Page 7 of Beachside Kisses With My Enemy

Sweet macaroni. That must be the tired talking.

But Chloe’s looking at me thoughtfully, like she can hear my internal thoughts. I hope I’m not so exhausted that I’m saying any of this out loud. My new friend might have me committed to an insane asylum.

“What about Thomas?” she asks.

“Thomas Montrose? He’s like a little brother to me.” Two years behind me in school, the owner of the White Mocha coffee shop is one of the few, like me, who stuck around Hallmark Beach after high school.

“He’s kind of cute in a puppy dog way. And he’s clearly infatuated with you.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re obsessed with love. It’s like you spend your days planning weddings or something.”

Her laughter rolls off her tongue, a tinkling sound that lights up the whole room. No wonder Freddy loves her. No wonder the whole town does. “All right, I’ll get out of your hair. Thanks again for your help. And I’ll see you Sunday, yeah?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

We hug good-bye, and I spend the next hour attempting to clean the office, releasing my staff, and calling it a night at The Green Robin.

When I tell Tiny he can go home an hour early, he frowns. “Everything all right, Boss?”

“Don’t call me that. And yeah, I’m sure things will pick up.” I snap my fingers, remembering my earlier thought. “But if you can think of anything new to add to the menu, let me know. Maybe that will draw in some new guests.”

He agrees to consider it, then clocks out. I sweep and wash down the counters, then flip off the lights, exit, and lock up. The streetlamps over Main Street illuminate the mostly deserted road, and almost all of the shop windows and restaurants are dark by now except The Black Hole, the club music of which I can hear thumping all the way from here. For a brief moment, I consider heading through the wide walkway between The Green Robin and Rainbow Ice and taking a moonlit stroll along the beach on the other side of the buildings, but my body begs for a shower and bed.

I curse my earlier self for not driving the five minutes to work, instead forcing one foot in front of the other as I trudge north on Main and then up Hillside Drive, which curves and overlooks our little downtown area. This is where most of the Hallmark Beach homes are located, and thankfully the Moffitt home—and now mine—is toward the beginning of the road at the edge of the bluff.

When I get to the sixteen-hundred-square-foot craftsman bungalow, I breathe a sigh of relief and enter as quietly as I can. Marilee has an early morning at the bakery, and I don’t want to wake her.

The house is dark and buzzes with the white noise of the fridge’s ice maker in the kitchen to my right. Something smells divine—is that banana bread?—and my stomach grumbles. Now that I think about it, I didn’t eat dinner tonight, did I? “Yes, I’ll feed you,” I say, patting my belly. “But first, I have to wash away the restaurant smell.”

So I do.

Once I’m showered and dressed for bed in my tank top and shorts, my long hair still damp from my shower, I tiptoe back to the kitchen and peek in the fridge, humming a Garth Brooks song to myself. I know it’s not what the cool kids listen to these days, but I can’t help it—it’s the Texas girl in me.

But then, I hear a noise…and freeze.

My heart picks up speed, and I close the fridge door. Is that?—?

The front doorknob wiggles, and I squeak, retreating until my back is against the granite countertop. Did I forget to lock the door? Surely not.

I’d call the police, but my phone is inside my backpack, which is in my room down the hall. Past the front door. I’m stuck here. My hand goes immediately to the wall, and I flip off the kitchen light so the intruder can’t see me when he steps inside, the door creaking as he advances.

And it’s definitely a he. I can only see the person’s outline, but there are broad shoulders and strong arms. I’m no shrimp, but I’m definitely going to be outmatched against this guy.

Why is he here? Hallmark Beach isn’t exactly a bastion of crime.

My hand trembling, I reach back onto the counter and feel for the closest weapon.

The guy turns away from me and starts heading for the hallway.

I start to breathe easier, because now I can escape. Except…Marilee. She’s sleeping in one of those rooms. Innocent. Unaware that an intruder is headed her way.

So instead of doing the smart thing—which would be escaping out the front door, running for the neighbor’s house, and asking for help—I decide to take on the giant.

By flinging the weapon I discovered on the counter.

It’s not much, but it’s all I have thanks to the darkness I created. The porch light is faint and coming through the front window—enough to show me where the guy’s at.

But it’s all I need. Something to aim at.

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