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A man with a clipboard was standing inside of Bitter Beans.
"Yeah, we should be able to get this installed this week. You've got forced heat, so we can use the same system," he said, reading off his paperwork.
Granny leaned against the counter and folded her arms across her rhinestone t-shirt with the parrots on it. "You hear that, Paige? Air conditioning by the end of the week."
"Shouldn't you be getting ready for the bakeoff?" I asked her. "And is a big project like this really an interruption you need in the middle of all this tourist traffic?"
"I've got a bakeoff every day with this coffee shop." She waved my concerns away. "You tell that Trevor he's not the only place with recycled air in town."
"I will make sure to pass it along," I replied, concerned at how serious Granny was taking this rivalry.
"You can't go softly into the sweet night, Paige," she explained. "You get someone in firing shots across your bow, you pull out your cannon and blast 'em out of the water." She took me by the shoulders and steered me toward the door. "Now, things are all in hand. You've got an early morning opening the store up! You head on out and have some fun. Make sure to tell everyone we're going to be the 'coolest' place in town."
I grabbed my bike from behind the shop and rode up the hill to my little cottage. As the road got rockier, I popped off the seat and walked, pausing for just a moment to stop and smell the fresh, sea air blowing in. It was so quiet and peaceful. Like my own little world.
"HEY! Do you live up here?"
I turned around.
My cottage was in a row of vacation homes most people rented out in the summer. It appeared I had a new neighbor.
He was a squinty-eyed guy about my age with high cheekbones and a flat face. His body was built like someone who spent most of college studying keg stands. He pointed at his cottage. "I can't seem to work the lock."
"Oh, sure," I said, trying to be neighborly. I put the kickstand down on my bike and walked up on to the porch.
"Awfully lucky to have spotted you coming up the road. I didn't know what I was going to do." He handed me the key and then walked off like this was somehow my job to let him into his own home.
I jiggled the handle. It was actually unlocked, he just hadn't tried the handle. I figured it didn't do any good to bring it up. Instead, I just opened the door. "All set," I informed him and held the keys out.
"Say! That's great." He jogged over to the door and then hooked his thumb toward the inside. "Want to come in? I picked up a twelve-pack."
Now, I might be an idiot sometimes, but after everything that had happened this summer, my brain started screaming stranger-danger. Especially from some rando dude in an isolated area asking me to come in for a drink.
"Sorry, got an early morning tomorrow," I replied, turning toward my cottage.
"Oh!" he said, suddenly a little colder. He folded his arms and his voice dripped with accusation. "Are you participating in the bakeoff?"
"Um... No, my granny is. I just have to mind our shop."
The mood shifted again. He was as easy to read as a recipe book. He flipped on the charm as he dug for some insider scoop. "That's great. What she's making?"
Like I was going to tell this jerk. "She didn't say." I hoped my smile didn't look completely fake. "I take it you're participating in the bakeoff? Or are you just an enthusiast?"
"Oh, THAT's why you didn't want to come in for a drink," he replied like some great epiphany had just struck him. "You don't know who I am. I'm Bryce," he said, reaching out his hand.
I gave his fingertips a light shake in return. "Bryce?"
"I've won the bakeoff for the last three years?" he continued, like that should jog something in my memory. He looked at the cottage. "You'd think that would afford me a little bit more luxury."
His contempt for our adorable little cottages cemented my gut instinct. I pointed out at the horizon. "At least the view is nice."
"I suppose," he said. "I don't really like the ocean."
So, listen, I get not wanting to get into the ocean. There are all sorts of scary things out there. But not liking looking at it? I realized I was dealing with a special kind of shallow. But I bit back my reply. The island needed people to feel like this was one of the best places they had ever been. We needed them to tell their friends about it and make plans to come back.
So, instead, I plastered on a friendly smile. "Well, I'm certainly lucky to have you as my neighbor! Three years as the champ of the bakeoff! How does it feel?"
He shrugged. "Oh, well... it's sort of old hat now. It's not like there's any real competition in these things. I've been baking since I was a little kid, so it really feels like second nature to a man like me."
"Oh," I replied, struggling for a response. "Well, congratulations on finding your calling."
He swatted at a butterfly that was trying to land on him. "You know, you get on the circuit and you get to know people. It's like you just can't escape. That's why I think it is so important to vibe with locals."
The way he said 'locals' made it sound like he regarded me as some member of a wild tribe that hung out on this island, spearing wild boars and trading seashells instead of money.
"Good luck with that," I said.
"Are you going to Trevor's bar?" he asked me, leaning against his doorframe. "We could go down together."
"Um..." I realized I really didn't want to give him any excuse to try and escort me down to Main Street. "I'm just here to grab some comfy shoes. For work. Headed back down right now. But I'll see you there!"
"Sure! See you there!" he replied.
I couldn't help the shivers that ran up and down my spine as he stood there watching me go into my cottage. He was still standing there, watching, as I came out again. A part of me was starting to think that maybe I should hang out in Bitter Beans all week until this guy decided it was time to check out of the island.
I was learning it didn't pay to take chances in a place like Seaside.