Page 41 of Beachside Kisses With My Enemy

It’s not much, but I want to support her. Because she’s right. I’m only here for the summer, and I don’t want my success to mean her failure. And the sooner I get my new recipes figured out, the sooner I can stop “stealing her business.”

So, I pop on some jazz music…and start buttering some bread.

fourteen

LUCY

I have never been more in need of a bubble bath than I am right now.

Dragging myself from my ancient Corolla, I close the door and breathe in the crisp ocean air wafting from the Pacific up along the edge of the hill where Marilee’s house is situated. Somewhere, an owl hoots, and the light of the full moon flickers in and out as clouds chase it in the sky.

I rub my lower back, which aches from sitting at Winona’s desk—staring at the books, wondering why-oh-why my BOGO coupons haven’t increased our numbers this week, despite how many people I saw come back through the door. My legs hurt too, from the hours I spent pitching in on the floor because Jason called in sick for the dinner shift, and we needed an extra server during the rush.

It’s Saturday, which means it was busy (thankfully). There were a lot of requests for Tiny’s latest special—a jalapeño burger with Worcestershire sauce, crispy onions, and pepper Jack cheese—and yet, in between serving them, I heard nothing but rave reviews over Blake’s new dessert grilled cheese that he introduced several days ago.

All of that to say, I think a bubble bath is calling my name tonight.

I push through the front door and freeze at what I see. Marilee’s sitting at the kitchen table—despite her early morning shift—and she’s chatting with Blake, who is at the stove. There’s one of Mare’s pink tea towels draped casually over his shoulder, and he’s shucked off his button-up shirt, leaving just a white tee on with his beige slacks and black socks. He’s holding a spatula, and there’s a relaxed curve to his whole body, like he’s settled in and plans to stay a while.

The smell of cooked butter rends the air, and my stomach growls its approval. Not surprisingly, it looks like he’s making some variation of grilled cheese. The counter is strewn with ingredients of all sorts. It looks like it does after Marilee bakes—and yet, neat-and-orderly Blake is the one in the kitchen. Huh.

At my entrance, they both turn and stop talking.

Blake stares at me and presses his lips together. I can’t get a read on him at all. Finally, he nods—polite, but not effusive—and turns back to the stove.

But there’s no such reticence in Mare, who smiles and waves. “Hey, stranger.”

She’s not wrong. I’ve been so busy at work that we’ve been like ships passing in the night since our late-night dish session on Monday.

I hang my purse on one of the hooks to the left of the entrance and shut the door. “Hey, guys.” My instinct tells me to let them have their privacy, to run straight for the bathroom and dunk myself in the tub. To get far away from this domestic picture of Blake.

But I promised Mare that he and I could be friends again. And so far this week, I haven’t had a chance to prove it. Looks like my bubble bath will have to wait.

“Something smells divine.” I toe off my shoes and let my feet sink into the carpet. Mmm, that feels nice. I pad over to the table and pull out a heavy chair next to Marilee. She’s already changed into comfy lounge pants and an oversized, purple T-shirt. “And I’m starving.”

Blake turns toward me with surprise in his eyes that quickly turns to teasing. “Oh, you think this is for you?”

“Well, me and Mare.” I pretend to be confused as I look at my bestie. “Aren’t we re-enacting our high school days when Blake used to cook for us?”

“That’s an excellent idea.” Marilee raises her hand. “I second the motion.”

Blake snorts and grabs a plate from the cabinet. He sets it beside another plate, which must be for Mare. “Actually, this is good. I need you guys to taste test some samples for me.”

Now that I’m not “mad” at Blake anymore, I don’t have to pretend to not want his food. (Just his food, y’all. That’s all I want. JUST HIS FOOD.) “I guess I could be up for that.”

Mare giggles, Blake spears me with a look like he knows what I’m about, and I rub my hands together with a rumbling mua-ha-ha. While Blake cooks up a few more sandwiches—and I do a masterful job at ignoring how his back muscles bunch and gather under his shirt as he reaches for various ingredients and artfully adds them to the pan—Marilee and I catch up from the week. Sounds like hers went much better than mine.

Meanwhile, waiting here is a whole experience. The smell of melted cheese, the sound of sizzling butter, the taste of anticipation on my tongue, the gnawing of my empty stomach. And when Blake finally turns to us with two plates in hand—each one arranged with four sandwich halves—I’m like one of Pavlov’s dogs, practically salivating with the need for these sandwiches.

“Ooo, what did you make us?” Mare asks as she examines the contents of her plate.

I take mine as well and can’t help but notice the way Blake studies me. His gaze is intent, his light blue eyes slightly darkened around the edges. His cheeks are flushed, and I can’t help but think he’s the most handsome man in the world here, in his element.

Friends, Lucy. Just friends, my subconscious murmurs in my head.

“Thank you,” I blurt out, loudly and awkwardly enough that Blake rears back a bit.

He rubs the back of his neck, shakes his head, and moves his gaze to Marilee’s plate. Points. “Um, yeah, so I’ve been experimenting?—”

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