Page 25 of Falling for Mr. Grump, the Big City Billionaire

"A little to the left, Mr. Jenkins!" I call out, watching as our town's oldest resident tries to hang a watercolor seascape. He's wobbling on that ladder like a Jenga tower in an earthquake.

I rush over, steadying the ladder. "On second thought, how about I take care of the hanging? You've done more than enough."

Mr. Jenkins grins down at me. "Nonsense, Skye! I may be old, but, as they say, I'm not dead yet."

I bite back a laugh. "Trust me, I know. But if you fall and break a hip, who's going to eat all my experimental tacos?"

He chuckles and climbs down, patting my cheek. "You're a good girl, Skye. This town's lucky to have you."

I feel my cheeks heat up.

Compliments always make me squirm, but coming from Mr. Jenkins? It's like being praised by Santa Claus.

"Thanks," I mumble, then quickly change the subject. "So, where should we hang this masterpiece?"

As we find the perfect spot for Mr. Jenkins' painting, I can't help but marvel at how this art show came together.

It started as a crazy idea over margaritas with Zoey last week, and now? The community center looks like Etsy and Pinterest had a baby, and that baby exploded.

There are paintings, sculptures, handmade jewelry, even a quilt that tells the history of Seaside Cove through fabric. It's chaotic and mismatched and absolutely perfect.

I step back, surveying the room. People are milling about, setting up their pieces or just admiring the work. There's energy in the air, a buzz of excitement that makes me giddy.

"We did it, Zo," I say, bumping my hip against my best friend's as she joins me.

Zoey grins, her red hair as wild as ever. "Correction: YOU did it. This was all your crazy idea."

I roll my eyes. "Please. Without you, I'd probably be buried under a pile of papier-mâché seagulls right now."

"True," she nods sagely. "I am the voice of reason to your chaos."

"You? Voice of reason?" I snort. "Need I remind you of the Great Flamingo Incident of '22?"

Zoey's eyes widen in mock horror. "We swore never to speak of that again!"

We dissolve into giggles, and for a moment, I forget about all the stress of the past week.

The late nights planning, the endless phone calls to artists, the struggle to get Mayor Thompson to agree to let us use the community center. It all fades away in the face of Zoey's laughter and the joyful atmosphere around us.

But then I catch sight of the clock and yelp. "Crap! We open in ten minutes, and I still haven't set up my booth!"

Zoey raises an eyebrow. "Your booth? Since when do you make art?"

I stick out my tongue at her. "Ha ha. I'll have you know my food is art, thank you very much. Edible, delicious art."

"Oh no," Zoey groans. "Please tell me you're not subjecting these poor, unsuspecting people to your experiments."

"Hey!" I protest, swatting her arm. "My fusion tacos are genius, and you know it."

"If by 'genius' you mean 'crimes against nature', then sure."

I gasp in mock outrage. "Just for that, you're not getting any of my mango-habanero-chocolate salsa."

Zoey's face scrunches up. "Thank God for small mercies."

I laugh and head towards my booth, where Bessie Jr. (my portable cooking station, not to be confused with Bessie Sr., my food truck) is waiting. As I start setting up, arranging my ingredients and firing up the portable stove, I feel a familiar thrill of excitement.

This is what I love – creating something new, something unexpected. Bringing flavors together in ways that shouldn't work but somehow do. It's like painting, but with taste instead of color.

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