Page 75 of Beachside Kisses With My Enemy

Elisse’s words from last week drift back to me: “You’re taking way too much on yourself with the restaurant.” Ever since she said that, I’ve been processing why keeping the restaurant thriving has felt so important. Whether it’s more about Winona…or me.

And when I decided to remove the burden of proving something to myself—and to the whole town—then I was able to do it from a purely selfless place. The pressure went away. And now, I can do my best for my friend and know that it’s enough.

I smile, and my stomach gurgles. Patting it, I close the laptop lid and stand, stretching. “Time to celebrate with some good food,” I say aloud to myself. And who wants to celebrate alone?

I know just where to go.

Heading to The Green Robin’s kitchen, I find Tiny cleaning up from a decently successful night. “You save me anything good?” I peek over his massive shoulder to find him wrapping up a few roast beef sandwiches.

Grunting, he turns and pushes them into my hand. “Knew you’d be hungry when you finally emerged.”

I laugh and press a kiss to his scruffy cheek. “Thank you, Tiny.”

He rubs the spot I kissed, and I swear the guy actually blushes. Then he turns me by the shoulders and gives me a little push out the door. “Get outta here.”

“Night!” I yell as I scurry out of the kitchen toward the front.

Jenny and Jake are holding onto broom handles and flirting in the dining room. They straighten when they see me and wave. “Night, Boss!”

For once, I don’t bristle at the title. Maybe because I know I won’t be the boss for much longer—just a month until Winona and her daughter return. Or maybe I’ve just realized that I’m not solely responsible for the rise or fall of this place. It’s a team effort, and like my friends said, whether it succeeds or fails doesn’t have any bearing on my own identity.

As I head out the door and down the front steps, I can’t help but frown at the darkened food truck sitting on the edge of the Robin’s property. Blake is back in L.A. for the night—a single, measly night—and I miss him already. When he was dropping me off at my bedroom door last night after our date, he told me about this quick jaunt he has to take up to L.A. for some meetings and restaurant business.

I hated the reminder that there’s another life waiting for him. Away from me.

How am I ever going to survive it when he leaves for good? I mean, at least I still have a little over month before that happens. Maybe things will be different between us by then. Maybe we will somehow discover the answer during that time. All I know is that last night’s date set a new tone to our relationship.

And yes, I’m calling it a relationship. I know Blake hasn’t promised me anything, but the look in his eyes when he said “You’re everything”?

I’m pretty sure that man is as gone for me as I am for him.

Still don’t know where that leaves us once he has to move back to Los Angeles, but we have weeks to figure it out. In the meantime, I have to tell his sister about us. I’m sure my best friend suspects something is up—what with our behavior at the beach party three nights ago—but I didn’t want to say anything until after our date.

I cross Main Street, but it’s mostly deserted at this hour. The only place still open is The Black Hole, where the occasional hyped-up tourist scurries inside for some dancing.

As for me, I head for The Blackberry Muffin just south of the bar.

When I get there, I go around to the back and knock on the door that leads into the kitchen. Marilee pops it open, and her eyes widen in surprise. “Hey!” Not surprisingly, her purple apron is splattered with flour, and there’s frosting on the tip of her nose. “What are you doing here?”

“Just came to chat.” I hold up the bag of sandwiches. “And I figured you hadn’t taken the time to eat.”

“I’ve been busy.” Even though her shoulders are drooping, there’s a brightness to her eyes, which can only mean one thing—she’s decorating cakes. I already knew this, because she told me she’d be working late, and she doesn’t ever bake the normal stuff at this hour. Marla Thompkins, the owner, doesn’t want the specialty orders to interfere with Marilee’s normal duties during the day, so she’s limited the number of orders Marilee can take.

Marilee’s turned away a lot of customers.

“Business is good, huh?” I pop through the door and shut it with my foot, then deposit the food in the only free space on the large yellow island made of swirly slabs of granite. The rest is taken up by Marilee’s tools of the trade: bowls, flour, sugar, food coloring, spatulas, and a three-tiered cake that’s frosted white and half decorated with iced roses. A piping bag with a bit of red icing is lying on its side next to the cake. “Wow, that’s looking great.” And as one who’s been the happy recipient of Marilee’s baking before, I’m sure it tastes even better.

“You think?” She’s worrying her bottom lip, and her hair starts to fall from the bun shoved on top of her head like an afterthought. “I’m not sure I like how it’s turning out.”

“Here, take a break and eat with me.” I slide onto one of the three black stools sitting under the island’s lip. “Then you can let it percolate.”

“Okay.” She agrees so easily, and that’s when I notice the bags under her eyes. The slowness of her smile.

The woman is running herself ragged.

“Mare, you look like you’re about to pass out. I’m not sure burning the candles at both ends is good for you.”

“Look who’s talking, lady. You’ve been working just as hard.”

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