Page 52 of That Time I Kissed My Beachfront Boss

“Tomato is a fruit,” Nella points out with a shrug. “And tomatoes are basically the main ingredient in marinara. So there’s always fruit on pizza.”

“Tomato’s not a fruit,” Ford says, with a smirk. “That’s also math.”

“Wrong again,” Three says.

“It really doesn’t matter,” Lettie interjects, “because everyone knows the best pizza sauce is alfredo.”

“Ewwww,” the rest of the cousins chorus, and I can’t help the grin that takes over my face.

“You’ll all be happy to hear I got one pepperoni and olive, one white pizza, one Hawaiian, and one barbecue chicken pizza.”

“Ooh!” Nella claps. “Barbecue chicken is my favorite.”

“Yep.” I nod, feeling proud of myself. “I might’ve been aware of that.”

Apparently, after years of holidays in Abieville—not to mention a couple of weddings here—I’ve been around enough to soak up a few important facts about my cousins. Like their favorite pizza toppings. If you’d asked me a few weeks ago, I would’ve claimed I had no idea what kinds of food my cousins like. But as it turns out, I know more about my extended family than I thought.

And that feels good.

“Hold these, please.” I hand the boxes over to Ford, so I can fish the keys from my purse and unlock the pub. “Hudson’s on his way with a cooler of ice,” I announce over my shoulder. “We’ve got the bar stocked by now, but I wasn’t sure if the ice maker had enough for us.”

We all file inside, and Three and Ford help me roll up all the new floor-to-ceiling, garage-style windows. They take up a whole wall of the pub, with tables lined up just inside them. And when they’re opened, they give the impression that we’re both in and out at the same time.

It’s probably my favorite feature of the renovation—a modern touch to balance out an otherwise-traditional log-cabin vibe.

Out on the lake, the dropping sun still sparkles on the water. By the time we’ve finished dinner, though, the sky will be well on its way to dark. So I flip on the lights in the front of the pub and over the bar, then move to the back to get the rest of the lights. I’ve got hurricane lamps and tea lights for later. That’s the vibe for this project.

Nightlife at the new pub.

While we’re waiting for Hudson to arrive, Three offers to get a pitcher of water and glasses from the kitchen. Meanwhile everyone else gathers around a large table with a view of the lake. I pass around the napkins and plates that come free with all pizza orders, and everybody’s digging into their first slice when the doors to the pub fly open. Hudson comes in wheeling a giant cooler behind him.

“Just in time,” Three calls out, hopping up to help. My instinct is to rush over to Hudson too, but I force myself to stay seated. I can’t let everyone think I’m this eager to be near him all the time.

His navy-blue Henley is flush across his chest, and the sleeves are shoved up over well-muscled forearms. He bends over the cooler, and I try not to stare. But I fail miserably. His dark-wash jeans just fit him that perfectly.

He glances over his shoulder and catches me staring. When he nods a greeting, I swear his forearms flex.

“Hey. Did you see Nat and Brady on their way in?” I’m pretending that’s why he caught my attention in the first place. But before he can answer, Natalie breezes into the pub holding two reusable shopping bags. She’s in a long sundress and sandals, and her blonde hair’s pulled back in a ponytail.

“Sorry we’re late,” she chirps. Brady trails in behind her, a big grin on his face. “Had to make a pitstop.” He reaches into one of the bag to retrieve a bottle of champagne.

“We also brought plastic flutes,” Natalie says. “And there’s sparkling cider in case anyone doesn’t want champagne.”

Nella hops up and skips over to Natalie and Brady, giving them hugs. “I haven’t seen you guys, since I heard the big news!”

“Yeah, congrats on the collab,” Lettie says through a mouthful of pizza.

“Sorry we didn’t wait for you to eat,” Three says.

“But not that sorry,” Ford adds. “We were starving, man.”

While Natalie and Nella set up the flutes on the next table over, Brady gets to work opening the champagne and cider. Hudson comes over to my chair, and looks me up and down in an exaggerated appraisal. “You clean up pretty nice, when you’re not in your Beachfront polo.”

I arch a brow. “Or in my mom’s skirt?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” He scratches the scruff at his chin. “I kinda liked that look.”

“Was it the underwear that sold you?”

---