Page 59 of Beachside Kisses With My Enemy

“Thanks,” I say, angling my body so I’m facing her, one of my legs bent and resting on the bench, right up against her side. I start to move it, but then she looks up at me again, and I can’t think of anything I want more than to be close to her. But right now isn’t about that. Right now is about checking on her. Being her friend. “How are you doing today?”

Lucy purses her lips together and holds the mug between her hands. “Today was…” Her gaze finds the sky. For some reason, the light above us seems to reach farther tonight, like it’s going on forever past the horizon. Maybe that’s the thing about contemplating death and mortality and loss all day long. The expanse between this world and the next—the veil—doesn’t seem quite as thick as normal.

Finally, Lucy finds her words. “Today was a lot of things. It was good to be with my family. That’s always good. My uncle is kooky but a good man, and I love him. His goodness reminds me of Daddy—the little I remember about him, anyway.” She takes a sip of the cocoa, hums as it flows down her throat. “I was so young when I lost him, that sometimes I wonder if I’m remembering him right at all. Or if I’m really just creating a version of him in my mind, you know? A version where he’s all good, nothing bad, nothing annoying. I’m sure he wasn’t perfect, and yet, I don’t remember a single bad thing about him.”

I’m silent, sipping on my own hot chocolate. Because in some ways, I wish my experience was like hers.

She looks over at me. “What are you thinking over there, Flake?” Her nickname teases me, wrapping around my heart and squeezing.

I can’t tell her. Can I? But she knew my dad. Knew the kind of man he was. A good man, when it all boiled down to it. One who would never have cheated on my mom or his taxes. One who supported his family with integrity, who helped out in the community, who despite his faults, did love us.

And yet, sometimes all I can think about is the bad.

What does that say about me?

“I’m more interested in what you’re saying than in what I’m thinking.”

“So that’s how this is gonna go, hmm?” She just shakes her head at me, her finger tapping the porcelain surface of her mug. “Hardly seems fair. And here I thought we’d finally agreed to be friends.”

Ugh, she’s right. No matter what else Lucy is to me, I do want to leave Hallmark Beach with us being friends at least. And friends share—even when what’s inside is ugly.

I sigh and force my gaze away from her. Up toward the sky, where I squint and stare at the patterns in the stars. When I see what I’m searching for, I lean toward Lucy. “Hey, look. You see? That’s Ursa Major. The Great Bear.”

“Really? I’ve never really seen a constellation before.” Her hair brushes my shoulder as she tries to follow my line of sight. “Hmm. I’m not sure I’m seeing it.”

I angle my body down a bit so I’m right up against her, can see things from her perspective. My finger traces the stars in the sky. “See it now?” My face turns toward her, and her hair tickles my nose.

“Maybe.”

I drop my arm so my hand rests on my lap. “That’s okay.”

She sighs and lets her head fall back a little, and when it comes to rest against the edge of my shoulder, neither of us move away. We sit that way, drinking our hot chocolate, silently watching the stars for a while.

“I didn’t know you were into astronomy.”

“I’m not really. It was more Dad’s thing.” Probably a way he was able to “escape” Hallmark Beach without leaving the town limits. To dream of far-off places he’d forfeited by moving here. But I don’t say that. Instead, I reflect. “He wanted both Mare and I to take up an interest in it too, but only I really did. I think…” My fingers tighten around the handle of my mug. “I think I was desperate to connect with him, you know?”

“Because you and your mom had cooking.” She says this like it’s a fact, like she’s not even asking. Because she knows. She was there.

“Yeah. And he never really approved of that?—”

“You don’t think he liked that you cooked?”

“Oh, I know he didn’t. He called it a waste of time.” The memory of it vibrates in my mind. “Thought I should be using my time for a business or law internship or volunteering at the hospital or doing something that would eventually put me on the path to ‘real success,’ not something unstable. Cooking was too much like the arts for him. For most people, hard to eke out a living.”

“Blake, that’s awful. I’m sorry.”

I shrug, and her head bobs a bit with the movement. Oops. “You know he always wanted me to get into sports—not because it would lead to a long-term career, but because it might get me a scholarship, connections I could use for the big career he had planned for me. That’s the only reason I really played football, did track and baseball. I mean, sure, I enjoyed playing, but I was always itching to get back into the kitchen to experiment some more.”

“You’re really good at it. But I did like cheering for you from the football stands too.”

The thought of that fires up my insides—though not as much as thinking about how much she enjoys my cooking. “Thanks. Either way, I’m grateful for your support.” And I know I shouldn’t, but I reach for her free hand and give it a friendly squeeze. But then, I just…don’t pull away.

Neither does she.

I stare at our hands, an electric warmth pulsing through them, and clear my throat. What was I saying? Oh, yeah. “Anyway, as you know, he encouraged me to go to business school. To get my MBA. And I wanted to make him proud more than anything. But I think also…I kind of wanted to stick it to him. To show him that I could do something I loved—something that he didn’t think had merit—and make it wildly successful.”

“And that’s why you push yourself so hard?”

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