Page 6 of Beachside Kisses With My Best Friend

I want to add a “so there!” to the end of my declaration and stick out my tongue for good measure, but it’s no use. Jordan Carmichael has been my friend since freshman year of high school, and that’s never changed, despite him leaving Hallmark Beach to attend college and graduate business school in Phoenix and then swooping back into my life not long after my parents died in a car accident.

But ever since my ex-husband left me nearly four years ago (and my divorce was finalized one year later), I’ve received countless amounts of teasing smiles and coy looks over how close Jordan and I have been since he moved back. I usually shrug it off, declaring us “just friends.”

But after a while, it’s exhausting.

I’m pretty sure Jordan doesn’t care for me as anything more than a friend, anyway. He’s never said so, even though sometimes, there’s a look he gives me that makes me think I might be wrong. But I hope for his sake I’mnotwrong, because I just can’t afford to think of him in that way.

Can’t afford to think ofanyonelike that again.

Because I won’t inflict my mess on anyone else. Won’t let my poor decision-making ruin anyone else’s life the way it’s ruined mine. I mean look at me. I’m twenty-nine, single, and used up, without a dime to my name because my ex-husband—the guy I chose to give myforeverto—blew my inheritance on gambling and other women.

Why Marla would askmeof all people to buy the bakery from her is a wonder. Guess I’ve got her fooled.

“Earth to Squirt.” Blake waves his hand in front of my face, and I startle.

“Sorry.” Because there I go again, retreating into my thoughts. “What’d you say?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Never mind. Have fun at the party.” Taking a bite of his apple, he turns and walks through the living room and down the hall, toward the master bedroom he and Lucy now share. I gave them my room when they came back from a national parks tour married in November.

“Iwillhave fun at the party,” I murmur to myself. I’ve got to focus and get this cake finished, though, because time is ticking away, and I’ve still got to shower.

A few hours later, I’m parked in front of Jordan’s two-bedroom bungalow, leaning into my car to grab the cake box. Surprisingly, I’m the first one here, even though I’m a half hour late.

The front door squeaks open, and a little blur of red and blue careens toward me. “Lee-Lee! You’re finally here!” Ryder stops just before crashing into me and throws his little arms around my waist.

Laughing, I set the cake on top of my car and wrap him up in a hug. Then I step back to study him and put on a confused face. “Wait, who is hugging me right now? I didn’t know Captain America lived here!”

Ryder’s blue eyes—the same light shade as his daddy’s—stare at me from behind the mask with an A in the middle of his forehead. “Lee-Lee!” He giggles. “It’s me. Ryder.”

“Seriously?You’reCaptain America? What happened to Steve Rogers?”

“I’ll bet you’re pretty proud of yourself for knowing that reference,” says a deeper voice from the front porch.

Glancing up, I see Jordan leaning against the doorway, his strong forearms crossed over his chest, his signature backwards hat on his head, as he smirks at me.

“I am, actually.” Because despite having a brother, I grew up on a steady diet of Audrey Hepburn movies and modern-day romcoms likeWhile You Were Sleeping—my mom’s favorite. I redirect my attention to Ryder, who is wearing a costume with a puffy “muscled” chest. “Wow, I’m super impressed with your muscles. You’ll have to share your workout routine with me.”

“It’s easy. You just run and run and run. And a-fore you know it, you’ve got mus-ckles!” Ryder giggles again and runs a circle around my car. Goodness, even for a five-year-old, he’s got energy to burn.

I reach for the cake on the top of my car, but then Jordan’s there swooping it down. I catch a whiff of his familiar woodsy scent with hints of cedarwood, clove, and patchouli—like a warm blanket during a camping trip. Not that I’m a camping-type girl usually, but being Jordan’s best friend has meant expanding my horizons. I’ve hiked and camped more in the last few years than in my whole life combined before that. And Jordan lives for it—it’s why he started his adventure tours business when he moved back to town a little over six years ago.

“Thanks.” I smile at him as I follow him up the few stairs into his house. It’s small, with a kitchen that opens to a living room, two bedrooms, and one bathroom, but it’s been his home since he found out Georgia was expecting Ryder. She never lived here, as the two of them didn’t ever date, so it’s got the mark of Jordan all over it. Masculine but comfortable, with the comfiest brown leather couch, a sleek fifty-inch TV, and a Padres-themed fleece blanket thrown over the back of a recliner.

Shoved into the only available corner is his artificial Christmas tree. He used to take it down as soon as the calendar hit January, but I suspect he’s started leaving it up longer just for me—the girl who wears Christmas sweaters and Grinch pajamas year-round.

Christmas reminds me of my parents. It was my mom’s favorite, and keeping the season alive all year is my small way of keeping them close always.

Ryder runs back inside and zooms down the hallway, yelling something about a new toy he wants to show me. And also about needing to poop.

I grin. Kids.

Jordan sets the cake on the granite kitchen island and taps the top of the container. “Thanks for bringing this. Ryder’s gonna flip when he sees it.” He flashes a dimpled grin at me. “You sure are talented, Lee.”

“Oh, stop.” I wave my hand in the air. “It was nothing.”

“Don’t do that. It’s not nothing.” Walking to the oven, he flips it open and pulls out a white box with the familiar Red Sauce Pizza logo. “We both know you’re the most talented baker in all the land.”

“All the land, huh?” Setting my small purse on the counter, I lean forward, elbows on the island, and inhale the delicious aroma of pepperoni and cheese.

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