Page 39 of That Time I Kissed My Beachfront Boss

“I’m sorry.” I wrinkle my nose. “I meant to talk to you about this whole fishing and hiking idea earlier, but you were out of the office all day. And then …” My voice trails off.

I got distracted by you. And your library. And your smile. And the fact that you thought I had a boyfriend.

“I got distracted by dinner,” I say.

“No, I get it.” Hudson’s gaze flicks to my plate then back to me. “These buns can be very distracting.”

A laugh puffs across my lips. “Exactly.”

“And I think it’s a great idea,” he says. “You’re really good at this, Olivia.”

My cheeks warm under the praise, even as I hear the echo of Francine Tomlin suggesting I’m not a go-getter. “Thanks for trusting me to try new things,” I say.

“Of course.” His eyes bore into mine. “That’s your job, right?”

Of course.

My job.

“You bet it is, bossman.”

Chapter Fourteen

Hudson

Well.

That was awkward.

With the books and the Hawk and the buns and the cousins interrupting out of nowhere. Still, Lettie and Nella turned out to be pretty good buffers, all things considered. They stayed and chatted while Olivia and I finished eating, then we all walked to the parking lot together.

Liv took off to her grandmother’s house. I came back to the inn.

And that’s where the buffer ends.

Because my head’s spinning now, and I don’t know what to think, other than Olivia McCoy constantly surprises me. Also, I probably keep saying the wrong things. And this kind of uncertainty has me pacing like an animal. An animal in a cage of his own making. So instead of holing up in my room, I hit one of the swings on the wraparound porch.

I’ve got a million messages to catch up on anyway.

Texts. Voice messages. Email. One from my dad, three from Teller, and two from the Johnsons. A couple more from college friends. Then I place the call that’s been sitting like a stone in my gut since I moved back to Abieville.

Has she heard I quit Blaine & Co. yet?

Will she wonder why I wanted to leave the city?

Would she care if my heart got broken?

Does she miss me sometimes?

The phone rings and rings until I get sent to voicemail. My stomach drops. This is par for the course, but the disconnect between me and my mother will always sting a little. In a good year, we barely talk besides the big holidays, and I’m almost always the one who initiates contact. But the truth is, she never wanted kids, and she got stuck with me anyway, so I can’t be too mad at her for walking away.

At least my dad would refer to me as a surprise, which was somewhat kind. Surprises can be fun sometimes. Just maybe not when it’s a pregnancy you’re actively trying to prevent. So I wasn’t part of the agreement. And on the night of my parents’ last fight, I heard my mother call me a mistake. Not a surprise. Or an accident.

A mistake.

I should’ve stopped listening, but it was like an auditory car crash, and I couldn’t pull my ears away. I’d always known my mom wasn’t a great mother, but I had no idea she never wanted to be one in the first place.

Her real dream was to be an artist. She spent her days and nights in her studio creating installations, hoping to shake up an already competitive field. Attachments to other people were a nuisance. Feelings got in the way of her creativity. Her freedom. And after all, what she craved most was independence.

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