Chapter 27
I’m not one to play hooky from work. Don’t think I’ve done it a day in my life.
Until now.
It’s eleven a.m. on a Wednesday, and I’m still in my gym shorts and a T-shirt—basically what I wore to bed. Since I returned from Los Angeles last night, Lucy and I have been up this morning cooking and bantering and kissing. Making up for lost time.
Because the whole time I was gone, all I could think about was getting home to her.
The radio’s on low in the kitchen while I stack the last of the breakfast dishes—sticky with pancake syrup and egg yolk—in the sink. Turning, I find a pajama-clad Lucy at my elbow, our empty coffee mugs in her hand. She hip bumps me and I step out of the way, but only just enough for her to slide her body in front of mine.
She places the mugs in the sink, and I lean forward to trap her there, my hands on either side of her, her back against my chest.
This should be absolute heaven. After all, I missed Lucy something fierce while I was in Los Angeles.
But while I’ve tried to push the events of my visit to the city out of my brain this morning—even for a little while—I can’t forget one little fact.
Lucy and I need to talk.
Ugh. Can’t I just stay here in this bubble with her and deny my responsibilities, deny that a world outside of this one even exists?
I lean in and place a kiss on her shoulder, then nuzzle my nose against her neck. After being apart the last two days, I can’t not touch her. When it comes to Lucy Reynolds, I’m a weak man.
Lucy leans her head to the side, giving me enough access to press my lips to her skin. Her tiny sigh of pleasure stokes the heat inside of me, and I nip my way up her long, graceful neck. Then she turns to face me, slipping one hand around me, her fingers flirting with the back of my shirt collar.
Yeah, we can talk later.
I kiss her, long and full.
She grabs fistfuls of my shirt and tugs me close, and I lose myself in the wonder of Lucy, pouring every ounce of the care I have for her into the kiss.
And maybe she can sense my rising anxiety over the conversation she doesn’t know is coming, because she pulls back. Frowns. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, of course.” I hate the worry lines creasing her forehead, so I place a kiss there. This is the perfect opening to bring up what I need to say, but…“I just missed you.”
Coward.
Later. I’ll tell her later.
And I will. I just hate to ruin…this. Not that I’m worried she won’t understand. She knows how important the restaurant is to me. And now that we are together, I have full confidence we can make anything work, if we both really want it to.
And I know I do.
Her responding smile is brilliant. “The feeling is mutual.” Then she cocks her head. “I know we aren’t really working this morning, but I was wondering if you maybe had time to look over that business plan?”
That’s right. She mentioned over breakfast that she’d finally finished The Green Robin’s plan.
I place my nose against hers. My hands find her waist, thumbs skating across the tiny strip of skin between her soft pink pajama pants and her white tank top. “Do we have to?” I say in a low, husky voice—the one that always seems to increase the throbbing of that very kissable vein in her neck.
“No.” She draws a finger down my chest, ending at my stomach—which, yes, I fully admit to clenching so she can feel my abs beneath my shirt. “But you did promise.”
She’s right. I did. “What will you give me for the effort?”
Lucy goes up on her tiptoes, places her lips beside my ear. “I think I can make it worth your while.”
I yank back and grab her hand, pulling her toward the couch. “Well, what are we waiting for?”
Laughing, she tugs away. “Cool down, Romeo.” Grabbing her laptop off the island, she moves to the couch.
I follow suit, jumping over the back of the couch to land next to her—who even am I?—and take the computer from her lap, moving it to mine. She looks at me, amusement in her eyes, and I open the lid to find a password-protected screen saver: a photo of Lucy, Mare, and all of their friends at Chloe’s brother’s wedding.
My food truck is in the background. I’m somewhere in this photo. I like to think that, even when we were enemies, Lucy was thinking of me.
My chest a bit tighter, I gently tug her thumb toward the upper rightmost key on the keyboard so her thumbprint can unlock the screen. The business plan is open and ready for perusal. I start to read. I would have done it before now, but Dale kept me pretty busy yesterday, and then I was driving home as fast as I could to Lucy.
It’s a few moments before I realize I just thought of Hallmark Beach as home.
And I don’t really know what to do with that, because L.A. is calling.
And sooner than planned.
The television spot went well—so well that I was offered a twice weekly spot starting the week after next. Not only that, but Dale and I had a long chat yesterday about what still has to happen with the restaurant. He needs me up there to make some decisions—and I’ll need to be there to film the TV spots. And since the recipes are ready, there’s no real reason to stay until August like I planned.
No reason but Lucy.
But Dale wouldn’t understand that any better than Dad would if he was here. Either way, it means the timeline has officially been moved up. I’m leaving the day after the festival.
In one week.
And I have no idea how Lucy is going to react.
Clearing my throat, I toss my arm around Lucy’s shoulders and keep reading the business plan. Meanwhile, she snuggles into my chest and I feel her eyes aimed upward. I glance down at her, and my lips quirk. “What?”
“Nothing,” she whispers.
Hmm. She’s thinking about something. But what?
Focus, Blake.
Right. The business plan. I spend the next thirty minutes reading over it in detail, and I’m impressed. Lucy doesn’t know all the right business lingo necessarily, but her ideas are fresh and really good. When I reach the end, I look at her again.
“Well?” she asks.
“It’s got really good potential.”
She frowns. “You think it’s terrible.”
“No, I don’t.” I laugh and move a strand of her hair behind her ear. “It was a compliment.”
“I’d hate to hear your critique then,” Lucy teases. She pokes me in the side. “But I want to make it better. So hit me with your ideas.”
We spend the next hour or so brainstorming ways to improve her plan—things like streamlining the menu to save money, ordering supplies on a weekly basis instead of monthly, using her staff a bit differently, making use of social media to promote and market, and updating the Robin’s website to accept online to-go orders.
By the end, she’s facing me cross-legged on the couch, bouncing up and down. “Thank you, thank you! These are really great ideas, and all things I am sure Winona will go for.” Then she stills. “It’s no wonder you got Dale to give you money for your restaurant.”
Then that look comes over her again—the one that says she’s deep in thought.
I set the laptop on the coffee table and turn to face her, placing my right arm along the back of the couch, my hand just within reach of Lucy. I play with her earlobe. “Okay, what’s up? You’ve gone quiet.”
“Can’t a girl be quiet and mysterious once in a while?” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Sunshine.”
“I’m sorry.” Her smile wobbles. “It’s just…I guess I don’t like thinking about your restaurant, because it’s going to take you away from me. But also, it’s your dream, right? So I should be happy for you. And I am. But…” She bites her lip, and I want to kiss away her worry. “I mean, I see how happy you are cooking in your food truck. And I know I gave you a hard time about being here at first, but you’ve fit right in.”
“It surprised me too. I only came here at first to take time away to work and create more recipes. And because Mare is here, and I wanted to make things right with her.”
“Which you’ve done.”
“Thankfully she’s a very forgiving person.” I’m quiet for a bit, thinking. “But Hallmark Beach was only ever supposed to be a stop along the way.”
Her breath shudders in. Out. “I know that. But can you tell me…” Then she shakes her head. “Never mind. I don’t want to bring us down.”
“You never could do that, Sunshine.” I lean in and kiss her soft on the mouth. “I want to know everything you’re thinking and feeling. Even if it’s sad. That’s part of you, and that means it’s something I want to know.”
“You’re kind of unreal, you know that, Blake?”
“Right back at you.”
“Okay, so what is it about opening your own restaurant that satisfies the dream you have for your life in a way that your food truck business doesn’t? Is it just the prestige that will go with it? The accolades? The success?”
The questions squeeze my lungs. They’re so deep. And penetrating.
And yet, so simple.
Then she follows them up with the ultimate gut punch. “After what you told me about New York, what your dad said…I guess I’m wondering if the restaurant is really your dream—or his.”
Oh, wow. Okay.
“It’s complicated.” I play with a loose strand of her hair. It’s velvety and fine between my thumb and forefinger and soothes my frayed nerves. “For so long, it’s all I thought about. The singular goal I planned my life around. Especially after my parents died. I’ve never even considered another path. Not until…”
You.
Her fingers find my knee and rub circles into the fabric of my pants. Ugh. If only we had more time together. More time to figure this out. More time to un-complicate the complicated…
“I know that cooking makes you happy. I see it whenever you’re in the middle of grilling up something or thinking of a new recipe. You’re lighter, you know? Like Mare when she’s baking. But it also sounds like the restaurant business is a rough one. You said you barely had time for relationships, and you weren’t even running your own restaurant then. So when you go back to L.A., well…where does that leave us?”
Hot dang, her questions hurt. They’re ones I’ve asked myself but chose to ignore in favor of seeing where things went with Lucy. But is that fair to her? Maybe it’s not.
My head spins with the implications.
“Do you think you could ever be happy…” Lucy takes in a deep breath. “Staying here? Running the food truck?”
In this moment? I want to say yes. But I can’t be hasty. I have to analyze. To think, away from her and all the things she makes me feel.
She plows on. “It’s just, I’ve been wondering about…the future. And that’s probably really presumptuous of me, because what kind of girl acts like a few kisses means there’s a future there, right? But still, I don’t know where this is going, and it’s driving me a little bit crazy.” Her luminous eyes blink up at me. “Am I crazy, Blake?”
“Maybe.”
She smacks my chest, and that makes me chuckle.
Then I take her face gently between my hands. “But it’s not presumptuous at all. I see a future with you too. And I guess a question to ask you right back—do you think you could ever be happy living somewhere other than Hallmark Beach?”
Are we really having this conversation? My heart thuds in my chest.
She licks her lips. “I’m not sure. It’s been my refuge—my home—for a long time, even before I ever moved here. The idea of leaving it is kind of like a knife to my chest.” Sitting back, she takes my hands from her face and holds them in her lap instead. “Especially for someone who might end up being too busy for me. I…I don’t want to end up like my mom. Devastated by love.”
Love? Does she love me? No, that’s not what she’s saying. She’s saying if she came to love me…
Still, my neck heats with the thought. My stomach swirls.
“Sunshine, the very last thing I ever would want to do is devastate you. To hurt you.” And I can’t avoid it any longer. It’s time to tell her the thing about my conversation with Dale. “This is really hard, but there’s something I need to tell you.”
Lucy straightens ever so slightly. “That sounds ominous.” She’s trying to joke, but when I don’t joke back, she frowns. “Wait, what? What’s wrong?”
“Uh.” I swallow hard. Just spit it out, man. “Dale and I decided that…that is, I’m needed…he…well, I’m going back to Los Angeles in a week. The day after the festival.” I pause. “Not just for a quick trip this time. For good.”
She blinks at me several times in rapid succession. “What? No, you’re leaving at the end of July, not the beginning. In a month.” Her fingers pull away one at a time, and I feel their loss. She hugs herself, her shoulders sinking down. I want to pull her back to me, but I know we need to face this.
Sighing, I run a hand through my hair. “That was the original plan, but Dale needs me back sooner. One of the reasons I went down there was to film a cooking spot on a morning news show. They liked me and want me to keep doing it. Dale thinks it might lead to my own show down the line.”
“And that’s what you want? To be a celebrity chef?”
“Not necessarily. But it’ll be great exposure for the restaurant.”
“Oh.” And I see it—her withdrawing from me. Her eyes are shuttering, her lips becoming flat, her cheeks deflating. Like every bit of negative emotion she’s feeling is being wiped from her memory, from her core, and she’s becoming a robot. Hiding from me.
Then she flicks on a smile. “Well, that’s great. I’m proud of you.” She leaps up from her spot on the couch. “I guess you’re going to be really busy the rest of this week, then.” Her feet start to back up, like she’s going to run and race to her room. Away from me. “We should probably just?—”
“Lucy.” I hop up and catch her around the waist, pull her to me. But instead of snuggling into my arms, she pushes against my chest without a word. I release her. “Please don’t?—”
A flicker of despair. “I can’t do this, Blake.”
I stiffen. “Do what?”
“This.” She points between us. “A week? You know that’s not enough time to figure anything out. The pressure that puts on us…it’s just too much.”
“There doesn’t have to be pressure, Lucy. Not from me. We’ll spend the week together, continue to get to know ourselves in this context, and then I’ll go. We’ll call every night, text every day, and I’ll come back and visit when I can?—”
“And that’s the key phrase. When you can.” She sniffs and looks away. “What happens when the rest of the world becomes way more interesting than this one, or you just get too bogged down in the details of that life, there? You said yourself that opening a restaurant is a time-consuming business.”
“It is, but you’re important too, Lucy. You’re a priority to me, and I want to see what this could be.”
“You seem to have it all planned out, but the thing you’re not realizing is that it’ll happen slowly. You’ll get busy. And you won’t mean for it to, but our relationship will slowly become less of a priority.” She takes another step backward. “I’m just being realistic. Long distance doesn’t work—not when one person is determined to go off and live this big life and wants something so very opposite of the homebody who is just happy to have a quiet, simple one.”
The one who is left behind.
She doesn’t say that last part, but she doesn’t have to.
Now I get it. She’s thinking about how her mom left, supposedly for a summer, and never came back again except for random visits. She all but abandoned her daughter, and like Lucy said…it happened slowly.
She doesn’t want that pain again. And I get it. But she’s not being fair. I’m standing here, trying to commit to her, to this, and she’s acting like it’s nothing. “Lucy,” I say softly, reaching for her hand. But she doesn’t give it to me. I sigh, frustration clinging to the edges. “I’m not your mom. This isn’t the same.”
“Isn’t it, though?”
“No. It’s not.”
“Even if it’s not, it’s clear to see that we want different things. And that’s not just something one of us can compromise on.”
Is that the crux of it, then? As much as I care for her—as much as I want to make this work—is it really so impossible? She wants to be here. I have to be in Los Angeles.
I want to be in Los Angeles.
Don’t I? It’s what I’ve wanted for so long. Can I really even consider giving it up to be here with her? What if things didn’t work out between us? Would I still be happy here, running my food truck business, living near my sister?
I rub my forehead. “I need time to think.”
“Time’s up, Blake. You made sure of that when you decided to leave earlier than planned without talking to me about it first.” She cocks her head. “I really do wish you well, and I’m not mad, okay? Just sad. But let’s part as friends this time.” She’s whispering now. “I don’t think I could bear to be your enemy again.”
And then, she’s slipping from the room, leaving me with a hollow ache I don’t know what to do with. So I do the only thing I can.
I head to the kitchen…and start to cook.
* * *
Maybe Dad was right.
Love is a distraction. Because the last four days without Lucy in them have been miserable, and despite several calls with Dale, I can’t think about much else than her.
“Earth to Blake.”
I snap my head around from where I’m standing in front of a dart board, holding several darts in my hand. Jordan’s next to a refrigerator in his garage, which he’s transformed into the ultimate “man cave”—boasting a black couch and TV, pool table, and speakers hooked up in the corners.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“You want something to drink?” With the fridge door propped open, Jordan holds up a Dr. Pepper in one hand and a Diet Coke in the other.
“Sure, I’ll take the Dr. Pepper.” Lucy would tease me about that choice—to her, Diet Coke is the be all and end all of sodas.
Aw, man. Even here, at a last-minute guys’ night, I can’t escape the thought of her.
Jordan flicks a look at Frederick and Landon, who are engaged in a competitive game of pool. “How about you guys?”
Landon’s got on his standard outfit of jeans, a black T-shirt, and his faithful Stetson, while Frederick has long ditched the black suits I hear he used to wear when he was Chloe’s bodyguard for gym shorts and a tee.
They both wave him off, too focused on their game. Landon’s taunting Frederick, and Frederick is all narrowed vision and concentration.
Shrugging, Jordan shuts the fridge and carries the drinks to me. He hands me the Dr. Pepper and takes the Diet Coke for himself, popping the top and taking a swig before setting it on a cocktail table near the dart board.
“Thanks, man.” I chug my own soda, letting the carbonation burn a trail down my throat. “And thanks for inviting me over. I definitely needed the distraction.”
“I’m sure you’ve got a lot to do before leaving in a few days.” Jordan picks up a few red darts from the table. “You gonna be busy tomorrow with all the festival prep?” He squares up with the dart board, eases his arm back, and launches one. His dart lands on one of the outside rings.
“Not really. I already bought all the supplies for the burgers and organized all the inventory, and Tiny and I are going to tag-team cooking burgers the day of since his trip to visit his nephew got postponed. As for the rest, Thomas is taking care of the brownies, and Lucy’s doing everything else. Chips, drinks, recruiting volunteers to run the food tent, that sort of thing. I think she’s been helping Chloe with a bunch of other non-food related stuff too.” Or so I’ve heard through the grapevine of Marilee.
“Makes me glad I’m only in charge of the volleyball tournament.” Jordan sinks another dart into the board, this one closer to center.
Behind us, the sound of a ball clacking against another rings through the air. Frederick calls Landon a dodgy bloke, and Landon laughs.
Glancing back at them, Jordan smiles and rolls his eyes. Then he brings his gaze back to the board. Adjusts his ball cap before throwing his last dart. Just left of center.
But he doesn’t gloat, merely looks at me. “Your turn.”
Grunting, I move into position and throw. My first dart misses the board altogether. Disgusted with myself, I take another drink of my soda. Shake it off. Try again. Same thing.
“Something bothering you?” Jordan asks. Grabbing up his soda again, he sits on the back of the couch next to me, legs crossed at the ankles. “I find I can never hit the board when I’ve got something else on my mind.” His voice is so casual, but I’m no dummy.
I give him serious side eye. “Marilee told you about me and Lucy, didn’t she?”
“She may have mentioned it.” He holds up his hands. “But that’s not why I invited you over. We were already getting together. You’re not the only one who needed a distraction.”
I turn toward him, forgetting the darts for a moment. “Why? What’s wrong with you?”
He laughs. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” Then he rubs the back of his neck. “Nah, it’s just Ryder. He’s had a lot of trouble sleeping lately. It’s been about six months since his mom passed. He’s been wetting the bed again every night, wanting to sleep with me. That kind of thing.”
I blow out a breath. “Dang. That’s rough.”
“Yeah.”
“You and his mom…” I clear my throat. “Was her passing hard on you?”
He shrugs. “I mean, yeah, of course. But we were never together. That is, we were never a couple. I’d like to say it was complicated, but it really wasn’t. I didn’t have feelings for her beyond…” His cheeks turn red. “But she was a good co-parent. A good mom to Ryder. Seeing how it’s affected him has been really hard.”
I study him, this solid guy who clearly stepped up to the plate when Ryder came along, doing right by him and his mom. From what I know of him, he’s smart. His business is always booming, and it seems like his schedule is full. I think back to what he told me that day on the boardwalk, about why he came back to Hallmark Beach when he could have gone anywhere after business school: “Guess you could say that everything I wanted was in this little town. It’s home.”
The thought slams me straight in the heart.
I cough. “I think…I think I want to stay in Hallmark Beach.”
Jordan’s eyebrows go up, disappearing beneath the brim of his hat. “Yeah?” He takes the change of subject in stride. “That would be awesome. But you don’t sound too sure. What about the restaurant?”
“I know. That’s the problem. I should want that, right? It’s an amazing opportunity. Plus, I’ve already committed to it.”
“I don’t think there is a right or wrong answer, necessarily. And an opportunity can be amazing and wrong at the same time.”
Whoa. My brain buzzes with the implications.
Jordan continues. “Have you signed paperwork?”
“No. My business partner wants me to sign it later this week once I’m back. His lawyer’s been drawing everything up.”
“Then you haven’t actually committed. Though I understand wanting your word to be your bond and all that.” He takes another swig of Diet Coke. “Or is there more to it?”
“There’s more.” I sigh, glance back at Frederick and Landon. Much as I like them, I don’t really know them yet. But Jordan’s more than just a solid guy. He’s my sister’s friend. Mine too.
Imagine that. I have a friend. Huh.
I blink, rolling the dart between my thumb and forefinger. “You knew my dad. He had certain ideas about success. And I don’t think—well, I know he wouldn’t have considered a food truck business in a small town to be ‘success.’ But a booming restaurant in Los Angeles that brings in stars and reviews and celebrity chef status? That would be something.”
Still holding onto his drink, Jordan folds his arms over his chest, nodding along.
“So while I think my heart wants to be here, I’m not sure my head will allow it. The thought of giving up my dad’s dream for me—because if I’m honest, that’s what the restaurant is—doesn’t really compute.” I pause. “Especially if I give it up for Lucy. My dad led with his heart, and then his head was never happy with him later. I guess I just need to figure out which to listen to.”
“I get that, man. And I don’t have all the answers by any means. Believe me, I’m still warring daily with my heart and my head.” He shifts, and I wonder once again what’s going on deeper inside of him—maybe as it regards my sister. Jordan moves on before I can think too much about that. “But I guess you just have to ask yourself what success means to you. Not your dad. You.”
“Isn’t there only the one kind?” I joke, but there’s a serious question there too.
“No way. Success is how you define it. Take Freddy, for instance. He was a world-class bodyguard to royalty, and now he’s a cellar rat at a vineyard.”
“And loving it!” the Kentonian yells.
Guess they’re listening after all. I roll my eyes. Jordan shakes his head and grins, waits until the pool sticks start moving again and Landon and Frederick start arguing about some rule or other before he continues speaking. “I know for a fact that Freddy moved here for Chloe and doesn’t regret it. But he also left the service because he wanted to do something different. He was clinging to someone else’s definition of success for a long time and ultimately decided that it was his life to live.”
My lungs contract. How well I can relate.
Jordan stands and claps me on the shoulder. “And as much as I know you want to honor your dad, he’s not here anymore. This is your life, dude. You’ve got to be the one to decide what kind of success you care about.”
Just like in those romance movies Mom and Mare made me watch with them, a series of clips—a montage, if you will—race through my head.
A late night at home, feeding my sister and Lucy new recipes. Me in my truck, flipping sandwiches, Lucy expectantly at my elbow, waiting to try something new.
Sitting on a porch swing, stargazing and enjoying quiet moments with the most beautiful woman in the world.
Kissing Lucy at the cliffside. Kissing Lucy in my kitchen. Looking for perfection with Lucy on the beach.
It’s all suddenly so clear, like a fog lifting from my eyes. If I was to die in a car accident tonight like my parents did, these are the clips of my life that would flash before my eyes.
And I would have no regrets.
Turning, I fire my last dart at the board. It hits the dead center.
I know what I have to do.