Beachside Kisses With My Best Friend (Hallmark Beach #3)

Chapter 1

one

JORDAN

15 years ago

You don’t expect to meet the love of your life at age fourteen.

And you definitely don’t expect to meet her in home economics—especially when you’re a dude.

Not that I’m sexist. Far from it. But when you sign up for gym class at the new school you’re transferring to just before the holidays and get put in cooking class instead…there’s bound to be some confusion.

What school doesn’t have any gym classes available? None of the ones I’ve been to—and that’s a solid five in the last ten years alone. Thank you, military life.

But Dad’s retired from the Air Force now—honorably discharged thanks to an injury that’s left him reeling and reaching for the bottle more than he’d care to admit—and he wanted to move back to his home state of California. But he didn’t want to return to Los Angeles. He wanted to be somewhere small. Quiet. Peaceful.

That’s how the Carmichaels ended up in Hallmark Beach.

And that’s how I ended up in this class.

With her.

I don’t know her name—I don’t know anyone’s name—but as I shift my backpack from one shoulder to the other, I can’t take my eyes off of her.

There’s a red apron tied around her petite waist, her brown hair is piled on top of her head, flour dots her cheeks, and she’s smiling while she frosts cookies, off in her own world while her classmates—well, our classmates, I guess—are chatting and joking around.

She’s beautiful, but the kind where she doesn’t seem to know she’s beautiful. She seems oblivious to her charm.

But I’m not.

“Jordan.”

I straighten, jerking my attention to the administrative assistant—a Mrs. Benson, I think?—smiling kindly at me from behind her cat-eye glasses. She’s the lucky one who got to escort me around Hallmark Beach High’s campus, which took all of five minutes. “Sorry. What?”

She pats her white curls and nods toward the middle-aged teacher, who is busy instructing a student standing behind a burner built into a table. “That’s Ms. White. I think you’ll like her. She gives a lot of creative freedom. And you’ll only be in this class for a few weeks until second semester starts. Then there should be a spot open in gym class.”

“Great.” I say the word, but there’s a lack of enthusiasm in it. My eyes have drifted once again to the girl standing at the last table in the back of the room.

Mrs. Benson chuckles. “Would you like me to introduce you?”

“What?” I turn, shaking my head with so much force that I might be mistaken for a bobblehead. “No. No, I’m good.”

At that moment, Ms. White glances up and sees us, says something to the student she’s helping, and walks across the noisy room to join us. She’s probably my parents’ age—forty-ish—with small wisps of gray salting her dark hair. “Hi, there. You must be our new student. Jordan, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Wonderful. Thank you for escorting him, Mrs. Benson.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Benson’s mouth hooks into a wry grin. “I don’t think Jordan has any experience baking, so perhaps you might consider pairing him with your best student.” She flashes me a quick wink before heading out the door.

What the…?

Ms. White seems to consider me, then nods. “That’s not a bad idea. Come on, Jordan. Follow me.” She weaves through the tables, calling out encouragements to others, some of whom look up at me with curious expressions. A few turn to whisper and giggle—probably because I’m the only guy in here.

That’s okay. I’m used to being the new kid. Their stares and laughs don’t bother me. Like water off a duck’s back…

Then I see where Ms. White is leading me—and my palms begin to sweat.

Now I understand why Mrs. Benson winked at me.

Before I can protest this partner pairing, Ms. White stops in front of the girl who caught my attention from the very second I stepped into the room. But the girl doesn’t look up. She’s humming a tune—“Jingle Bells,” I think, though she’s really off tune.

It’s kind of adorable though.

“Marilee, dear.”

She finally glances up and startles. “Oh! Hi! Sorry, were you saying something?”

Ms. White offers a sincere smile—I have a feeling this girl, this Marilee , is a favorite—and gestures toward me. “We have a new student. Jordan Carmichael. Would you mind showing him the ropes?”

“Of course not.” Turning toward me, a huge grin splashes across Marilee’s face, and if I thought she was beautiful before, well…I didn’t know what beautiful was. Because the sight of her smiling at me , her green eyes sparkling, makes me lose my breath. “Hi. I’m Marilee Moffitt.”

“Hi.” My voice cracks, and dang, I wanna crawl under the table. Wouldn’t be very manly of me though. I cough, lower my voice. “Hey.” I’ve never been the smoothest with the ladies. With how much we’ve moved, there’s never been a point. Mostly, I just keep to myself, do my schoolwork, and don’t do anything to rock the boat. Eventually, I make a few friends.

But this time, if Dad can be believed, we’re staying, and since I’m just a freshman, I’ve still got three and a half years left here. Can’t afford to be branded the pathetic loser who can’t even talk to a pretty girl.

Thankfully, Marilee just keeps smiling at me. “Nice to meet you. You’re going to love it here in Hallmark Beach. I’ve lived here my whole life, and it’s such a warm, friendly place.” She reaches out and pats my upper arm while addressing our teacher. “I’ll take good care of him, Ms. White.”

“I know you will, Marilee. Thank you. And Jordan, welcome here.”

“Th-thank you.” My backpack falls to the ground beside me.

Marilee’s hand is still warm on my shoulder for a moment while our teacher walks away. Then she drops it and picks up a white tube with green frosting protruding from the tip. She holds it out to me. “Wanna give it a whirl?”

I look at it like it’s a snake. “Like, try frosting cookies?”

She laughs, a magical tinkling sound like wind chimes. “Of course, silly. It’s easy.” Marilee points down at the cookies on a parchment-lined tray in front of us. There’s a whole array of sugar cookie shapes—candy canes, snowmen, bells, Christmas trees. And each one is expertly decorated with precision and bursts of creativity that make me smile.

I point to a little snowman family, each one with a different outfit in reds, greens, and whites that must have taken hours to complete. “That doesn’t look all that easy.”

“It is once you practice.” She wiggles the tube at me again. “Come on.”

“Baking isn’t really my thing. How about you show me first? So I can observe and make sure to get it right.”

“There is no getting it right . There’s just…I don’t know. Feeling your way through it.”

I chuckle at her exuberance. “Not sure I’ve felt my way through anything in my life.”

“Really?” She leans over the cookie with the tube, releasing the green in even, beautiful lines. “Why not?”

“I dunno. My dad’s in—well, was in—the military.”

“Oh. High expectations, then?”

“Yep. Of me and my sister.”

“You have a sister? I have an older brother. Blake. He’s a junior.”

“Cool. Claire’s already in college. She goes to Berkeley.”

“Wow. You weren’t kidding about high expectations.” She huffs, the beginnings of a frown on her lips for the first time. “I understand that all too well.”

I want to ask her what she means, but then she moves on, chatting about all the wonderful things about Hallmark Beach, all the while pumping out more frosting. I’ve never been one to pay attention to the details on decorated baked goods. A cookie is a cookie, and it tastes the same no matter what the decorations look like. But right now, I’m mesmerized by the way her experienced hands make artwork of something that’s going to be consumed.

Even more mesmerized when she lifts the tube, nods in satisfaction at the little snowman dude wearing a top hat and pair of glasses, and flicks the remaining frosting off the tip with her pinky finger, sticking it into her pink mouth.

I swallow hard against a dry throat.

“Ten minutes until next period, people,” Ms. White calls from the front. “Time to clean up.”

Marilee looks up at me—I’ve got a good six inches on her at least—and blinks. Then laughs. “Sorry, I’ve been talking the whole time. Off in my own world. I do that a lot.” Marilee gestures toward her apron smudged with flour and frosting. “I’m a mess, I know.”

“I don’t mind the talking.” I really don’t. It’s nice, actually. “And you’re not a mess.”

“That’s not what Don—” She freezes, then shakes off whatever she was going to say. “Anyway, tell me more about yourself.” Marilee busies herself with cleanup, unscrewing the lid on the pastry tube.

I step forward to grab a paper towel and sweep some stray sprinkles from the counter into my waiting hand. “Not much to tell, honestly.” I toss the sprinkles into the trash.

“Well, what do you do for fun?”

“Run.”

“Like, away from your problems?” Her eyes sparkle as she kicks on the sink beside our station and washes out the frosting tube.

I snort. “Maybe sometimes. But I was talking more like track and field.”

“Ah, makes sense. You look like a runner.”

“Uh, thank you?” By that, I hope she doesn’t mean I look scrawny. I’d like to add more bulk to my body, but I’m not really sure where to start. Maybe my gym teacher can give me some pointers next semester. I’d ask Dad, but he’s not really in any condition right now to be giving advice on physical fitness. And even if he was, he wouldn’t have time for me anyway. “What else can I do to help?” Most of the materials and tools are still out on the table. “Seems like there’s still a lot to clean.”

“We don’t have to have everything put away since there’s a class after us. Maybe take that tray of cookies to the room across the hall?” She’s washing out a mixing bowl, yellow gloves on her hands, but she uses her chin to indicate the door. “We’re storing them in Mrs. Lincoln’s room. She’s the student government teacher and will keep them safe in containers until the bake sale this weekend.”

“Bake sale? So I don’t get to sample one now?” I tease.

“Nope. You’ll need to wait for Friday night’s football game. We’re in the championships. You should come.”

I like sports, but attending sporting events has never been on my radar. Still… “Will you be there?”

She dries her hands on a towel, unhooks her apron, and tosses it onto our table. “Of course. You can sit with me and my friends.”

Maybe this new high school won’t be so bad. “That’d be great. Thanks.” I take the tray of cookies in hand and make my way through the classroom, where other pairs are also straightening up and grabbing their things. Glancing at the clock, I pick up the pace. There’s only a minute or so until the bell rings if the schedule I memorized yesterday is correct.

I plow my way through the door, out to the hallway, and start to cross.

That’s when I hear, “Watch out, freak!” and see a football careen toward me. Protecting the cookies, I turn away from the flying object, and the football slams into my back.

I suck in air as I hear laughter ring through the hallway.

“Jordan?” Marilee’s voice lifts behind me, and then she’s squatting there, her hand on my back, rubbing where the ball hit. “Are you all right?”

I want to scream not really, because that’s definitely gonna leave a mark. Instead, “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good.” Marilee looks down, where I safely set the cookie sheet after the football landed. “You saved the cookies!” There’s pure delight in her tone, and suddenly, I care nothing for my bruised back.

In that moment, I’m Marilee Moffitt’s hero. And I have a feeling there’s nothing better than that.

Marilee stands and dusts off her hands before tugging on my sleeve.

I stand too, leaning down to grab the precious cookie tray.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asks again.

“He’s fine, babe.” Another voice joins our conversation, one with a sneer and an uncanny resemblance to the person who yelled for me to “watch out, freak” just a few moments ago.

We turn to find a broad guy in a blue varsity football jacket strutting toward us from down the hall, his black spiked hair as pointed as the glare he’s giving me.

“Donny?” Marilee squeals as he approaches us. “What are you doing here? Your next class is across campus.”

The bell chooses that moment to ring, and students pour from their classes. And even though I feel like a complete third wheel—because of course, Marilee is taken, and of course this jerk is her boyfriend—and I know I should move on, my feet don’t agree.

“Eh, it’s just with Coach Jensen. He’s cool if I’m a few minutes late to history. Jimmy and I snuck over so we could walk our girls to their next class.” He nods toward another football player—the one who must have been meant to catch the ball Donny threw. The guy’s leaning up against a row of lockers, making out with a girl with long blonde curls.

“That’s so sweet.”

“I’m a sweet guy.”

“Oh, hey, I wanted you to meet a new friend. Donny, this is Jordan Carmichael. Jordan, this is my boyfriend, Donny Franklin. He’s one of the football team’s quarterbacks.”

Donny pastes on the fakest smile I’ve ever seen. “Sup. Good to meet ya. I’ll take care of my girl from here, though.”

Marilee opens her mouth to protest, but Donny leans down, tipping her chin up, and gives her a kiss. A really passionate kiss.

Marilee lifts on her tiptoes and responds.

I know I literally just met her, but the sight is a knife in my gut. Bitter disappointment, maybe? It’s really stupid is what it is, and I definitely should not be here watching like a freak show. Besides, I’ve got another classroom to find, and only five minutes to do so. Being late on the first day isn’t a good look.

My shoe squeaks on the linoleum as I turn to deliver the cookies to the desk in Mrs. Lincoln’s empty room. Then I duck back into the hallway and ignore the way Donny’s holding Marilee. Like he owns her. I head into Ms. White’s room and grab my backpack. After a second of contemplation, I grab Marilee’s too.

When I’m back in the hallway, I do the most awkward thing ever and clear my throat. Finally, when it’s obvious they’re not coming up for air, I tap her on the shoulder mid-kiss.

“Jordan?” She steps away from Donny, whose eyes flash murder at me. “Hey, sorry.” Her cheeks are flushed, her lips kind of swollen.

I hate it. Again, for no logical discernible reason.

“No worries. Just thought you might need this.” I hold her backpack out.

“Thank you.” She smiles and slips it on. “You have no idea how many times I’ve left this thing in a classroom.”

“No problem.”

Donny steps forward and wraps his big, beefy arm around Marilee’s shoulders. “That was nice of you, Johnny.” There’s a predatory gleam in his eyes.

“It’s Jordan.” But of course, he probably knows that. I’ve met plenty of guys like him, and I’m not letting him intimidate me. I turn my attention back to Marilee. “Let me know the plans for Friday night.”

“Plans?” Donny says, a challenge in his voice.

Marilee shrinks a bit, turning into Donny and patting his chest. “I invited him to hang with the gang to watch you kick butt at the game!”

“I am gonna kick butt, especially if Kev’s arm isn’t back to normal and I get off the bench. I know I can bring it home for us.”

“Of course you can. You’re the best.”

Donny puffs out his chest. I can see what he sees in her, but what does she see in this dude?

“I kind of am, huh?” Then he studies her, maybe for the first time. Laughing, he swipes at a streak of flour on her forehead. “You’re such a mess, babe.”

I don’t know why I’m still standing here, but those words leaving his mouth… They make me honestly want to deck him.

I don’t have a right to deck him. And like I said, I just met this girl.

But the way her whole face crumples at the statement makes me want to protect her. To go to bat for her. To tell her, again, that she’s not a mess. That she’s perfect.

Geez. When did I turn into such a sap?

“Oh. I know.” Marilee’s cheeks go red as she scrubs her palms across her face, wiping away the excess flour. “Sorry.” Then she rubs at a patch of white on his chest. “Oh, shoot. I got your jacket.”

“It’s fine. You can clean it for me later.”

Her mouth turns downward into a frown. He pulls her back in, kisses the side of her head. “Kidding, kidding.”

Something like a relieved smile crosses her face, and she melts into his side. “Right. Of course. I knew that.”

And as she flashes me a wave and shouts, “I’ll let you know the deets about Friday soon,” something settles in my spirit.

A deep knowing.

That somehow, that girl is going to be important to me—even if she’s taken, and all I can ever be is her friend.