Page 22 of That Time I Kissed My Beachfront Boss

“I know, Mom. The thing is, I was only planning to stay for a couple of weeks in the first place.” I glance at my grandmother, who’s frowning at her puzzle, pretending not to eavesdrop. “Managing The Beachfront was really the only workable option. And now that’s off the table, so ….”

My mom sighs. “What about a hotel in Mayfield? Or maybe Southampton?”

I shake my head. “Even a half-hour commute is too far if an emergency came up.” I try to open the marinara, but the lid is stuck. “What was perfect about The Beachfront is I could live here, and the inn’s just over the bridge.” I give up and set the jar on the counter.

“Then where are you going to go?”

“Good question.” Hot tears well in my eyes, so I press a hand above my heart and take a beat to process what’s happening inside me. That’s what my therapist taught me to do after my dad died. She was so calm. So patient. And the routine usually worked to bring me back into my body.

The main goal is to stay in the present, not loop on the past or worry about the future. I can’t control those things, or change reality, no matter how hard I try. What I need to do is be here, now.

Name the sensations coming up for you, Olivia.

Describe the physical feeling.

Where is it located?

What’s the emotion attached?

Right now, there’s a throbbing in my stomach and a hollowness behind my ribs. And they go hand in hand with the pain and emptiness from my most recent failure. Being here these past few days has done my heart good. And no one’s rushing me out the door. But I can’t hide here forever. I’ve got to figure out what’s next for me.

“You’ll land on your feet, Livvy,” my mother says, as if she can hear my thoughts. “Just stay true to yourself.” She picks up the marinara jar and smacks a knife around the lid before prying it open with a sucking pop.

“That all sounds good on the surface,” I say as she pours the sauce into the pan. “But what if I don’t know who I am anymore?”

“Well then, that’s the first thing you have to figure out.” She quickly rinses her hands in the sink and dries them on a dishtowel. “Even before you worry about a job, or where you’ll live. Decide who you want to be.”

I press my lips together. “I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I am.” She sends me a sly smile. “I’m a mother.”

I puff out a small laugh. “Thanks for the reminder that I’m definitely not cut out to be anybody’s mom. Ever. I have zero advice worth taking. Even for myself.”

“Ah, Liv.” She opens her arms, coming at me with a big hug. “You’ll always have my support.”

Oof.

This makes me feel even worse about leaving. But staying just isn’t an option.

“Heads up, ladies!” Big Mama warbles. “There’s a door-to-door salesman coming up our walkway. Whatever he’s peddling, I’ll buy ten!”

My mom cringes, lowering her voice to a whisper. “It’s probably just one of your cousins,” she says. “Every time Mac flew in to check the progress at The Beachfront, Big Mama would mix him up with Ford, Three, or Brady.”

“In her defense”—I tip my chin—“that’s a lot of grandsons to keep straight when you’re her age.”

“What a hunk!” Big Mama crows. “I think he’s a movie star. Like that hottie, Lincoln James. You know, People magazine says he’s the sexiest man alive!”

“Wait.” I stifle a snicker. “Did I just hear my sweet little old grandmother call Link James a hottie?”

“Yes. And sexy.”

“Now, I really hope it’s not one of my cousins.”

“Me, too.”

“I’ll handle the solicitor,” Big Mama hollers.

“Hold on!” my mom calls out. “I’m coming!”

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