Page 8 of Beachside Kisses With My Enemy

“Ahhh!” I yell as I lob the object with as much force as I can manage.

It hits him square in the back and falls to the ground.

He grunts. “What the?—”

Then, before I know what’s happening, he’s turning—and coming straight for me.

I feel for another object, grab it, and toss it at him, this time smacking him in the jaw. Then I jerk away from his outstretched hand…

Which hits the same light switch I just turned off a few seconds ago.

Light floods the kitchen. I blink against the sudden glow, and my mouth falls open as I realize exactly how this “intruder” knew where to find the light. “Flake?”

“Nice to see you too, Lucy.” But the way he says it—and the frown he’s wearing—tells me it’s really not.

Well, the feeling is soooo mutual, buddy.

Even if Marilee’s older brother is more attractive now than he was at eighteen, back when I was maybe just a little bit in love with him. But looks don’t make the man. Maybe if they did, the five o’clock shadow on his normally shaven jaw, his brown hair perfectly gelled just enough to actually look finger-combed, and those light blue eyes that used to make me weak in the knees would make Blake Moffitt the perfect guy.

But I know better.

He glances down at the ground. “Did you just throw bananas at me?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I thought you were breaking in.” And for all I know, he is. This may have been his family home once upon a time, but he lost all right to be here when he left six years ago—after his parents’ funeral—and never set foot in Hallmark Beach again until recently. If Marilee hadn’t asked him to provide the last-minute dinner for Chloe’s brother’s wedding out of his grilled cheese food truck at the beginning of April, who knows if he would have ever come back here.

So yeah, I threw bananas at him. But he deserved much worse.

As if he’s tracking with my thoughts, he cocks an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you didn’t go for the knives.”

I lift my chin. “If I’d known it was you, I might have.” Of course, that’s not true. I’d never really hurt a living soul, much less my best friend’s brother. I may have a major problem with him, but Marilee’s forgiven him for his abandonment in her deepest time of need. She’d never forgive me if I maimed him in return.

Too bad the banana to the jaw didn’t leave a mark on his annoyingly symmetrical face.

“What are you doing here, Flake?”

He flinches at the nickname he so deserves. “I?—”

“You know what?” Shaking my head, I flounce out of the kitchen, then turn on my heel to face him again. He’s standing there, looking impossibly handsome—and also like a statue carved out of stone. Just like his heart. “I actually don’t care. You’re just going to disappear again anyway.”

three

BLAKE

Cooking is the thing I do when nothing else makes sense.

Just like two plus two equals four, runny egg yolks become solid when heat is applied. Baking soda reacts with acids, so dough rises. Water boils at two hundred and twelve degrees.

I don’t have to think about how it feels. Whether I’m doing the right thing. Whether I’m doing enough.

As long as the chef is reliable and takes all variables into consideration, the cooking comes through.

Yawning, I glance at the clock over the stove in my family’s kitchen. Just after four a.m. I barely slept last night, despite the fact I was tired from the four-hour drive north from Los Angeles. Probably had something to do with being back in this house for the first time in years.

Memories are everywhere. The little sign of my mother’s sitting atop the microwave: Be nice: I cook your food. The large family photo over the fireplace mantel in the living room, where my parents and a teenage Blake and Marilee will live in memorial forever. That old floral couch my dad hated but Mom loved because it was the first thing they bought together when they were married at the age of twenty-four.

Blinking against the hot flashes at the back of my eyes, I start prepping for breakfast. A quick peek inside the fridge shows me what I have to work with. Thankfully, there’s a decent amount, which makes sense. Though Marilee more enjoys the baking versus cooking side of things, our mother instilled a love of fresh food in us both.

Of course, cooking in and of itself was always too much of “an unlucrative hobby” for it to be my passion—at least in my father’s eyes. That’s why I also had to go to business school and get my MBA. That’s why I’ve worked so hard, even after Dad’s death, to turn my passion for food into a career. It’s the first step toward the big, important life Dad always wanted for me.

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