Page 57 of Beachside Kisses With My Enemy

And I know that Winona and Jessica are making their own happy memories. I can’t let them come home early. I can’t fail her.

Pushing away from the desk with renewed vigor, I march down the hall past an empty restaurant—we don’t open for another thirty minutes—and into the kitchen, where Tiny has already started working on a few dishes for the day.

He grunts at me. “You’re here early again, Boss.”

“I’ve told you.” I saunter over to the first large stockpot and peek inside. Mmm. Chili. “Don’t call me that.” I grab a spoon and stick it inside and then laugh when he growls his displeasure.

“Don’t go critiquing my food like you do that boy’s.”

Great. How did he hear about me helping Blake? I take a bite and smile. “No need. It’s perfect.”

“I know.” The man rolls up his sleeves, revealing his beefy forearms with an anchor tattooed on one bicep like a real-life Popeye the Sailor Man. “What do you want?”

“Aw, don’t act like you don’t love me in here.”

“You in my kitchen spells trouble. Leave me in peace and quiet.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I snatch his chef’s hat and laugh when he simply grabs another off the fridge. He’s no fun. “Seriously, though, I was wondering if you’ve got any more good ideas for specials this week. That seems to be helping move the needle a bit.”

He stirs the chili and glowers at me. “I do, but you’re not gonna like it.”

“Oh? Why not? You know I’m open to anything.”

“Why so desperate?” He blinks at me. “We in trouble, Boss?”

I try not to sigh. “Of course not.”

“You think I’m dumb?”

“No.”

He harrumphs. “Then talk to me straight. I know a stressed-out Lucy when I see one.”

Aw, Tiny. I tap him on the chest with my spoon. “So you do have a heart in there.”

He grabs the spoon and flings it over his shoulder into the sink. It clangs, shattering the quiet. “I’m serious. I have an idea for a special that would knock that boy’s food outta the park.”

That boy, as in Blake. My blood heats at the thought of him. Ugh. I clear my throat. “I’m all ears.”

“You do still want to beat him, don’t you?”

“Yeah…”

“Because last I saw?—”

“Spit it out, Tiny.” I know what people in this town think, especially after Blake went and named a freaking sandwich after me. “My loyalty is first to the Robin.”

Though maybe I don’t want Blake to fail like I did a month ago. So sue me.

Tiny continues stirring, considering me. Then he nods and strides to the counter, where he’s got a stack of notecards—presumably recipes. He filters through the stack, pulls one card loose, and walks it over to me.

I stare at it. My gaze narrows. “Tiny, this is a grilled cheese recipe.”

“And it belonged to my sister, may she rest in peace.”

I never met his sister, but from his stories, he was close to her, and he remains close to his nephew, who is some hotshot hockey player that Tiny visits in New York at least once a year. In fact, that’s why he won’t be here for the Fourth of July.

“It looks delicious.” Four different types of cheese. A few spices, hints of garlic. Yum. “But we can’t serve grilled cheese. That’s Blake’s department, and he got his permit on the condition that he didn’t serve the same thing we did.”

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