Page 21 of That Time I Kissed My Beachfront Boss

“How does spaghetti sound?” I ask.

Big Mama squints at the crossword before erasing a word. Then she blows the erasure bits off onto the rug. “Any meal someone else is willing to cook for me sounds perfect!” She sets down her pencil to refold the top of her turtleneck, which—regardless of the weather—she always pairs with stretchy slacks. She claims her bones are cold even in the heat.

And don’t get her started on her hips.

“Sorry my culinary skills are so limited,” I tell her. “But grilled cheese and pasta are pretty much all I can make without setting the house on fire.”

“Works for me,” Big Mama says, her eyes crinkling. “I’m just so happy we’re roomies now.” She smiles and my already-knotted-up stomach flips over. Hearing her say I’m her roomie is just about the cutest thing ever. But without any decent job prospects or a room of my own, I really can’t stay in Abieville.

My mom took the second bedroom when she moved back here after losing my dad. The third room’s packed with boxes of my grandfather’s old medical books, an unused Peloton, and a creaky treadmill. That leaves me sharing space with Big Mama’s ancient Singer and a couple of creepy dress dummies. It’s a nightmare waiting to happen.

And my dreams are bad enough already.

Crossing to the kitchen, I collect a box of spaghetti and a jar of marinara sauce from the pantry. Then I fill a pot at the sink, and crank up the heat on the stove. I’m assembling a quick salad when the side door bursts open and my mom bustles in. She’s wearing workout clothes and sneakers, her red hair corralled by a visor. My aunts pile in behind her all dressed in similar garb. They’ve been popping in to say hi to me every night after their pre-dinner walk, which is almost as sweet as Big Mama saying I’m her roomie. Seeing all four Bradford sisters together inspires a wave of nostalgia for my own sisters. For belonging.

I miss Tess and Darby.

“Nice walk?” I ask, hauling my mouth into a smile.

“Always,” my mom chirps. She takes in the unopened box of pasta and marinara jar on the counter. “I see you’re making dinner for us.”

“Just trying to pull my weight while I’m here.”

The rest of the aunts eye each other. My reputation for bad cooking precedes me. “Uncle Phil’s planning to grill burgers next door,” Aunt Elaine says. “We’ll have plenty if you’d like to join us. You could bring … the salad.”

“Thanks, but you’re already letting me borrow your truck this week. And my spaghetti’s pretty decent.” I glance at my mom. “Back me up.”

“Yes!” My mother nods broadly. “It’s much more edible than the lasagna she made last time she visited.”

“Hey, now!” I scoff and lay a hand on my chest to feign insult. But she’s right. That lasagna needed its own white flag.

My aunts all give me hugs then say their goodbyes to Big Mama while my mother converges on me at the stove. “So.” She grins, her eyes widening. “I’ve been dying to ask. How did things go at The Beachfront?”

A long sigh escapes me. “They went nowhere.” I break the pasta noodles in half and toss them into the water. “You remember Hudson Blaine? He worked there before the reno.” I add a pinch of salt to the pot, and my insides twist.

“Sure I do.”

“Well, he’s back in town, and the Johnsons already hired him to be their manager.” My shoulders slump. “I was too late.”

“Oh, no, Liv.” Her face crumples, which makes me feel even worse. “I thought we’d found the perfect solution, but I just got your hopes up, didn’t I? I don’t know what to say.”

I shrug, pretending I’m fine, but my eyes begin to sting. “There’s nothing to say, Mom.”

Big Mama hollers from the couch, “Tell her you got your clothes back, Livvy!”

“Hmph.” My mother shakes her head. “I swear, that woman has the ears of a puma.”

I cough out a tiny laugh. “I didn’t realize pumas were known for good hearing.”

“Maybe they aren’t. But either way, I’m so sorry about The Beachfront.”

“Me too.” I pull out a saucepan for the marinara. “And now I’m also too late to beg for a second chance at Luxe.” I swipe at my nose.

“Why?”

“Even if Francine was willing to take me back, Naomi’s boyfriend already moved into my old room. That apartment’s in one of the last rent-controlled buildings in Aspen. Everything else is way too expensive. So going back and hoping for the best would just be me making another rash decision.”

“Hmm.” My mother’s eyes go soft. “I’m sorry to hear that, but … I’m not ready for you to leave yet anyway.”

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