Page 14 of That Time I Kissed My Beachfront Boss

“Wait until you see the inn now,” Mac says. “I was just there checking on the progress a couple weeks ago. It’s even better in person. Besides a total overhaul of the original building, crews added two new wings, expanded the boat house, and built a wrap-around porch for outdoor seating.”

As Mac tells me more about the inn, anticipation trickles down my chest. Orrrrr … maybe that’s just the boob sweat. Turns out my Colorado body isn’t used to the heat and humidity in this part of the country. Especially at the beginning of June. I could take off my mom’s blazer, but there’s probably pit stains on the blouse. Plus the Johnsons will see the unprofessional safety pin at the waist. Doubt seeps through me, and I squirm in my seat.

The results will be worth this discomfort, Liv.

After I land the position at The Beachfront and my luggage arrives, the rest of my life will be smooth sailing. Not to mention wakeboarding. And jet skiing. Kayaks and fishing and?—

Oh, wow.

There it is, at the end of the bridge, dominating the shoreline beyond the docks. Like a guardian of Abie Lake.

The Beachfront Inn.

The expanded pub is attached to the inn by a newly remodeled breezeway. The buildings are decked out in a stunning combination of log-cabin wood, river rock, and glass. The facades are freshly painted in a soft, beachy off-white, and the accents and trim work are a deep forest green. On top of everything, gabled rooftops wave in a cheerful red-clay shade.

It’s the perfect blend of a modern resort style mixed with traditional mountain vibes.

My brother turned The Beachfront into an Adirondack dreamscape.

“Whoa.” I suck in a long breath.

“It’s really something, isn’t it?” he says. I’d forgotten we were still on a call. “I’d better let you go now, so you can get your game face on.”

“Thanks, Mac. I’ll update you on the group chat tonight. Please don’t say anything to Darby and Tess yet. I want this to be a surprise. Love you!”

“Love you too, Liv. And I’m proud of you.”

Oof. I kind of wish he hadn’t added that last part.

Talk about pressure.

Pulling into the lot, I park and cut the engine, taking in the beach area of the property. The stairs leading from the pub down to the sand have been refurbished, and there’s a new lifeguard stand perched by the shore.

Perfect.

After a little clap of excitement, I wobble toward the inn in my mother’s too-large-for-me heels. I’m pausing to smooth the safety-pinned skirt at the base of the stairs, when the double doors to the lobby open, and the Johnsons emerge. They’re wearing cargo shorts, water sandals, and matching Beachfront Inn polos. I shift my weight, feeling severely overdressed.

Note to Olivia: You’re not at Luxe anymore.

“Olivia McCoy? Is that you?” Mrs. Johnson squints down at me, her hand cupped over her graying brow. Mr. Johnson hunches over to the edge of the steps.

“It is Olivia,” he crows. “Well, get on up here so we can say hello to you properly.”

As I join them on the porch, the smell of fresh paint and cut pine hovers in the air. A set of rope swings hangs on either side of the door.

Mrs. Johnson pulls me in for a hug. “Your mother didn’t tell me you were visiting.”

“She didn’t know.” My shoulders creep up. “Last-minute decision.”

Mr. Johnson grins. “We haven’t seen you since your cousin’s wedding.”

“Has it been that long?” My stomach lurches. “I can’t remember.”

Of course I remember.

Brady and Natalie’s wedding week is carved into my brain like a matrimonial Mount Rushmore. So many fond memories. That is, until I crashed and burned at The Launch Pad.

But enough about that.

---