Chapter 17
I tried to keep my distance from Lucy. Tried…and obviously failed as royally as a toddler trying to make creme br?lée.
If I had any doubts about her feelings, I don’t anymore. Not after Monday night. The way she looked at me. The way she bravely put herself out there.
Tying that apron without leaning in to kiss her bare shoulder tested the limits of my self-control. But when I finally let my fingers run through the thick, luscious strands of her hair, I nearly came undone. It was all I could do not to wrap my arms around her, to spin her around, pick her up, put her on the counter, and kiss her senseless.
And then, that kiss. I didn’t want to stop there. I wanted to devour her. To let her have as much of me as she wanted. I wanted everything with Lucy.
But I refuse to be a cad. I will not hurt her again.
Which is why, instead of joining the Friday night beach volleyball game she’s currently engaged in with various friends—Kelsey, Elisse, Landon, Chloe, Frederick, several of the Loveland brothers, Marilee, and Jordan, who arranged the whole thing as a practice run for the Fourth of July tournament he’s in charge of organizing—I’m sitting here alone by the bonfire, contemplating life.
Okay, I’m man enough to admit it. I’m avoiding Lucy.
The gang invited me to join in after closing up shop early tonight, but I know that if I was over there right now, I’d be tempted to tease Lucy about her competitive streak. To laugh at the goofy victory dance she does whenever her team scores a point. To flirt with the woman I have no business being crazy about, because I’m leaving.
And maybe sooner than I thought.
I mean, nothing’s for sure, but I chatted with Dale earlier today. He asked how things were going, and I couldn’t lie. They’re smashing. My creativity has been on fire. I’ve already come up with six new sandwich recipes, and four of them have sold well this week, especially the apple and fontina cheese one that I’ve dubbed The Lucy.
People have been so intrigued by the name—and yes, the busybodies have definitely read into it, despite the fact I also called my cilantro-inspired sandwich The Marilee—that I ran the idea by Dale of naming the recipes after people on the restaurant menu too.
He loved it.
He also loved that things are going so well on my end. Even alluded to some “exciting things” being in the works on his. He’ll let me know more when he can, but for now, he wants his “superstar” to keep moving forward with market testing.
And then his next comment kicked me in the gut. “Sounds like you might only need a few more weeks of that, and then you can come home earlier than planned.”
Home. Why did that word feel so…wrong?
Lucy’s laugh floats through the air again, and I stand, suddenly too warm near this fire. I need to walk.
Kicking off my loafers and peeling off my socks, I leave them behind and walk toward the surf. The sun’s a burning ball sitting on the horizon, and the breeze off the ocean cools me down in an instant. It’s the middle of June but I’ve yet to experience a truly warm day, which is kind of how Hallmark Beach is. Never hot, never super cold.
Perfect, really.
Rolling up my pant legs to my knees, I wade into the water. When it hits my ankles, a delicious shiver rolls against my skin, a reminder of a thousand different memories of growing up here, away from the hustle of the city. Don’t get me wrong—there are some things I love about L.A. But to experience this on a Friday night there, I’d have to first take off work (not easy), and then fight terrible traffic that would leave me flustered and grumpy before I even hit the sand.
A seagull squawks as it flies overhead, and the ocean’s roar today is more like a mew. Someone calls my name, and I turn to find Mare coming toward me, a spare volleyball tucked under her arm. She waves at me with the other. “What are you doing way out here?” she shouts.
I’m not that far from the group, but I guess it probably does look like I’m off in my own world. I step closer to her, so I don’t have to yell. “Just enjoying the peace and quiet.” I look at her pointedly to emphasize the fact she is neither of those things.
Wading into the water too—apparently unconcerned about the jeans she’s wearing—she laughs and tosses the ball at my head.
I easily catch it and bring it down to my chest. “Did you steal the game ball?” But when I peek back at the group, I see them still going strong.
Even from way over here, my eyes find Lucy. Take in her strong muscular legs in those cutoff shorts. The long hair flowing down her back—the same hair I had my hands in four nights ago.
When my eyes finally drift back to my sister, Marilee looks pensive. Like she sees more than I want her to and knows exactly what I was just looking at. What I was just thinking.
But then she shrugs. “I know you like volleyball. Thought we could toss it around a bit.”
Ah, she wants to get me busy so I’ll open up and talk. Using Mom’s old tricks. I’m fully convinced that’s one reason Mom starting cooking with me.
But, sure, I’ll humor her.
“Come on, Squirt.” I head back up the beach to where we can hear each other better and the water isn’t soaking her pant legs.
She joins me and I hit her the ball. She does her best to volley it back, but a great sportswoman, she is not. Those hands were created for baking brilliant artwork, not spiking a ball. It’s probably why Jordan had to prod her to stop playing with Ryder and one of his buddies and join the “big kids” game earlier tonight. But then again, the man never seems to see her flaws.
We pretend to be playing our own version of volleyball for a while, and I catch her up on my conversation with Dale.
“Wow. I wonder what things he has in the works?”
I have my suspicions, but don’t feel like going into it now. “Guess I’ll find out when he’s ready to tell me.” I overhand serve the ball her way.
She jumps up to slap it but misses. Laughs at herself when she falls to the ground.
I rush over to make sure she’s okay, but she’s smiling and sits upright. When I reach down to help her up, she stands and brushes off the seat of her jeans. Sand clings to the wet part of her pants, but she doesn’t seem to care. “I think I might be done with volleyball for the night. Wanna take a walk?”
“Sure.”
We start off walking south at a slow pace along the water’s edge. We could head up to the boardwalk for more even footing but know from experience how clogged with tourists it gets around the late dinner hour.
As we pass by the volleyball game, Mare tosses the spare ball back toward the group, where it rolls and eventually stops. Ryder and his friend—who are building a sandcastle—shout and run for it. Mare waves at them before turning back to me. “So you might leave sooner than expected?” She’s not judging me or guilt-tripping me with the question. She’s just invested in the answer. Invested in me.
I kind of lucked out in the sister department. And I hate that it’s taken me thirty years to really figure that out. On the one hand, leaving early means I won’t have as much time with her. On the other, we’re good now. We’ve made peace. Regarding Marilee, I’ve done what I came here to do. No matter when I leave, I know I’ll be back. We’re going to stay close.
It’s not her I’m worried about.
“Maybe.” My hands find the pockets of my pants. “Nothing’s for sure.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
I huff out a laugh. “There’s no reason I shouldn’t feel fine about it. I’ve got the recipes I came for. You and I are good.” And yet. Nights like this are so rare back in Los Angeles. Nights when friends’ laughter is on the air and I’m enjoying the outdoors instead of stuck inside in an office at the back of a crowded, noisy restaurant. Maybe it’ll be different when I’m in the kitchen instead.
But even then, I’ll be cooking for strangers. I won’t have old ladies coming up to me in the kitchen and bugging me about eating my vegetables or finding a wife. Won’t have young kids saying, “Mr. Blake, can you pleeeeeease add extra cheese to my sandwich?” with their gap-toothed grins. Won’t have buddies stop by and invite me to hang out after work—because work won’t end until midnight or later, and by that time, I’ll be wrung out and exhausted.
But I’ll be living my dream. The one I’ve had since I was a kid.
Beside me, Marilee just hmms, communicating without words like she’s so good at doing. “And what about Lucy?”
That makes me stop and turn to face her. The sky’s darkened, but I can still somehow see the meaning in her eyes, hear it in her tone. I grunt. “It’ll be better for Lucy if I leave sooner than later.”
She tilts her head. “You really believe that?”
I think about the desire in Lucy’s eyes on Monday night. The trust I’ve finally earned. “If my truck isn’t here stealing her business, she’ll be better off.”
“The Robin was already struggling before you got here.” She holds up her hands. “I know it makes me sound like a bad friend to say that, but it’s the truth.” Then Marilee pauses, sighs. “I’ve seen the way you look at her, Blake. The way she looks at you.”
She lets the words hang there between us before resuming our trek down the beach.
I follow in silence, my mind working overtime. My sister and I have never broached this subject in quite this way before, but I shouldn’t be surprised she’s doing it now. She’s Lucy’s best friend. She wants to protect her heart.
“I won’t hurt her again, Mare.”
“Oh, Blake.” She crosses her arms, stopping again to stare up at the moon. “Why’d you do it the first time? I wasn’t blind back then, just like I’m not blind now. I know you liked her. Maybe even loved her. So why’d you leave like that?”
How can I tell her without sullying her memory of Dad? “I had my reasons.”
Then she surprises me. “She wasn’t good enough for Dad, right?”
“What? No.” But then I remember, Lucy’s told her about the conversation she overheard. “It wasn’t Lucy. It was any small-town girl.”
“But Mom was a small-town girl.”
See? This is why I didn’t want to go here. “We don’t have to talk about this if it’s going to upset you, Mare.”
It takes her a while to respond, but finally, she inhales sharply. “No.” Her voice is soft. “I need to know. Was Dad…was he not happy with his life with Mom?”
“I don’t think it was Mom. You know he loved her. But I think he regretted what marrying her meant. What he gave up, you know?”
“No, I don’t know. Sure, he always talked about how his college roommate got that fancy job in New York after Dad turned it down to stay in Hallmark Beach, but…” She turns to me. “So he really warned you off of Lucy because he didn’t want you to end up like him?”
What can I say? “He just wanted me to be the best I could be. To not get distracted, stay stuck in a small town because of a girl. To live a big life that means something. To be the best I could be.”
“Wow.” That word is full of fire—and fire isn’t something I’m used to in Mare’s voice. “That’s so…short-sighted.”
Definitely not the reaction I expected from her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, have you ever thought that maybe Dad was the best he could be because of Mom? If he’d gone on to New York and gotten that job instead of working here as an insurance broker, we would not even exist. Did he think of that?” Now she’s moving back and forth, and I’m a little scared she’s going to set the sand on fire with the ferocity of her pacing.
Suddenly, she stops and spears me with a look. “Blake, Dad might have talked about regret and not wanting you to have the kind of life he did. But do you think that if he’d known he was going to die in that accident, he would have wished for one more job promotion—a ‘bigger life’—or one more day with his family?”
The question rends the beachy air, hanging there, twisting and bending. Forcing me to look at it. Refusing to let me ignore it.
She continues, her voice softer. “I’m willing to bet, for all his bluster, that in the end, he saw what mattered most. And his biggest regret wasn’t that he didn’t live a big enough life. It’s that he didn’t appreciate how big the life he already had was.”
Then my baby sister drops her proverbial mic and crushes me in a hug.
And leaves me with a lot to think about.