Page 44 of Beachside Kisses With My Enemy

“A solution?” To what? How we could possibly be together?

“For the sandwich?”

Okay, slow your roll, Blake. What an idiot. I want to curse. Of course she’s talking about the sandwich. I clear my throat. “Yeah, of course.”

“Hmm.” She looks past me, as if she can see something by studying the contents of the truck. “Guess you won’t be needing this then.” With a flourish, she takes the last two steps so she’s standing even with me, then draws a small container from behind her back.

Whole-grain mustard.

My mind goes berserk.

“Lucy freaking Reynolds. You’re a genius.”

“Of course I am.” Then she reaches into the back pocket of her pants and pulls out a small bag of something else. “Aaaaaand try a few of these to go with it.”

I grab for the bag, but get her hand instead, tugging her closer to me so her hand is pressed between us. Her skin is soft, and my rebellious thumb reaches for a silky stroke before I can stop it. The apples of her cheeks turn pink.

I could stay in this moment forever.

“Sliced chives!” she blurts out, just like she did last night, all loud and awkward. I think she must do that when she’s uncomfortable.

Immediately, I drop her hand and take a step away, because I refuse to be the guy who makes her uncomfortable. Then my brain processes what she said. Mulls it over. I blink. “That could really work.”

“Of course it could. It will.” She flips a braid over her shoulder with a confidence that’s as sexy as the curves she shows off as she pushes past me and hops up onto the counter by the window. “Wanna see if I’m right?”

She’s just teasing me like a friend would—really taking that truce to heart—and can’t know how much I both want to be trapped in these close quarters with her and dread it too. Thankfully, my hands will stay busy with the sandwich making. “Let’s do it.”

I grab a loaf of sourdough off my well-organized shelf. Flipping the grill back on, I let it heat up while I pillage my refrigerator for an apple and some fontina. “So.” What? I never claimed to be a riveting conversationalist. “Where did you get the mustard?”

Oy. That made it worse, didn’t it? But I just can’t think right now, not with Lucy’s bare legs dangling close to my backside. With her orange-vanilla scent quickly overtaking the small truck. Thank goodness for rote actions that my hands immediately know what to do.

Slice apple. Check. Apply mayo to bread. Check. Slide on the mustard. Check. Arrange the apples and chives. Check.

While I do all of this, Lucy talks. “I got it from the Robin. I was busy waiting tables all day because one of my servers was out sick again. But that gave me time to figure out what the sandwich was missing. I was running in and out of the kitchen and spied this on the counter because Tiny was using it for one of his burgers, and BAM. It hit me. And of course, chives are good on everything.”

“Everything?” I tease, peeking back at her.

“Within reason.” She smiles at me and I’m a goner. Yep. Total goner. Especially when she lifts her head a bit like she can see over my shoulder. “How’s it coming?”

“Patience, woman.”

Her laugh fills up the whole truck. My heart too. And I’m the biggest sap that’s ever walked the planet as I toss that sandwich onto the griddle and hear the satisfying sizzle. I take my spatula in hand and turn, leaning back against the opposite counter to face her. My truck is decent-sized, but there’s still only inches between us in the cramped galley.

Her eyes flit away from my face and onto the sandwich. Then back to me. “You know, I really shouldn’t be helping the competition.” A little bit of the light fades from her gaze. “But if I can’t help the Robin do better, at least maybe I can take some credit for your success.” Her smile’s back, but there’s something strained in it. Like she’s pretending again.

“Ha ha.” I turn back to the sandwich, peek under the slice. Ready to flip, so I do. Then, “Are things really that bad for you?”

She shrugs a delicate shoulder, and guilt pummels me. “I’m sorry, Lucy. If I hadn’t moved in here, then?—”

“No, Blake. It’s not your fault. We were failing before you ever arrived. You opening your truck just made things…”

“Harder?”

“More interesting.”

“Ah.” I frown. “I know it’s not any of my business, but why is all of this falling on your shoulders?”

“I’m the one in charge.”

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