Page 5 of Beachside Kisses With My Enemy

If I was acting in my normal capacity as a server, I’d probably pipe up and say the same thing. But three weeks ago, owner Winona Lambert left me in charge of The Green Robin until the end of the summer so she could take her daughter on a once-in-a-lifetime graduation trip through Europe. She trusted me enough to leave things in my hands, and I refuse to fail her.

Especially since I know just how special a trip like that is.

“You guys hold down the fort in here.” I put on an exaggerated brave face. “I’ll be back.”

As I walk through the restaurant toward the back patio, I greet guests and ask them how their dinner is. Our regulars already came through, and given the eight o’clock hour and the fact that we don’t usually get people pulling off the Pacific Coast Highway this late for dinner, these guests must be staying at our town’s singular inn, The Purple Seashell, owned by my Aunt Janine.

Most of the guests smile and mumble that their dinner’s delicious—something I don’t doubt, since Tiny makes a mean burger—although one older gentleman complains that his non-grilled onions are too crunchy. Instead of getting upset over the sheer ridiculousness of the complaint, I just wave to Jenny, who rushes over. “Can you bring this table a complimentary piece of fudge cake, Jen?” I turn to the guy, whose bushy eyebrows arc. “It’s the best thing on the menu. Trust me.”

He beams and rushes to nod. I leave Jenny to deal with him and exit onto the deck, scanning the few occupied tables until I find the small family of four in question. A breeze off the ocean just beyond the boardwalk nips at me, and I tug closed my black blazer, which I’m wearing over my normal uniform of a T-shirt, jeans, and white KEDS sneakers. The jacket is my attempt to look more professional. More like a manager.

Pretty sure I’m not fooling anybody, though.

The woman is feeding a little girl in a high chair, while the man with her listens to the little boy chatter as he stuffs his face with French fries. I head that direction, and the mom looks up, then buries her face in her hands. “Are you here to kick us out?”

“Of course not.” I squat beside the kid and hold up my fist. “Hey, little man. You like your food?”

“Mmm hmm.” The kid presses his own fist against mine and then pushes another fry into his mouth. “This playth ith ama-thing.”

“Georgie, don’t talk with your mouth full,” Mom says.

“It’s okay.” I wave my hand in the air. “I do it all the time.”

The kid snort-laughs.

Then I tilt my head. “This place is amazing. Did you know I’ve worked here since I was sixteen? That’s more than twelve years. Crazy, huh?”

“Whoa. You’re like, really old.”

His dad rolls his eyes and ruffles the kid’s hair. “Nothing like a kid to make you feel good about yourself, right?”

“Totally.” I stand up. “Are you folks having a nice meal?”

“We are,” the woman rushes to say. “I’m so sorry about disturbing the peace inside. But just so you know, Georgie didn’t pee in the sink. He peed in the urinal in the family restroom. He just thought it looked like a big sink.” Her cheeks are tinged pink.

Okay, now that’s funny. “I’ve never thought of it like that, but that is a really good point, Georgie. Thank you for bringing that to our attention.”

Georgie nods, as solemn as if he’s been bestowed a medal of honor. “You’re welcome.”

I tap my knuckle against the green tabletop. “Anything else I can get y’all?” I don’t care how long I’ve lived on the West Coast. I’m a Texan through and through and will hold a death grip on my y’all until I draw my last breath.

“We’re so good, thank you,” the woman says.

“All right, then.” Turning, I head back inside, where a classic rock station plays lightly overhead—song forty-two out of the sixty in this particular rotation, if I’m not mistaken. The smell of meat and cooked onions permeates the air. All of this is the norm.

But what’s not normal—at least, around this time last year—is that not a single new customer has arrived recently, which might mean we need to cut servers and close up early. Again.

The Green Robin has seen lean times before, but the responsibility for them has never been on my shoulders. I’m still not sure why Winona chose me to watch over her baby for three whole months since I never went to college and I don’t have any sort of business experience. But I do love this place, and this whole town. That’s basically all I’ve got to recommend me. She thought it was enough, though, and I’m not going to waste my energy entertaining my doubts.

As Mama always said, if you ignore your negative feelings, eventually they’ll go away. That philosophy has worked for me so far in life, so I think I’ll just keep right on going.

Maybe I need to sit down and brainstorm ways to bring in new business. Tiny might have some ideas for new menu items that could entice people to come inside. I pivot toward the kitchen door to ask him, but before I can get there, Chloe Kensington breezes in.

Outside of this town, she’s known as the princess of the small European country of Kentonia—but here, she’s simply Hallmark Beach’s newest resident along with her boyfriend, Frederick Shaw, who used to be her bodyguard and now works as a cellar rat out at the Loveland family vineyard.

Tia, one of Chloe’s bodyguards, slips into the restaurant after the princess and does a casual sweep of the restaurant before settling against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. She’s a lot less friendly than Chloe’s other bodyguard, Les, but she takes her job of keeping the princess safe seriously, so I’m all for it.

Not that she really needs to be kept safe here in Hallmark Beach. But it was the concession Chloe made to her parents for staying in America, so I’m all for that too, since Chloe’s become one of my closest friends.

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