Page 54 of Beachside Kisses With My Enemy

And then, that kiss. I didn’t want to stop there. I wanted to devour her. To let her have as much of me as she wanted. I wanted everything with Lucy.

But I refuse to be a cad. I will not hurt her again.

Which is why, instead of joining the Friday night beach volleyball game she’s currently engaged in with various friends—Kelsey, Elisse, Landon, Chloe, Frederick, several of the Loveland brothers, Marilee, and Jordan, who arranged the whole thing as a practice run for the Fourth of July tournament he’s in charge of organizing—I’m sitting here alone by the bonfire, contemplating life.

Okay, I’m man enough to admit it. I’m avoiding Lucy.

The gang invited me to join in after closing up shop early tonight, but I know that if I was over there right now, I’d be tempted to tease Lucy about her competitive streak. To laugh at the goofy victory dance she does whenever her team scores a point. To flirt with the woman I have no business being crazy about, because I’m leaving.

And maybe sooner than I thought.

I mean, nothing’s for sure, but I chatted with Dale earlier today. He asked how things were going, and I couldn’t lie. They’re smashing. My creativity has been on fire. I’ve already come up with six new sandwich recipes, and four of them have sold well this week, especially the apple and fontina cheese one that I’ve dubbed The Lucy.

People have been so intrigued by the name—and yes, the busybodies have definitely read into it, despite the fact I also called my cilantro-inspired sandwich The Marilee—that I ran the idea by Dale of naming the recipes after people on the restaurant menu too.

He loved it.

He also loved that things are going so well on my end. Even alluded to some “exciting things” being in the works on his. He’ll let me know more when he can, but for now, he wants his “superstar” to keep moving forward with market testing.

And then his next comment kicked me in the gut. “Sounds like you might only need a few more weeks of that, and then you can come home earlier than planned.”

Home. Why did that word feel so…wrong?

Lucy’s laugh floats through the air again, and I stand, suddenly too warm near this fire. I need to walk.

Kicking off my loafers and peeling off my socks, I leave them behind and walk toward the surf. The sun’s a burning ball sitting on the horizon, and the breeze off the ocean cools me down in an instant. It’s the middle of June but I’ve yet to experience a truly warm day, which is kind of how Hallmark Beach is. Never hot, never super cold.

Perfect, really.

Rolling up my pant legs to my knees, I wade into the water. When it hits my ankles, a delicious shiver rolls against my skin, a reminder of a thousand different memories of growing up here, away from the hustle of the city. Don’t get me wrong—there are some things I love about L.A. But to experience this on a Friday night there, I’d have to first take off work (not easy), and then fight terrible traffic that would leave me flustered and grumpy before I even hit the sand.

A seagull squawks as it flies overhead, and the ocean’s roar today is more like a mew. Someone calls my name, and I turn to find Mare coming toward me, a spare volleyball tucked under her arm. She waves at me with the other. “What are you doing way out here?” she shouts.

I’m not that far from the group, but I guess it probably does look like I’m off in my own world. I step closer to her, so I don’t have to yell. “Just enjoying the peace and quiet.” I look at her pointedly to emphasize the fact she is neither of those things.

Wading into the water too—apparently unconcerned about the jeans she’s wearing—she laughs and tosses the ball at my head.

I easily catch it and bring it down to my chest. “Did you steal the game ball?” But when I peek back at the group, I see them still going strong.

Even from way over here, my eyes find Lucy. Take in her strong muscular legs in those cutoff shorts. The long hair flowing down her back—the same hair I had my hands in four nights ago.

When my eyes finally drift back to my sister, Marilee looks pensive. Like she sees more than I want her to and knows exactly what I was just looking at. What I was just thinking.

But then she shrugs. “I know you like volleyball. Thought we could toss it around a bit.”

Ah, she wants to get me busy so I’ll open up and talk. Using Mom’s old tricks. I’m fully convinced that’s one reason Mom starting cooking with me.

But, sure, I’ll humor her.

“Come on, Squirt.” I head back up the beach to where we can hear each other better and the water isn’t soaking her pant legs.

She joins me and I hit her the ball. She does her best to volley it back, but a great sportswoman, she is not. Those hands were created for baking brilliant artwork, not spiking a ball. It’s probably why Jordan had to prod her to stop playing with Ryder and one of his buddies and join the “big kids” game earlier tonight. But then again, the man never seems to see her flaws.

We pretend to be playing our own version of volleyball for a while, and I catch her up on my conversation with Dale.

“Wow. I wonder what things he has in the works?”

I have my suspicions, but don’t feel like going into it now. “Guess I’ll find out when he’s ready to tell me.” I overhand serve the ball her way.

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