Page 65 of Beachside Kisses With My Enemy

Thomas is a good guy. Honestly, what man that I know in L.A. would even bother to ask before encroaching on another guy’s relationship? He may be a bit odd, kind of a misfit who tries too hard, but at his core, Thomas Montrose is an upstanding citizen. He’s well established. As far as I know, the citizens of Hallmark Beach like and respect him.

And he’s just the kind of guy who would treat Lucy well.

I should say no. That there’s nothing between us.

But I can’t. Instead I sit there, staring the man down. If I were Superman with his laser vision, Thomas would be a heaping pile of ash right now (a bit gory, but that’s the direction my thoughts have turned).

And in my silence, Thomas sighs, nods. Holds out his hand. “I thought as much. But I had to be sure.”

What? I didn’t say anything. But according to the flat line that Thomas’s grim lips are making, my silence said something. I let him grip my hand, shake it, and let go, then watch him walk away, hands in his pockets, head bent.

I blink. That wasn’t right of me. I should have told him the truth—but the truth stares me right back in the face.

I don’t want any other man to have Lucy Reynolds. To take care of her. To spend small quiet moments with her.

Because I love her.

Or, at least, I could, if I let myself.

But there’s all the stuff Dale just told me. The restaurant, my career, in motion. Things swirling and moving. The pressures, building and mounting.

I can’t stay here, can’t let things fall apart there. I’ve worked too hard to reach my dreams to just…give them up.

But somewhere along the way, Lucy became part of that dream. And I don’t know how to reconcile the two parts. Maybe, though…maybe it’s possible to have both. Somehow. Maybe I could take whatever time I have left here in Hallmark Beach and spend it with Lucy.

Spend them seeing if this thing between us could grow. If we could figure something out.

Because I have the sneaking suspicion that my sister was right about regrets. Of course, I’ll never know for sure what Dad thought in those last minutes of his life flashing before his eyes. But I do know that if I never explore what this is with Lucy, I will probably regret that all of my life—no matter how successful my life ends up being.

And I have to find Lucy now and tell her how I feel before I lose the nerve.

twenty-two

LUCY

I feel like death.

Death that’s been dead for a while. A looooong while. Death just lying here, next to the toilet, festering and nasty.

Turns out, my stomach does not like spicy tuna rolls. Or at least, ones that must have had bacteria of some sort on them. Because for the last six hours, my stomach hasn’t felt right.

And for the last two, it’s been expelling every bit of everything I’ve eaten or drunk today. Maybe yesterday too, if that’s possible.

Ugh. Okay, Lord, take me now.

I press my forehead against the cool tile of the hallway bathroom floor. If someone were to walk past, they might assume I was simply doing yoga, because I’m killing the child’s pose here with my knees tucked under my body, my arms splayed out in front of me.

But nobody else is here right now. Blake’s probably still working, and Marilee is watching Ryder because Jordan is running an overnight campout.

And that’s good, because I wouldn’t want either one of them seeing me like this.

My stomach rumbles and heaves again, and I sit up—my vision swimming before me—and force my hair back before hurling into the toilet. Seriously. How is there anything left?

I can’t help the tears that come as I ease myself back and lean my head against the wall opposite the toilet. Food poisoning is seriously the pits.

When I first got home from the spa day, I knew something was off, so I lay down on the couch and fell asleep. But the sleep was fitful—full of memories from today, the well-meaning words of my friends—and I woke up with my stomach feeling just as knotted and jumbled as my heart.

And in between rounds of barfing, Kelsey’s words bang around in my brain: “If you really feel the way you do about Blake, then why are you letting him go so easily?”

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