Page 33 of That Time I Kissed My Beachfront Boss

“Well, half of them—maybe more—are about a man or a woman returning to their hometown where they get stuck working together. Or against each other. Either way, they spend the whole story denying their deep, lovey-dovey feelings.”

“Well, that’s great.” I hedge my shoulders. “Because Olivia and I aren’t originally from Abieville, and I don’t have feelings for her, lovey-dovey or otherwise. She just happened to show up and apply for the job I already got.”

“Hold on.” Teller squints. “Olivia Nope wanted to be the manager at The Beachfront?”

“Ahh, I see.” Winnie presses her lips together, stifling a smile. “This all makes sense now. You felt sorry for her.”

“Definitely not.” I gulp, picturing Olivia’s disappointed face. The set to her jaw. Those squared shoulders. The sad eyes. “In fact, she made me promise this wasn’t a sympathy job.”

“Oh, my dude.” Teller grimaces. “You are so gonna fall for this woman.”

“Thanks for the pep talk, Nostradamus.”

“Sorry, Hudson.” Winnie’s eyes dance. “But I have to agree with Teller. She’s going to be your girlfriend by the end of the month.”

I crack a smile. “Wanna bet?”

“That wouldn’t even be fair to you, man.” Teller smirks. “It’s too easy. We can’t take your money.”

“How do you know I’d lose?”

“Because, my friend, as much as you hate to admit it, you’re a big old romantic at heart.”

Yeah. Maybe at one point, I might’ve dreamed of having the kind of family other kids did—the sit-around-the-dinner table stuff you see in TV commercials and movies and books. Once upon a time, I wanted one of those happily-ever-afters of my own someday. But I never really believed it could happen for me. And the flicker of faith I had when I was young eroded over time.

“No way,” I say. “Not me.”

Teller scoffs. “You’re in denial.”

“Anyway, kids, I’d better let you go.”

We end the call, and I set down my phone. “I’m not a romantic,” I say to the empty room. Then I spend the night reading the newest B.R. Graham mystery and eating leftover pizza.

Alone.

The next day I’m busy creating agendas for staff training and following up on supply chain issues for the pub. Meanwhile, Olivia’s across from me frowning at her laptop, softly mumbling to herself.

“Everything all right?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she says, hopping up from her desk. “What are your thoughts on this logo?” She sets her laptop down in front of me. “Be honest.” Her eyes are wide and hopeful, so I send up a silent prayer that I’ll like what she’s been working on. Because shooting down that face doesn’t feel like a good option.

On the screen is a streamlined graphic. A circle with a forest green background and a capital B in a sturdy font. Below the B is the word beachfront in lowercase letters.

“The letter B is for beachfront, obviously,” she says. “But it also applies to the new tagline I’m playing around with.”

“Tagline?”

“For the website.” Her brows knit together as she opens another window. Across the top of the homepage is a brand-new rectangular graphic that reads, ‘The Beachfront … but better.’

“I still have to write the copy, and focus on SEO,” she says, “but this is the general concept.”

“SEO?”

“Search engine optimization.”

“Yeah, I knew that.”

Her mouth slips sideways. “Sure you did.” She leans forward, and her hair falls like a drape between her and the desk. “Once I finish setting this up, the website will pretty much manage itself.” She leads me through the new menu with a series of pages she’s created. The one showing off our guest rooms and the inn’s amenities is called ‘Bed … but better.’ ‘Beach … but better’ is for the activities we offer on and around the lake. And ‘Brews … but better’ clearly spotlights the pub.

---