Page 27 of Beachside Kisses With My Enemy

The evening is cool, and I zip up my hoodie as I lower myself onto the white, wooden porch swing and grab the blanket I left there a few nights ago. This is one of my favorite places to just think. The house may be old and small with locks that sometimes decide to jam (thus the cracked door!), but it’s in a prime location, sitting at the top of Hillside Drive. That means the patch of grassy backyard faces downtown, and consequently, the ocean far below.

The phone rings a few times before Winona answers. “Lucy! How’s my newest manager?” She sounds upbeat and happy, so different from the stress she exhibited the last few months of being here.

All the stress I’ve taken on lately has been worth it if it’s given her the space she needs to find joy. Joy with her daughter. I have so many great memories of summer road trips with my mom—the ones that would always end here, visiting Uncle Burt and Aunt Bea in Hallmark Beach.

That was before she met Kevin, of course. Before she found a new travel companion.

But I’m happy for my mom. Seriously.

And I’m really hoping that Winona is having just as amazing of an experience as I did once upon a time.

“I’m good. How’s the trip? Are you guys having a good time?”

I place my feet on the ground and push my toes back and forth to get a slow rock going while Winona exclaims and spends ten minutes telling me about all the sites they’ve seen and about their upcoming flight to London to start the UK leg of their trip. “Jessica is having a blast too. She’s taking notes on where she might like to study abroad for a semester during college.”

“That’s amazing.” There’s nothing quite like the possibilities of traveling with someone you love. Mama and I might not have gone to Europe—mostly just national parks and other places her beat-up Civic could take us—but it was the spirit of adventure, the unknown discoveries before us, that were the best part.

That, and just being together.

I miss that. Miss her. Miss who I was back then.

My chest squeezes.

Winona laughs, a carefree lilt on the air. “So, how’s the old girl holding up?”

She’s talking about the Robin, I know. I run my finger along the chain holding up the swing. How will my boss feel about the state of affairs? I certainly don’t want her to worry. “She’s good. We’re all good.”

“You don’t sound good.” Winona pauses. “What’s up?”

“No, no, everything’s fine. We’ve just hit a little snag. Numbers are down a bit, but the summer rush hasn’t started yet.”

“It’s June third, so no, it’s not in full swing, but usually things pick up by mid-May.” I can practically hear the frown in her voice. “Down by how much?”

“Um, about twenty-five percent?” Give or take. Mostly take. “But there’s a new business in town. A food truck. It’s stealing some of our business, but I have a plan to take it back.”

“Wait, back up, please. What food truck? Who’s operating it? And where is it located?”

I can practically hear Winona’s mind whirling from here. “The Urban Melt. They sell gourmet grilled cheese. It’s operated by Blake Moffitt.” I avoid the topic of where it’s located because Winona would probably come up out of her seat if she knew it’s practically on her front lawn. I rush on. “But don’t worry. I’ve got it handled.”

“Twenty-five percent doesn’t sound handled, Lucy.” She’s not mad, but she is firm.

I wince. “I know, but it’s a new curveball. We’ve got to be flexible, right? So what I’m thinking is that we offer BOGO meals—you know, buy one, get one free.”

“Yes, I know what BOGO means.” Winona sighs, and I hate that I’ve taken away her happy spirit. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. “But I don’t know. I’ve always firmly believed that the right customers would find us and stick with us. That we build loyalty one customer experience at a time.”

A breeze picks up, rustling the branches of the only tree in the Moffitts’ backyard—a stately Monterey pine.

“I think that’s still true, but now there’s the competition to consider.” I chew on my thumbnail. “And I don’t know if you remember Blake, but he’s a really good businessman.”

“Yes, but he doesn’t know Hallmark Beach like we do. People like that forget what small towns are like. They run roughshod over everyone and don’t develop any sort of loyalty.”

“I think that was true at the beginning, but he’s learning. Adapting.” I can’t keep the frown off my face. Thank goodness this isn’t a video call. Taking a deep breath, I push away all of the doubt and fear creeping in. If I don’t acknowledge them, they will go away. Better yet, they don’t exist. Yes. “Winona, let me try this, okay? If it doesn’t work, I’ll stop.”

“Make it temporary. Scarcity and a firm deadline are essential for creating a sense of urgency.”

Good point. I make a mental note. “Yes. Of course. Oh, and I’ve also got Tiny creating a new dish every week. Something special and unique.” He’s been giving me samples, and I critique them. It’s the only thing about cooking that I’m any good at—figuring out that a dish isn’t quite right and giving suggestions for improvement. Not that I could fix it myself, unless I wanted something burnt to a crisp. I clear my throat. “That seems to be bringing some people back.”

“That’s good. But Lucy…” There’s a long pause, and it’s as pregnant as a woman in her ninth month carrying twins. “Do I need to come home early?”

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