Page 24 of Beachside Kisses With My Enemy

Hating him is far easier.

nine

BLAKE

A business plan is always just that—a plan.

Plans fail all the time. And when they do, you have to go back to the drawing board. Re-evaluate. It’s part luck, part scientific process. You figure out what’s working and what’s not. Then you do more of the stuff that is effective and axe the things that aren’t. You get creative—the part I hate, because I don’t always have that gut instinct about what will work when it comes to marketing.

Now, if we’re talking gut instincts about my food? I’m all over that.

But marketing? It’s the shot in the dark I hate.

Which is why I was desperate enough to try Jordan’s suggestion yesterday of showing up uninvited to the Fourth of July Festival planning meeting. Thankfully, Chloe Huntington was more than willing to have me aboard.

Lucy Reynolds, however? Not so much.

It’s not as if she and Thomas have finalized any of their plans—far from it—but it was clear that she didn’t want to hear my ideas for what food should be served during the festival. Whenever I’d suggest something, she’d shoot it down. At my suggestion that each of our respective businesses host booths with food for sale instead of serving one main meal like burgers, chips, and fruit—the same things that are always served—she said no way. Even though her restaurant could use the extra cash.

And sure, I understand the argument that this is not supposed to be about us profiting. It’s supposed to be about the community, about us making the food as cheap as possible—while also making it delicious—so as many people as possible can enjoy a meal together.

But I also think that the woman’s determined to be difficult.

Of course, that only extends to me. For Thomas, she’s agreeable. For Thomas, she takes time to listen and really consider.

Look, Thomas is a nice guy. He really is. He even tried backing me up on the extra food sales, though, when she looked at him with hurt in her eyes, he instantly backpedaled.

But every time the guy called her Luce, I wanted to punch him and yell, “Mine” like some sort of caveman. Which is ridiculous, because Lucy Reynolds is the farthest thing from mine that there is.

“Earth to Blake.” Marilee waves one of my fifty-percent-off fliers in my face.

I blink, and my sister’s face comes into focus, as does the porch of The Purple Seashell, where we just dropped off a load of fliers with Lucy’s aunt Janine, the owner.

After my chat with Jordan yesterday, I decided to try the classic coupon approach to entice new customers my way. I barely had time to run home, shower, and print off some fliers before the meeting, where I handed them out. It was a good opportunity to shake hands and give hugs to some of Hallmark Beach’s oldest residents, many of whom told me that while “fancy grilled cheese” isn’t really their thing, because it’s me, they’ll give it a try.

Here’s hoping.

Now it’s Friday morning around nine, and in the hours before I open the truck for the day, I’ve recruited my sister to help. Well, more like she saw my fliers in the kitchen this morning, and since she didn’t have to work, volunteered to hand them out for me. It’s a good excuse to spend time with her, so I let her tag along.

“Yeah, sorry. Just enjoying the view,” I say, and it’s not totally a lie as I peer past Marilee and take in the morning waves of the Pacific. It’s June now, and the tourists have started to flood the beach in droves. Honestly, it’s the ideal time to be running a food truck in Hallmark Beach, and Janine promised to distribute a flier to each of her customers when they check in.

“It does look like it’s going to be a nice day.” Her lips quirk up. “Maybe I’ll take Ryder to the beach.”

“You babysitting on your day off?”

She shrugs and tugs her hair up into a bun using a band at her wrist. “Jordan’s mom had a flare-up of her multiple sclerosis, so I don’t mind. Poor thing. It’s been happening more and more lately, and Ryder has energy in spades.”

We start down the steps of the Seashell and meet up with the boardwalk, heading south toward the rest of the downtown shops. Bits of sand crunch beneath my loafers. “I’m sure it’s good for him to have a mom figure in his life.” Ryder’s own mom passed away earlier in the year after a brief battle with cancer. Poor little guy.

“Oh, I’m more like a fun aunt.” Marilee’s face stretches tight at the words as she forces a smile onto her face. I know it’s forced because there’s also a slight tremble in her voice. I must have said something that hit a nerve. Maybe Marilee will tell me eventually. Unlike Lucy—who only ever seems to be happy or angry (and only the latter with me)—my sister embraces her emotions. It just might take her awhile to process them. But eventually, she cries.

She reminds me a lot of Mom, and the thought has me looping my arm around her shoulders and squeezing.

Grabbing my hand briefly, she squeezes back. “I hope this coupon strategy works for you. How’s the recipe creation coming?”

I hold back a sigh. “Not well.”

“Sorry. You’ll figure it out, though. You always do. And don’t they say inspiration often comes from the most unlikely of places?”

---