10. SKYE

Chapter ten

SKYE

Okay, so maybe I have a tiny problem.

I can't stop thinking about that kiss.

The one that definitely shouldn't have happened but absolutely, one hundred percent did. The one with Troy, of all people.

I groan, slamming my hand on the food truck counter. A nearby seagull gives me the stink eye.

"Oh, don't you judge me," I mutter.

It's been two days, and I swear I can still feel his lips on mine. It's driving me nuts. I'm trying to focus on prepping for the lunch rush, but my brain keeps replaying The Kiss? on an endless loop.

The way he looked at me, like I was the only person in the world. How his hands cupped my face so gently, like I might break. The little sigh he let out when our lips finally met.

"Snap out of it, Martinez!" I scold myself, aggressively chopping cilantro.

A concerning thought pops into my head: what if I've been ruined for all other kisses? Like, how am I supposed to go back to normal smooches after... that?

I'm so lost in my Troy-induced haze that I nearly jump out of my skin when my phone buzzes.

Speak of the devil...

Meet me at the pier in 10? Need to talk.

My stomach does a weird flip-flop thing.

This is the first time he has texted me since he asked for my number.

On the one hand, yay! More Troy time! On the other... 'need to talk' is never good, right?

I text back a quick " sure " before I can overthink it, then spend the next eight minutes having a silent freak-out while I close the truck.

By the time I reach the pier, I've cycled through about fifty worst-case scenarios. My personal favorite? Troy's actually an undercover merman sent to steal our town's secret chowder recipe. Hey, a girl can dream.

I spot him at the end of the pier, staring out at the ocean. Even from behind, he looks tense. Something's definitely up.

"Hey, stranger," I call out, trying for casual and missing by about a mile.

Troy turns, and... He looks like he hasn't slept in days. Join the club, buddy.

"Skye," he says, and just hearing him say my name makes my heart do gymnastics. This is getting ridiculous. "Thanks for coming."

I lean against the railing, going for nonchalant. "No prob. So, what's with the cloak and dagger routine? You're not about to confess to a secret life of crime, are you? Because I gotta tell you, I don't think orange is your color."

He doesn't laugh. Uh-oh.

"Skye, there's something I need to tell you," he begins, and my stomach drops to somewhere around my ankles.

Whatever's coming, I have a feeling I'm not gonna like it one bit.

Troy takes a deep breath, and I swear I can see him steeling himself. "Skye, my name isn't just Troy. It's Troy Bellamy."

I blink. "Okay... and that's supposed to mean something to me because...?"

He winces. "Bellamy, as in Bellamy Hotels and Inns."

The name then hits me and I rear back.

Bellamy. That’s Drew Bellamy.

“So what? Are you related to Drew Bellamy? Is that the big secret? That’s not a bad thing Troy. You didn’t need to tell me about your background if you didn’t want to.”

“Yes, Drew is my younger brother, but that’s not the only thing.” He looks down, his eyes not giving away any emotions.

“The company with the buyout? That the town is threatened by? It’s me. I wanted to buy land for my Company.”

What?

What exactly does he mean?

Bellamy Hotels? The corporate giant that's been trying to buy up half of Seaside Cove. The very thing we've been fighting against.

"No," I whisper, taking a step back. "No, that's not... you can't be..."

But even as I'm denying it, pieces are falling into place. His expensive clothes. The way he always seemed to know more about the situation than he let on. That stupid private jet.

Troy – no, Troy Bellamy – reaches for me, but I jerk away. "Skye, please, let me explain."

"Explain what?" I snap, finding my voice. "How you've been lying to me this whole time? How you're here to destroy everything I care about?"

"It's not like that," he insists. "I came here to assess the situation, yes, but things have changed. I've changed."

I laugh, but it comes out harsh and bitter. "Oh, spare me the reformed bad boy routine. What, you kiss one small-town girl and suddenly you've seen the error of your ways?"

He flinches like I've slapped him. Good.

"That's not fair," he says quietly. "What I feel for you is real, Skye. I never meant to-"

"To what? To lie? To use me?" I'm on a roll now, all my hurt and anger pouring out. "Did you think you could charm me into selling out my home? Was that the plan?"

"No!" Troy runs a hand through his hair, frustration clear on his face. "There was no plan, not really. I came here because my family's company is interested in the area, well, not Drew actually, but I swear, I never intended to hurt anyone."

"Well, congratulations," I spit out. "Mission NOT accomplished."

I turn to leave, but Troy grabs my arm. "Skye, please. I'm trying to make this right. I want to help-"

I whirl back, yanking my arm free. "Help? You want to *help*? Here's an idea: leave. Go back to your fancy hotels and your corporate boardrooms and leave us alone."

The look on his face – pain, regret, something else I can't quite name – almost makes me waver. Almost.

But then I remember everything we're fighting for. All the people counting on me. I can't let one admittedly amazing kiss cloud my judgment.

"We're done here," I say, my voice cold. "Don't contact me again."

This time when I turn to leave, he doesn't try to stop me. I take about ten steps before the tears start falling, but I don't look back.

I can't.

My vision blurs as I stumble off the pier, nearly tripping over my own feet. The familiar sights and sounds of Seaside Cove – the call of seagulls, the crash of waves, the distant laughter from the boardwalk – all fade into white noise.

How did everything go so wrong so fast?

I walk aimlessly, letting my feet carry me wherever they want. My mind's a jumbled mess of anger, hurt, and worst of all, a tiny, traitorous part that misses Troy already.

I'm so stupid.

I end up at Zoey's door without even realizing it. My best friend takes one look at my tear-streaked face and pulls me into a fierce hug.

"Oh, honey," she murmurs, "what happened?"

And just like that, I'm sobbing again, ugly crying into her shoulder like I haven't done since Jimmy Pearson stood me up at prom. Zoey doesn't say anything, just rubs my back and lets me cry it out.

When I finally manage to pull myself together, she leads me to her couch and disappears into the kitchen. She returns with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate – our go-to crisis drink since high school.

"Okay," Zoey says, settling in next to me. "Spill."

So, I do. I tell her everything – about Troy's true identity, about the kiss (both of us pointedly ignoring her "I knew it!" exclamation), about the confrontation on the pier. By the time I finish, my hot chocolate's gone cold, and Zoey looks like she's ready to commit murder.

"That lying, two-faced, corporate scumbag," she fumes. "I'll pummel him. I swear, Skye, I will march down to that overpriced inn right now and -"

"Zo," I cut her off, managing a weak smile. "As much as I appreciate the offer, I don't think assault charges are going to help our situation."

She deflates a little. "Fine. But I reserve the right to at least key his car."

That startles a laugh out of me, which quickly turns into another sob. "Oh Zoey, how could I be so blind? I mean, Troy Bellamy? I should've known something was off from the start."

She wraps an arm around me. "Hey, none of that. This is not your fault, you hear me? That jerk lied to all of us."

I nod, but the guilt still gnaws at me. "I just... I really thought there was something there, you know? And now I feel like such an idiot."

"You're not an idiot," Zoey says firmly. "You're human. And trust me, if I had a guy who looked like that making eyes at me, I'd probably forget my own name."

That gets another watery laugh out of me. "He does have very nice eyes," I admit.

"See? You never stood a chance." Zoey squeezes my shoulder. "But seriously, Skye, you have nothing to be ashamed of. You opened your heart to someone. That takes courage."

I sniffle, leaning into her. "When did you get so wise?"

"Please, I've always been the brains of this operation."

We sit in comfortable silence for a while, the weight of everything still pressing down on me, but not quite as suffocating as before.

"What am I going to do?" I finally ask, my voice small. "About the town, I mean. If Troy's company is behind the buyout..."

Zoey's quiet for a moment, thinking. "We fight," she says simply. "Just like we always have. This changes things, sure, but it doesn't change who we are or what we're fighting for."

I nod slowly. She's right, of course. One guy – no matter how charming or how earth-shattering his kisses might be – doesn't change the fact that Seaside Cove is our home. And I'll be damned if I let anyone take that away from us.

"You're right," I say, sitting up straighter. "This isn't over. Not by a long shot."

Zoey grins, a mischievous glint in her eye. "That's my girl. Now, how about we brainstorm some new protest slogans? I'm thinking of something along the lines of Bellamy Hotels and Inns: Where Dreams Check In and Integrity Checks Out."

I burst out laughing, feeling lighter than I have all day. "Oh Zoey, that's terrible. I love it."

We spend the next few hours coming up with increasingly ridiculous slogans, each one more outrageous than the last. By the time I head back to the inn, my eyes are puffy and my heart still aches, but I feel... not okay, exactly, but like I might be someday.

As I crawl into the inn’s bed that night, my phone buzzes.

It's a text from Troy. My finger hovers over the delete button, but something stops me. Instead, I turn off my phone without reading it.

Whatever Troy has to say, it can wait. Right now, I need to focus on what really matters: saving my home and picking up the pieces of my bruised heart.

Tomorrow's another day. And Skye Martinez doesn't go down without a fight.