Page 43 of Beachside Kisses With My Enemy

“Aw, Squirt.” Then he grabs her in a half hug and kisses the side of her head before swooping in, grabbing her empty plate, and heading for the sink. “You have way more faith in me than I have in myself.”

My heart squeezes at the sight in front of me. I’m so glad for the smile on my best friend’s face, the light of adoration in her eyes. She’s always looked up to Blake, and I know how crushed she was when he left. But now I’m starting to see that it wasn’t easy for Blake either. He lost his parents too. And just because my way of dealing with hard times is to hold tighter to the people I love—to never want to leave them—that’s not the same for everyone.

Some people need to deal with grief by escaping. Not saying that’s the healthiest way, but now I can see that Blake wasn’t escaping forever. He’s come back to himself. Back to Marilee.

Back to me.

Ugh, there I go again. I cannot be thinking like that. He’s not here for me. He’s not. And that’s okay. Even if I’m only ever Marilee’s annoying friend, I’m glad he’s here.

For her sake.

I reach for another sandwich, bite into it. There are hints of cilantro and roasted onions and tomatoes. As Uncle Burt would say—Oh. My. Golly. Gee. “Blake.”

I wait for him to turn from where his hands are plunged in soapy water at the sink. “Yeah?”

“You should have more faith in yourself.” I wave the newest grilled cheese in the air. “Because what we have here is a winner.”

fifteen

BLAKE

“Here you go. Enjoy.” I serve up the last five sandwiches for the day, handing them through my truck window to a guy about my age with a young family.

“Sure will, man. Thanks.” He’s clearly on vacation—if the board shorts and rash guard aren’t an indication, then the sunburn he’s sporting on his forehead and cheeks surely is—and he does an impressive job of balancing the disposable baskets with their sandwiches, homemade chips, and pickles. One of his kids rushes him, and he nearly drops it all but manages to bribe the little pig-tailed princess with a traditional grilled cheese, which she takes in hand before skipping back to the tables outside Rainbow Ice.

Chuckling, I double check to be sure nobody else is waiting or approaching before I roll down the window screen. Whew. My hand finds the back of my neck and massages there, working the muscles that are tired but satisfied from a long Sunday that started with a busy lunch and ended with never-ending dinner lines. Thank goodness for the air conditioner blowing coolness onto my skin or I’d be a sweaty mess in addition to a weary one. But despite my exhaustion, there’s energy too. It’s buzzing underneath my skin, moving like a swarm of bees.

Because last night’s cilantro grilled cheese creation was a hit. All day, excited return customers ordered it with enthusiasm, and lots of newbies still chose it over my classic offerings.

It’s definitely going on the restaurant menu.

Now if only I can figure out what Lucy thinks is missing from the apple and fontina sandwich. She’s right, though. After she gave her critique, I tried making it again and couldn’t help but see things from her perspective.

Of course, she could have been saying it to mess with me, but I don’t believe that. Not really. Lucy Reynolds is many things (many things that I will not say out loud because admitting them would be admitting other things), but vindictive is not one of them.

In fact, last night, things almost felt normal between us. Comfortable. She was the old Lucy—the one she is with everyone else. The one she used to be with me.

I didn’t realize before then how much I’d missed her.

Of course, I knew that she’d inspired me—I’ve been a creating machine since the bake-off nearly a week ago—but this was about more than inspiration.

It was just about…her.

I groan because I really need to stop being so sentimental.

Then, as if the woman materialized out of my mind, there’s a knock at the back door and Lucy’s voice. “Blake? You in there?”

“Yeah.” I hurry to the door and fling it open.

Lucy’s standing on the bottom step, looking so casually gorgeous in a bright pink tank top and white shorts. Her hair is in two braids today, and she looks sporty and strong with her tan shoulders and arms on display. “Hi.” She’s got something held behind her back, and there’s a somewhat shy smile that she’s also trying to hide. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“You’re not interrupting. I was just closing up.”

She bounces on her tiptoes. “Okay, well, I know you’re probably tired, but I couldn’t stop thinking about last night.”

Her words are a gut punch. She can’t? “Me either.” I find myself saying the words, wondering what revealing them means. Wondering why I’m openly admitting that I can’t get her off my brain.

She squints at me. “Really?” Her head tilts as she studies me. A breeze blows the grass just below her. “So have you already come up with a solution?”

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