Chapter 10
I’m not sure I’m cut out for management.
Not the people aspect—that’s fine. Mama always said I could talk the ear off an elephant. Apparently that’s some sort of special talent. And since I don’t have many of those, I’ll hold tight to what I can.
It’s why waitressing came naturally to me when I was a teenager and why I’ve stuck with it ever since. I’m not a big reader. I can’t really cook. And clearly numbers aren’t my thing.
This has never been more obvious than right now as I stare at my laptop. I blink and stretch my neck, sinking back into the couch cushions in our living room, though only for a moment. It’s nearly midnight on Saturday, my brain hurts, and my body is protesting still being awake. Marilee’s been tucked in for a long while, and Blake is who knows where. Haven’t really seen him since the meeting two days ago when he showed up to brownnose the town and interfere with my festival committee.
But as tired as I am, I can’t let sleep claim me yet. I need to talk with Winona, and it’s finally morning where she is over in Europe. Hopefully she’s as much of a morning person on this trip as she is in Hallmark Beach.
Because I’ve been working on a plan.
A plan inspired by Blake.
Well, not the man himself, but his idea. He spent a good chunk of time after the meeting on Thursday handing out coupons—something I never even thought to do. Winona has never done coupons, so I didn’t think to do them either. But it seems fairly Business 101, right? Sometimes you have to give away free stuff to get new customers, or to give previous customers the push they need to return.
It certainly seems to be working for Blake. The Robin was busy enough today—thank you, weekend summer tourism season!—but the food truck was busier. What if he’s figured out a way to come out on top? What if his schmoozing and business acumen are going to mean success for him?
And failure for me?
Despite what I said to his customers, I don’t even know how long he’ll be here. I haven’t bothered yet to ask (because that would mean having a civil conversation). But even a few months of low sales could hurt the Robin.
I might be no match for Mr. MBA, but I’ve gotta try. For Winona’s sake.
And speaking of Winona, I don’t want to implement any new business strategies without her approval. Which means it’s time to finally make that call. Sighing, I stand and set my open laptop on the kitchen counter. Then I take my phone and step outside on the back porch so I don’t wake Marilee, leaving the door cracked behind me.
The evening is cool, and I zip up my hoodie as I lower myself onto the white, wooden porch swing and grab the blanket I left there a few nights ago. This is one of my favorite places to just think. The house may be old and small with locks that sometimes decide to jam (thus the cracked door!), but it’s in a prime location, sitting at the top of Hillside Drive. That means the patch of grassy backyard faces downtown, and consequently, the ocean far below.
The phone rings a few times before Winona answers. “Lucy! How’s my newest manager?” She sounds upbeat and happy, so different from the stress she exhibited the last few months of being here.
All the stress I’ve taken on lately has been worth it if it’s given her the space she needs to find joy. Joy with her daughter. I have so many great memories of summer road trips with my mom—the ones that would always end here, visiting Uncle Burt and Aunt Bea in Hallmark Beach.
That was before she met Kevin, of course. Before she found a new travel companion.
But I’m happy for my mom. Seriously.
And I’m really hoping that Winona is having just as amazing of an experience as I did once upon a time.
“I’m good. How’s the trip? Are you guys having a good time?”
I place my feet on the ground and push my toes back and forth to get a slow rock going while Winona exclaims and spends ten minutes telling me about all the sites they’ve seen and about their upcoming flight to London to start the UK leg of their trip. “Jessica is having a blast too. She’s taking notes on where she might like to study abroad for a semester during college.”
“That’s amazing.” There’s nothing quite like the possibilities of traveling with someone you love. Mama and I might not have gone to Europe—mostly just national parks and other places her beat-up Civic could take us—but it was the spirit of adventure, the unknown discoveries before us, that were the best part.
That, and just being together.
I miss that. Miss her. Miss who I was back then.
My chest squeezes.
Winona laughs, a carefree lilt on the air. “So, how’s the old girl holding up?”
She’s talking about the Robin, I know. I run my finger along the chain holding up the swing. How will my boss feel about the state of affairs? I certainly don’t want her to worry. “She’s good. We’re all good.”
“You don’t sound good.” Winona pauses. “What’s up?”
“No, no, everything’s fine. We’ve just hit a little snag. Numbers are down a bit, but the summer rush hasn’t started yet.”
“It’s June third, so no, it’s not in full swing, but usually things pick up by mid-May.” I can practically hear the frown in her voice. “Down by how much?”
“Um, about twenty-five percent?” Give or take. Mostly take. “But there’s a new business in town. A food truck. It’s stealing some of our business, but I have a plan to take it back.”
“Wait, back up, please. What food truck? Who’s operating it? And where is it located?”
I can practically hear Winona’s mind whirling from here. “The Urban Melt. They sell gourmet grilled cheese. It’s operated by Blake Moffitt.” I avoid the topic of where it’s located because Winona would probably come up out of her seat if she knew it’s practically on her front lawn. I rush on. “But don’t worry. I’ve got it handled.”
“Twenty-five percent doesn’t sound handled, Lucy.” She’s not mad, but she is firm.
I wince. “I know, but it’s a new curveball. We’ve got to be flexible, right? So what I’m thinking is that we offer BOGO meals—you know, buy one, get one free.”
“Yes, I know what BOGO means.” Winona sighs, and I hate that I’ve taken away her happy spirit. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. “But I don’t know. I’ve always firmly believed that the right customers would find us and stick with us. That we build loyalty one customer experience at a time.”
A breeze picks up, rustling the branches of the only tree in the Moffitts’ backyard—a stately Monterey pine.
“I think that’s still true, but now there’s the competition to consider.” I chew on my thumbnail. “And I don’t know if you remember Blake, but he’s a really good businessman.”
“Yes, but he doesn’t know Hallmark Beach like we do. People like that forget what small towns are like. They run roughshod over everyone and don’t develop any sort of loyalty.”
“I think that was true at the beginning, but he’s learning. Adapting.” I can’t keep the frown off my face. Thank goodness this isn’t a video call. Taking a deep breath, I push away all of the doubt and fear creeping in. If I don’t acknowledge them, they will go away. Better yet, they don’t exist. Yes. “Winona, let me try this, okay? If it doesn’t work, I’ll stop.”
“Make it temporary. Scarcity and a firm deadline are essential for creating a sense of urgency.”
Good point. I make a mental note. “Yes. Of course. Oh, and I’ve also got Tiny creating a new dish every week. Something special and unique.” He’s been giving me samples, and I critique them. It’s the only thing about cooking that I’m any good at—figuring out that a dish isn’t quite right and giving suggestions for improvement. Not that I could fix it myself, unless I wanted something burnt to a crisp. I clear my throat. “That seems to be bringing some people back.”
“That’s good. But Lucy…” There’s a long pause, and it’s as pregnant as a woman in her ninth month carrying twins. “Do I need to come home early?”
“What? No!” Kicking the blanket to the ground, I push myself to my feet. My heart is pounding. I shut my eyes against the emotions coursing through my body. “Please. Just trust me, Winona. I can do this. I will make the Robin a success for you. You can count on me.”
Winona sighs, and I can hear the tired in it. “All right. Keep me posted, though.”
“Will do.”
And with that, we hang up. I plop back onto the swing and put my head in my hands. My eyes burn with unshed tears, but I can’t give into their pushiness.
Not even if I’m alone.
“Hey,” a deep voice says from the doorway.
Blake.
My head bolts upright and I push my hands underneath my eyes, just in case a rogue tear has found its way out. Thankfully, my fingertips come away dry.
So much for being alone.
* * *
“What are you doing here?” And how much of that conversation did he hear? Knowing my luck, it was everything. Does my competition know my plan?
If so, this is war.
But he doesn’t look ready to do battle. In fact, he’s more casual than I ever remember seeing him in his flannel pajama pants and a white T-shirt. His hair is adorably rumpled, as if he’s been running his hands through it. And there’s something almost unsure in his eyes, in the way he sticks his hands into his pockets and slumps against the doorway.
“I live here.”
I stand so we’re on equal footing. “Live is a relative term.” Because he’s only here temporarily. Or so I assume. But after that conversation with Winona, I definitely do not feel like having a discussion with Blake about how long he’s back in Hallmark Beach. Not sure I can handle the answer if it’s going to be longer than, oh, say another minute.
I should just go to bed. Should just ignore his presence. Instead, I cross my arms over my chest and jut my chin. Because sure, he may be “living here” for the time being, but he has absolutely no reason to be out on the porch talking to me right now. Not unless he was spying on me. “I meant what are you doing out here?”
He studies me for a moment, then shrugs. “I got home a little while ago and came into the kitchen to make some popcorn.”
From inside, the microwave beeps once, twice, three times. Right on cue.
He doesn’t say anything more than that. Argh. Irritating man.
“Still doesn’t explain why you’re out here, eavesdropping on a private conversation,” I say, fishing to see if he really did hear anything.
His silence is all the confirmation I need. Which means he heard everything. At least on my side.
“Fantastic.”
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Okay, those are not the words I expected from my greatest nemesis. They are also not words I can handle. Especially because in his eyes, I see something foreign. At least, foreign to this version of Blake Moffitt.
The Blake of my teen years had this kindness in spades.
Nope. Noooooope. Can’t do it. Can’t think about that, Lucy. “I’m fine.” I practically spit the words. “And even if I wasn’t, it’s no concern of yours.”
I’ve gotta get out of here, so I make a move to breeze past him.
But he stops me with a gentle snag at my elbow. “Hey.”
I freeze. Look down at the place where the simple touch of his fingers is burning a hole through the fabric of my sleeve. Is it my imagination, or does his thumb move ever so slightly in what might be interpreted as a comforting stroke?
I glance back up at him, a question in my eyes. “What?” I say this with as much vehemence as I can muster, which isn’t much.
For a moment, we just stare. And then—so quick that I’m not sure it actually happened—his gaze flits down to my lips. Back to my eyes.
Now it’s his turn to clear his throat. Blake drops his hand. “Just…don’t do that.”
I move fully into the house. “Don’t do what?”
“Pretend like everything’s okay when it’s not.” He joins me inside and shuts the door firmly behind him.
Something deep inside me twists. “Everything is okay.” And frankly, the fact he thinks he has the right to give me any sort of advice or directive is just so…typical.
“Lucy.” He shakes his head at me. “You don’t always have to pretend to be upbeat and happy.”
The words trigger a memory, and my veins flood with heat. “I’m sorry if you find it annoying.”
His forehead scrunches. Clearly he doesn’t know what I’m referring to. Then again, I don’t think he ever knew I overheard his little talk with his dad that summer night before he left for college.
My seventeenth birthday.
Marilee and I had spent the morning celebrating with my family and were ending the day with a going away cookout for Blake. A bunch of his high school buddies were out back, tossing footballs and hanging out, and Blake’s parents and a few of their friends sat out by the firepit wiling away the hours, everyone chatting and laughing and eating an assortment of food cooked up by Mrs. Moffitt.
I’d gone inside for a refill on my lemonade…and found Blake standing at the counter alone, sipping from a red cup and staring at the living room. His brow was furrowed, and he looked a little lost.
To be honest, I felt a little lost too. We’d spent all summer together, though not much of it alone. I’d told him I’d miss him, and he promised to call me and Marilee when he could. To visit. But nothing more than that.
This might be my last chance to find out if he felt about me the way I did about him.
Squaring my shoulders, I sauntered toward him with a bright smile on my face. “Hey.”
The clouds left his eyes and Blake straightened. His frown melted into a smile. “Hey, yourself, Birthday Girl.”
“Hope I’m not interrupting your thoughts too much.” The huge white jug of lemonade sat on the counter on the other side of him, so I squeezed past and pushed the dispenser button to fill my cup.
“Nothing worth interrupting.”
“You sure?” I lifted the cup to my mouth and took a sip, soothing the dryness that was always there when I was in Blake’s presence. “You looked sad. Or something.”
“Good thing your sunshine is here to fix that.”
I felt my cheeks warm under his praise. “What’s wrong?” Maybe I shouldn’t go there, maybe I didn’t have a right to ask—but if I could offer him anything, it was a listening ear.
“I’m okay.” He placed his cup on the counter behind him and sighed, running a hand through his hair. His T-shirt sleeve pulled against his bicep, and heat filtered through me at the sight.
But it wasn’t just that he was the most attractive guy I knew. He was easy to talk to. Kind. He listened when I talked. I couldn’t help but want him.
But did he want me back?
Turning, I settled against the counter beside Blake, letting my shoulder press into his. “Doesn’t seem like you’re okay.”
“It’s just…I don’t know. Tomorrow’s a big day, you know?”
“Yeah.” A terrible one too. But I didn’t say that. “Aren’t you excited?”
“Sure. But I also…” He paused, and I looked up at him. He was staring down at me, what looked like conflict roiling in his gaze.
My palms itched, and I realized just how close we were standing. Without thinking, I turned my body slightly toward his. Maroon 5’s “Sugar” played in the backyard, but it was barely audible above the whoosh of blood pounding in my ears. “You also…what?” I managed.
His eyes bit into mine, like lasers with the ability to decimate. But there was something soft there, something I’d never seen when he looked at anyone else.
Was I imagining it? Was all of this just my high school delusions? A fantasy played out?
“I…” Blake swallowed, and he leaned toward me. Closer, closer, till his nose hovered above mine. “I’m going to miss this town.”
Miss the town…or me? “This town is going to miss you too.”
His lips quirked into a smile, and my whole body lit under it. I felt the barest whisper of his hand against my hip, the touch of his nose against mine, skimming down, down, and I closed my eyes, waiting for the best birthday present I could ever receive.
“What’s going on here?” A voice interrupted my dream—making it a nightmare instead.
My eyes opened and landed on Mr. Moffitt standing in the doorway, an empty platter in his hand.
Clearing his throat, Blake stepped away from me quickly. “Lucy was just getting a refill, and we were about to head back out.”
“Yep.” I held my cup aloft. “Got it! So, um, guess we can go now.” My voice sounded false and tinny, and I tried not to cringe at it.
“Hmm.” Mr. Moffitt’s gray eyebrows lifted. He looked as serious as ever in his khaki pants and red polo. “Son, help me reload this platter with more burgers from the fridge. Your mother wants to throw more on the grill.”
“Okay.” Something in Blake’s voice shifted down. Being around his dad seemed to have that effect. “See you out there, Lucy.”
Right. I was apparently dismissed. Or maybe saved. Whatever I was, I was sure my face was as red as the sliced tomatoes on the buffet line outside, and I needed to cool down before I faced the crowd. “I’ll be right out. Gotta hit the restroom first.”
I hauled booty down the dark hallway.
“I cannot believe you, Blake. What were you thinking, messing around with that girl?”
The way he said “that girl” made me halt in my tracks, turn, and flatten myself against the wall. Mr. Moffitt had never been overly warm toward me, but he’d never given me the impression he didn’t like me.
“I wasn’t messing around with her.” The fridge snicked open, and I heard Blake rustling around inside.
“That’s not what it looked like from here. Looked to me like you were about to kiss her.”
Okay, maybe I shouldn’t be listening in. But I couldn’t help but want to hear what Blake would say…
“Why would I kiss her? I’m leaving for college tomorrow.”
Ouch. Okay, okay, maybe he had a point. He’d be in Phoenix come tomorrow evening, and I’d be here for another two years at least. The whole thing was probably a bad idea.
But had I really imagined it—or was he just trying to throw his dad off the scent?
“Good.” Mr. Moffitt paused. “The last thing you want to do is fall for a townie.”
I couldn’t help but huff. A townie? Seriously? Sure, I loved Hallmark Beach, but I was so much more than that.
Hopefully Blake saw me as more than that. He’d certainly seemed to…
I held my breath while I waited for his reply. Inched forward a bit so I could see his face. Thankfully, neither of them seemed to notice me.
“Don’t worry, Dad.” Blake’s jaw ticked as he slid a platter of burgers across the counter toward Mr. Moffit. “I was just trying to be nice to Lucy. She’s a sweet kid.”
Kid? The word knifed my heart.
“That girl follows you around like an annoying little puppy, Blake. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”
What? Sweet macaroni.
Blake laughed, tight and low. “Yeah, but what else could I do? I didn’t want to be mean to her.”
No.
My chest tight, I couldn’t breathe.
His dad looked him up and down with that exacting way he had. Finally, he nodded.“Good. Because a girl like that isn’t a good fit for the kind of future you’ve got ahead of you.”
“Don’t I know it,” Blake murmured—soft enough that his father didn’t seem to hear, but loud enough to break my little teenage heart.
Because I’d been wrong. Blake hadn’t been flirting with me all year. He hadn’t almost kissed me. He thought I was an annoying child. A pest. Pathetic.
And not good enough for a guy like him.
I blink away the memory, and realize my fists are clenched.
It was more than a decade ago, and yet, here I stand, in the same kitchen where they once stood. Why am I letting those words affect me? They don’t.
And clearly Blake doesn’t remember them anyway.
“What?” he finally says.
Ugh, whatever. This isn’t worth hashing out. “Nothing. I’m going to bed. Enjoy your popcorn.” I pivot toward the counter where my computer sits, flip the lid closed, pick it up, and take a step toward the hallway.
“You could have some if you wanted. Popcorn, I mean.”
I halt. Turn on my heel. Raise an eyebrow. “I told you. I’ll never eat something you make ever again.”
“Technically, the popcorn company made it.” He runs a hand through his hair, and I can’t help but follow the motion, as if my gaze and his fingers are magnets. The way his muscles still pop with the casual movement is completely unfair. “I just unwrapped the plastic and put the bag into the microwave.” Then he offers me a small smile.
It’s a jolt to my heart.
What’s going on with him? Why is he being so…pleasant? “I’m good, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” He pulls the bag from the microwave, dumps the contents into a large bowl, and shrugs. My treacherous nose can’t help but notice how buttery the popcorn smells. And my growling stomach can’t help but reveal the fact that I forgot to eat dinner.
Without a word, Blake pushes the bowl across the counter toward me, then opens a cabinet, pulls down another bag of popcorn, and unwraps it, the cellophane crinkling as he tosses it into the garbage. Sticking the bag into the microwave, he hits the Popcorn button.
Me, on the other hand? I stand here like a lunatic, just watching him in silence. I blame the tired. It’s all the tired’s fault. But sweet macaroni, he looks downright deliciously domestic.
And that smile earlier…it almost seemed like a white flag of sorts. Like he was choosing to lay aside the fact I’ve been doing my level best to tank his business. Like I haven’t spent the last two weeks firing all sorts of potshots his way.
Analyzing his behavior is nearly as exhausting as being mad at him—especially since anger is an emotion I almost never give free reign.
I’m too tired to analyze anymore. I just want answers. “Why are you being nice to me?” I hug my laptop to my chest. My hand wants to reach for the popcorn he sent my way, but that feels like surrender. To what, I’m not sure.
“Well.” He takes a step toward me, then another. They’re slow steps, as if he’s afraid of spooking me. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you. And this seems as good a time as any.”
“Okay.” I glance down at the popcorn. Can practically taste the salt on my tongue. Nope. My gaze pulls back to his face. Not sure that’s better. “Talk.”
“Marilee’s upset we don’t get along.” Sighing, he runs a hand down his jaw. “So I was wondering if we could try for a truce. For her sake.”
Oy. The last thing I want to do is hurt my friend. Still. A truce? Isn’t that a bit…extreme? “I think ignoring each other and occupying the house at different times has worked just fine.” Yep. Totally fine.
“Yeah, sure. That definitely sounds doable for the two more months I’m going to be here.” He snorts.
“Two months?” I can’t help the way my voice squeaks. It’s finally confirmed—he will be here a long while. Not only will that be very bad for the Robin, but also for me. I’m honestly not sure I can do this for two more months. Eight weeks. Thirteen hundred and something hours. I’m drained just thinking about it. But I can’t let him know that. “Oh, is that all?” Hopefully he’s fooled by my nonchalance.
He doesn’t react to my tone, just shrugs and says, “Yep. Have to be back in L.A. to work on a new restaurant opening at the beginning of August.” The microwave beeps again, and he fishes the new bag of popcorn from inside. “And I think the next few months would go a lot smoother if we put aside our differences. Not just because it’s exhausting.” Blake eyes me, as if he can hear my thoughts. Disturbing. “But also because of Mare.”
He shakes the popcorn into a new bowl. “She told me on Friday that her biggest wish is for us to be friends again.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Don’t think that’s ever going to happen in this lifetime.” Not only because I despise him, but because I don’t think I could ever just be friends with Blake Moffitt.
“Didn’t figure so. But how about housemates who at least tolerate each other?” He throws the popcorn bag away. “Do you think you could manage that much?” There’s a sort of eagerness in his gaze, almost like he’s asking me this for himself, not for his sister.
Sweet macaroni. How’s a girl to stay upset—or hold onto her dignity—with a guy looking at her like that?
And not just any guy.
The guy she used to love.
Ugh. “Fine.” I give him a solid glare though, just for good measure. “But this doesn’t mean I forgive you for stealing my customers.” Or for anything else, for that matter.
One corner of his lips turns up. It’s only slight, but as Uncle Burt would say, good golly. Who knew only half a smile would make a man infinitely more handsome? What would I do if he ever went full watt on me? “Noted.”
“Good.”
“Great.”
“Fabulous.”
“We gonna do this all night?” Blake points at the first bowl of popcorn. “Or are you gonna eat something?”
“No and no.” Then my stomach has the audacity to growl again.
“I don’t think your stomach agrees.” Blake waggles his eyebrows, taking a handful of popcorn and stuffing it into his mouth. He groans. “Soooo good.”
And I actually have to bite my lip to keep from smiling.
What am I doing? One little truce and I’m practically flinging myself back into the Blake Danger Zone.
Nope. Not gonna happen. I take a step away. “My stomach doesn’t know what it’s talking about. So. I guess I’ll go to bed then.”
Because my room is literally the only place I can go to escape these pesky feelings that are just dying to reawaken. All because of one little word: truce.
And that’s a good reminder too—that he’s only saying this, being nice, because his sister asked him to. He probably doesn’t find the idea any more palatable than I do.
He cocks his head. Seems to consider something. “We could flip on The Great British Bake Off if you want.”
I suck in a breath. Does he remember that we used to watch that together? Him, me, and Marilee? Sometimes their mom would join us too.
I have so many fun memories of that. And Blake’s asking me to go back there.
My mouth opens. Closes. Because I want to say yes. But instead, I force the next words out of my mouth. They shouldn’t be this hard, but it feels like walking through a patch of drying concrete. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Right.”
Before he can say more, I turn to go, but stop. Because while I don’t want to go back to where we once were—my heart can’t take that—I don’t want him to think the truce means nothing. That I won’t try.
So I take the dang bowl of popcorn and hightail it outta there.
“Night, Sunshine.” His words filter down the hallway after me. This time, I hear his smile in the nickname, and the warmth of it melts my insides.
If I knew I’d only have to handle the heat for another week or so, I’d be fine. But two more months of this torture?
Sweet macaroni. I’m in trouble.