Page 17 of That Time I Kissed My Beachfront Boss

While Mrs. Johnson works on securing the pin, Olivia holds her arms out at her sides like an Adirondack scarecrow in an ill-fitting blazer.

“Sooo.” I blow out a long breath, probably not helping with the overall discomfort in the lobby. “It’s been a while, huh, Olivia?”

“I thought you moved to the city,” she blurts. “I mean … I heard you were moving.” Her gaze sinks to the floor. “I think that’s what Mac said. I wasn’t paying close attention.”

The skin around her collarbone blotches, and a wave of sympathy crashes over me. Olivia walks around like she’s confidence personified, but the set to her chin is vulnerable now.

And anyway, no one wants their underwear exposed.

Twice.

“You’re not wrong.” I nod, hoping to put her at ease, but she’s focused on her wobbly feet. “I moved to the city when The Beachfront shut down for renovations. I was at my dad’s company, but … things didn’t work out.”

“Gerald and I were sorry to hear that,” Mrs. Johnson says over Olivia’s shoulder. “But we’re not sorry you were able to come back to the inn.” She finishes pinning the skirt and moves to the side. “There you go, dear.”

“Thanks.” Olivia drops her arms, stumbling a little in her heels. When I reach out to steady her, she meets my gaze and her intoxicating scent floats over me. Warm cocoa butter mixed with summer sunshine. Is that her shampoo? Her body wash? Hand lotion?

She steps away from me, straightening her spine, and I flash back to her offering Mac advice on improving the inn. Olivia seemed so strong then. And she’s gathering that same strength now, wrapping it around her like an invisible cloak.

“So, obviously I didn’t expect to see you here today,” she says.

“Yeah.” I duck my head. “Me either.”

“Olivia stopped by because she heard we were looking for a new manager,” Mrs. Johnson chimes in. “She wanted to help us out. Wasn’t that sweet of her?”

I bob my head. Yes. Yes, it was.

Olivia pastes on a smile. “Well, I’m really glad you found someone.” Her words are a little too bright, like she’s trying to convince herself.

“We sure did.” Mr. Johnson claps me on the shoulder. “Getting Hudson back feels like an answered prayer,” he says. “The truth is, we were never very good at the business part of this place.” His expression goes sheepish. “But this guy knows every inch of The Beachfront, inside and out.”

“He’s going to be the perfect manager,” Mrs. Johnson pipes up.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Olivia says. And her graciousness pricks open a couple stitches in my heart.

“Well, dear.” Mr. Johnson takes his wife’s hand. “What do you say we let these two kids catch up? They don’t need a couple of old folks hanging around, cramping their style.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Mrs. Johnson says. “We’ll be out in the garden if you need anything.”

And with that, they stroll out of the lobby, swinging their arms like a couple of teenagers. Olivia and I watch them go, but as soon as the door shuts, she turns and blinks up at me.

“So,” we both say at the same time.

She shifts her weight. “This is awkward, huh?”

I puff out a breath. “I mean, it’s not not awkward.”

She inclines her head. “We can pretend to catch up for a few minutes, and then I’ll get out of your way. Since I’m only in town temporarily, we probably won’t run into each other again.”

“But you offered to manage The Beachfront.” I drop my brow. “Aren’t you living here?”

She swallows hard. “No, I’m just visiting. In between jobs. I would’ve stuck around if the Johnsons needed me, but they have you now. So.” Her shoulders edge up. “The good news is, after I’m gone, you won’t have to worry about me randomly mashing my face into yours again.”

Her mouth quirks. Olivia’s funnier than I remembered.

Red light, Hudson! Stop sign!

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie. The memory of her lips pressed against mine is seared into my brain, no matter how hard I’ve tried to forget.

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