? Wait. Are they…together?
And why does the thought of that twist my stomach?
Lucy pulls her attention from me, and I watch in amazement as her lips press upward, her eyes un-narrow, and genuine affection fills her gaze. “Hi, Thomas. How are you?”
Wow. She either likes this guy a lot…or just really hates me.
Not sure which I prefer.
Thomas thumps me on the back like we’re bros. “Just helping Blake here get his truck settled into its new home.”
“What do you mean, its new home? That can’t be right.”
“I assure you it is.” Thomas hooks a thumb toward Alberta. “The town council approved it and everything.”
“Uncle Burt approved this?”
There’s betrayal in her voice, but why? Does she expect the entire town to feel the same way about me that she does? She’s acting like she’s been personally victimized by the truck’s location. “Why so glum, Luce? New business is always good for the economy. You know that.”
She frowns. Tosses her hands onto her hips. “Maybe in most cases, but in this particular one, I am pretty sure your presence will be bad for business.”
Unbelievable. My presence is the thing she begged me for six years ago. Now I’m finally here and, sure, it’s later than it should be, but why has she done a complete one-eighty on me?
Perhaps I should apologize. Make peace with Lucy. Then again, maybe it’s better to be on her bad side. Besides, this is my livelihood she’s messing with.
I grind my molars. “I think we both know this has nothing to do with business.”
Lucy’s jaw drops.
A murmur goes up through the still-watching crowd. Can’t the busybodies just mind their own business? But maybe this is good, for everyone to witness sweet home-town princess Lucy Reynolds losing her stuff. They’ll know I did nothing to provoke her—nothing except dare to exist inside the same zip code as her again.
Thomas shifts. Looks at me. Back at Lucy. “Luce? Everything okay?”
She huffs, stomping that foot of hers in a way that’s far more adorable than it should be. “No, everything isn’t okay.” Lucy waves her hand at my truck. “His stupid truck is encroaching on The Green Robin’s territory.”
Thomas’s nose scrunches as he looks at the grassy patch of land where my truck is parked. It is close to the sidewalk path that leads up to the restaurant next door, but it doesn’t go over. “But he’s not.” Thomas scratches behind his ear. “He went through the process that all businesses have to comply with. I don’t?—”
“Fine, he’s not technically encroaching,” she says. Thomas is the one who’s talking, but I’m the one and only recipient of her glare. “But the spirit of encroachment is clearly there.” Then her attention shifts back to Thomas, and her face softens. It’s like she’s a different person with everyone but me. “Why wasn’t I informed?”
Why in the world should she expect to be informed? I take a step closer to her. “I asked them to keep it on the down low.”
Her cheeks turn red. “You asked them to lie for you?”
Does she really think that little of me? I may have unintentionally led her on when we were younger, but to call me a liar? That’s low, even for her.
Thomas blanches. “He didn’t ask us to lie for him.”
“No, he didn’t,” I reply, taking another step closer to her. The toes of our shoes are nearly touching now. Lucy’s taller than most women, and the distance between our glares isn’t far. The distance between our lips isn’t too far, either. I push the thought aside. “He merely didn’t want his business broadcasted all over town before it was necessary.”
Lucy rolls her eyes. “Stop talking about yourself in third person. You’re not that important.”
She’s one to talk. “Why do you care, anyway?” If anyone would care, I’d think it would be Winona Lambert, the Robin’s owner. It is unfortunate that the only place I could park my truck permanently happened to be next to one of the only other restaurants in town.
But such is life—and business.
“Maybe because I’m the restaurant’s manager right now while Winona is gone for three months. I’m the one responsible for making sure the restaurant stays afloat and that no outside source encroaches on it.”
Oh. Shoot. “I didn’t know that.”
“Sure you didn’t.” She tilts her chin sky high.
I open my mouth to protest, but close it again. She’s got her mind made up. I won’t waste my breath trying to convince her that all of my plans don’t revolve around making her life miserable.
“So I don’t know what game you’re playing, Flake, but you can just turn that truck right back around and head home to L.A. where you belong.”
“I will. Eventually.”
Thomas lifts a finger. “I think?—”
But Lucy doesn’t seem to remember he’s here—a fact that brings me waaaaay more satisfaction than it should—because she speaks over him. Right to me. “You can’t park your truck here.” Her eyes blaze.
Lucy might not be aware of it, but I’m conscious of the crowd that’s still gathered. The one that seems to be straining to hear what we’re discussing. I lean in and lower my voice. “I have paperwork in my truck that says I can. So you’d best get over it, Sunshine. Because it’s here to stay. And so am I.”
Her eyes narrow. “For now.”
“For as long as I deem necessary.” I’ve staked my reputation—and my business relationship with Dale—on this need to create more recipes, and in order to do that, I need an active audience. It’s just how my process works.
And I’m not going to let some Siren with soulful eyes ruin it for me.
I wonder if she’d react differently to the whole thing if she understood that the other reason I’m here in Hallmark Beach is Marilee. But I don’t need her understanding or her softening.
I just need her to stay out of my way.
“Sweet macaroni, you’re so self-righteous.” Her darts keep flying. “You just do whatever you want, the feelings of everyone else be darned, isn’t that right, Flake?”
I don’t need to stand here a moment longer and listen to her accusations—even if in the past, they might have been a little bit true. But I gotta play nice, or at least, appear to play nice no matter how Lucy Reynolds gets my ire up. So I pull a smile from my back pocket and force it onto my face. “It’s not about being self-righteous. That’s not why I’m here.”
“Oh? And why are you here then?” The sarcasm is made even stronger by her Southern accent, which apparently gets more pronounced when she’s upset. Before my parents died, I never heard a cross word from Lucy Reynolds, so I didn’t know this side of her existed.
It’s both the most infuriating thing—and darn it, the most attractive thing—I’ve ever heard.
“I just want a chance to return to my hometown,” I say more loudly than necessary. Because if all the world’s a stage, then right now I’m the main event at a Shakespeare festival. “And I think my hometown can benefit from having some gourmet food.”
She scoffs. “That’s very presumptuous of you.”
“You’re only saying that because you’ve never had my cooking. Well, not since we were kids.” It sounds arrogant, but my food is maybe the only thing I’m truly confident about. For the rest, I just fake it till I make it.
“I have, actually. At the wedding.” She looks toward the sky, where there’s not a single cloud hanging out today. “But don’t go getting a big head about it. There was nothing else to eat. I personally would have rather starved, but Marilee brought me a sandwich and it would have been rude not to accept.”
Why does the thought of her eating something put together by my own two hands make it hard to breathe? “And what did you think?” I clear my throat against the unintentional huskiness. Her opinion shouldn’t matter. It’s not like food is her specialty despite working in a restaurant, though she always was good at assessing and critiquing my creations in high school.
I can’t help but lean forward a bit, anxiously awaiting her reply.
“It was as terrible as its maker,” she hisses.
But there’s hesitation there, a glimmer of something unsteady in her eyes. She does think I’m terrible—but she liked my food. I know it.
Before I can say anything more about it, though, she continues. “I can safely say I’m never going to let anything you make ever pass these lips again.” Then she turns on her heel and stomps away, her hips swinging in a way that shouldn’t draw my eye.
Apparently there are some people here who don’t believe there’s room enough for everyone in this town. But it just makes me all the more determined to create recipes that these townsfolk will love. Not that I want to steal her business.
But it’s not even her business. Winona will be back to managing the restaurant in a matter of months.
On the flip side, this opportunity is everything to me. And I’m not letting Lucy Reynolds—or the little tantrum she just threw—ruin my shot at getting what I want.