11. TROY

Chapter eleven

TROY

The sunrise over Seaside Cove usually brings a burst of color that would make any of our luxury hotel marketing photos look amateur.

Today, it's just a reminder that I haven't slept. I've been walking this beach since 3 AM, my Italian leather shoes ruined by sand and salt water, my suit jacket abandoned hours ago in my room.

I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.

My phone shows seventeen drafted messages to Skye.

I've deleted every single one. What could I possibly say?

Sorry I infiltrated your town under false pretenses? Sorry I made you trust me before revealing I'm the CEO of the company you're fighting so hard against?

The memory of her face when I told her the truth haunts me.

I've seen that expression before – on small business owners when we've bought them out, on employees during mass layoffs.

But never has it cut this deep. The way her eyes changed, like she was looking at a stranger. Like every moment we'd shared, every laugh, every touch, had been a lie.

A seagull lands nearby, eyeing me with what feels like judgment. "Yeah, I know," I mutter, running a hand through my disheveled hair. "I screwed up, it’s obvious but thank you for reminding me."

My phone buzzes. For a split second, my heart leaps, but it's just a text from Drew.

Everything okay? Meg said she saw you walking on the beach at dawn. That's not very CEO of you.

I almost laugh at my brother's attempt at humor. Drew, who chose love over corporate ambition years ago. Drew, who everyone thought was crazy for staying in this small town. Maybe he was the smart one all along.

The waves crash against the shore, and I find myself walking toward the pier where Skye's food truck usually parks.

It's empty now, of course. She wouldn't be here this early. Or maybe she's avoiding me completely. The thought makes my chest tight.

Don’t ever contact me agai n, that’s what she said.

I climb the steps to the pier, my shoes squeaking with salt water and sand. The morning fishermen are starting to arrive, casting suspicious glances my way.

I must look like a madman – the great Troy Bellamy, disheveled and haunted, pacing like a guilty man.

Which is exactly what I am.

My phone buzzes again. This time it's Mona: Board meeting at 10. Need your updates on the Seaside acquisition.

I grip the pier railing, the weathered wood rough under my palms. Below, the water churns and swirls, much like my thoughts.

The "Seaside acquisition" – such a sterile term for what we're really doing. For what I am supposed to do.

A familiar laugh carries on the wind, and I turn so fast I nearly lose my balance.

But it's not Skye – just a young couple sharing coffee on a nearby bench. They're huddled close, sharing quiet words and soft smiles, reminding me of yesterday morning when Skye and I...

"Stop torturing yourself," I mutter, pushing away from the railing. But as I turn to leave, I catch sight of something that makes me freeze.

Through the early morning mist, I can see the entire town sprawled before me. The charming storefronts opening for the day. The inn's weathered facade glowing in the morning light.

The community garden where Skye taught me about her grandmother's herb combinations.

This isn't just real estate. This isn't just another acquisition.

I pull out my phone, scroll past the drafted messages to Skye, and find Drew’s number, but I’m not sure what to do yet.

If I can't fix what I've broken with Skye, I can at least try to save what she loves.

I receive yet another text from Meg.

***

Meg and Drew’s house sits on Ocean View Drive, a sprawling cape cod that Drew had renovated while they were on their honeymoon.

It feels wrong coming here, especially now, but Meg's text was clear: We need to talk. Coffee's ready.

I park my Audi next to Meg's more modest SUV and check my reflection in the rearview mirror again.

I don’t look any different from before. I still look exactly like what I am – a man who hasn't slept and doesn't know how to fix what he's broken. At least I changed into fresh clothes, though wearing casual wear still feels like admitting defeat.

Meg opens the door before I can knock.

My sister-in-law stands there, baby Willow propped on her hip, giving me that knowing look that makes me understand why Drew fell for her.

She has this way of seeing through people's facades, even ones as carefully constructed as mine.

"You look terrible," she says by way of greeting.

"Good morning to you too." I try for my boardroom smile, but it feels brittle.

I begin to step inside and suddenly I freeze. “What the heck is THAT!” Crossing the floor behind Meg is a giant green something. It looks prehistoric. Without thinking I back up against the door, making Meg double up in laughter. I’m literally in a defense posture, holding my arms out in a Ninja pose while Meg laughs at me.

Once she’s able to control herself enough to speak she chokes out: “Meet Lizaard, my iguana friend.”

“It’s got a name? Really? What’s it doing in here? Does it bite? Is it poisonous?”

Again, Meg can barely talk. “Take a breath, Troy. Lizaard is a she, not an it. She’s my pet and comes and goes as she pleases. Her tank is her safety spot, but today she seems to want to go out back to the sand pit that Drew made for her. Wanna hold her?”

“Good gravy, NO! Lizard can go away, far away, Okay?”

“Well,” Meg continues, “her name is Lizaard with two a’s, not Lizard. And secondly, please don’t hurt her feelings, okay? She’s very sensitive. Are you sure you don’t want to hold her?”

With nervous eyes I take a wide berth around the creature, saying: “nice creature, nice creature …”

Once I see Lizaard with two a’s heading to the back door, I drop my defense stance. “Meg, you said that you two wanted to talk with me?”

"Drew's at the inn, actually. I told him that you and I needed sister-in-law time." She steps aside to let me pass, and the scent of coffee and fresh bread hits me. "Though technically, I suppose it's sister-in-law and crying CEO time."

"I don't cry," I say automatically, following her into the kitchen. "And I'm fine."

"Sure." Meg settles Willow into her rocking cradle, fastens her safety harness and turns to the coffee maker. "That's why you were doing your best Victorian-novel-hero impression on the beach at dawn."

The kitchen is warm and lived-in, nothing like my sterile penthouse in New York.

Family photos cover the fridge – Drew and Meg's wedding, Elliott and Willow baby pictures, and casual snapshots of town events. There's even one of me from last Christmas, actually smiling.

"How much did Drew tell you?" I ask, accepting the coffee mug she offers. It's handmade, probably from that pottery shop next to Skye's usual parking spot. Everything in this town seems to connect back to her.

"Enough." Meg leans against the counter, studying me. "But I'd rather hear your version. Why are you really here, Troy?"

"You know why. The expansion plan—"

"No." She cuts me off with a wave. "Why are you here? Not the CEO of Bellamy Hotels. Not Drew's brother. You."

The coffee burns my tongue, but I welcome the pain. It's easier than answering her question. Willow gurgles happily in her crib, and Elliott is playing on the floor with his trucks, oblivious to the tension.

"I had a plan," I finally say. "Come to town quietly. Assess the situation. Make the deal happen quickly and cleanly. No mess, no complications."

"And instead, you fell for Skye Martinez."

Her directness makes me flinch. "I didn't—"

"Oh, please." Meg rolls her eyes. "The whole town's been watching you two dance around each other for weeks. Even Mrs. Chen at the market is taking bets on when you'll finally kiss her."

Heat crawls up my neck. "That's not... We didn't..."

"Troy." Meg's voice softens. "I grew up in this town. My sister Mia and I inherited that inn from our grandfather. Do you know why I fell in love with Drew?"

I raise an eyebrow, wondering where she's going with this.

"Because when he came here with the same corporate plans you had, he saw past the potential profit margins. He saw what makes this place special. The community. The history. The way everyone looks out for each other." Picking up Willow to cuddle, she continues: "and I see the way you look at Skye's food truck. The same way Drew used to look at the inn."

"It's different," I protest weakly. "The board, my sisters …"

"Are the same obstacles Drew faced." Meg sets her mug down with a decisive clink. "You know what your brother did? He found a way to balance both worlds. The inn still belongs to my family, but Bellamy Hotels helps with marketing, bookings, and modern amenities. We maintained our independence while gaining resources."

Something stirs in my mind – the beginning of an idea. A partnership instead of a buyout?

"Now you're thinking like a Bellamy who's in love, not just a CEO." Meg grins at my startled expression. "Oh, don't even try to deny it. I've seen you eat at that food truck three times in one day. Drew said you hate street food."

"Her fusion tacos are innovative," I mutter, but my mind is already racing ahead, seeing possibilities I'd been too focused on the original plan to consider.

"Troy." Meg's voice pulls me back. "You know what else Drew did when he realized he was in love with me?"

"What?"

"He told me the truth. Before anyone else could. Before it was too late." She gives me a pointed look. "Food for thought."

I stand abruptly, nearly knocking over my coffee. "That’s a bit too late Meg, right now I only hope she gives me a chance to make things right. I need to make some calls."

"Of course you do." Meg's smile is knowing. "And Troy? When you figure out your new plan – because I know you're already forming one – remember something: Skye's not just fighting for her food truck. She's fighting for her home. Like I did. Like Mia did."

I pause at the kitchen door, looking back at my sister-in-law and niece, and at this slice of life my brother chose over corporate success. Yet somehow, he ended up with both.

"Thank you," I say quietly.

"Don't thank me. Just don't screw it up." She turns Willow around to face me and pretend-waves her chubby little hand. "And Troy? Maybe change into something less CEO-ish before you try to fix things. The power suits aren't really working for you here."

I laugh at that, the first real laugh since everything fell apart on that pier. As I head to my car, my phone is already in my hand, scrolling through contacts. I have calls to make, plans to revise, and a heart to unbreak.

But first, I need to figure out exactly what makes Skye Martinez's fusion tacos so unforgettable. Because somehow, I suspect that's the key to understanding everything else about this town.

***

Back in my room at the inn, I've transformed the antique writing desk into a makeshift war room. My laptop displays financial projections while papers cover every available surface. My jacket's draped over the chair, sleeves rolled up – a sure sign I've been at this for hours.

Three cups of coffee, two conference calls with our legal team, and one very enlightening conversation with our market research department have led me to one conclusion: I've been an idiot.

"Run those numbers by me one more time," Mona says through my laptop speaker. My youngest sister's face fills one part of the screen, while Lillian occupies another. Both wear the trademark Bellamy skeptical expression.

"The projections show a 47% higher community engagement rate in locations where we've maintained local business autonomy," I explain, for what feels like the hundredth time. "Drew's partnership model with Seaside Inn has outperformed our traditional acquisitions by 23% in guest satisfaction and repeat bookings."

"Since when do you care about community engagement?" Lillian asks, pushing her glasses up her nose. "Last month you said small-town sentimentality was eating into our profit margins."

I suppress a wince. She's right – that sounds exactly like something I would have said. The Troy from three weeks ago would have sneered at the very idea of compromise.

"Things change," I say, shuffling through my papers. "Look at the demographic shifts. Younger travelers are actively seeking authentic local experiences. They want character, not corporate uniformity."

"And this sudden revelation has nothing to do with a certain food truck owner?" Mona's smile is knowing. Even through the screen, I can feel myself being read like a quarterly report.

"This is about smart business," I counter, but my voice lacks conviction. "Our competitors are already moving in. If we don't adapt our approach, we'll lose these markets entirely."

"Mhmm." Lillian leans closer to her camera. "That's why you've been up since dawn working on this new proposal? Pure business?"

I loosen my tie – another tell they'll definitely notice. "Have either of you actually been to Seaside Cove?"

They exchange glances. "No, but …”

"Then come." The words surprise even me. "This weekend. See what Drew saw. What I see."

"Troy," Mona sighs, bouncing her youngest who is slightly off-screen. "We trust your judgment on acquisitions. Usually. But this complete reversal …"

"… is based on solid market research and first-hand observation." I pull up another spreadsheet. "But don't take my word for it. Come see for yourselves."

There's a long pause. Lillian taps her pen against her desk – a habit from childhood that means she's considering something.

"You're serious about this," she says finally. It's not a question.

"Dead serious." I lean back, choosing my next words carefully. "Remember when Drew first told us about Meg? About staying in Seaside Cove?"

"We thought he'd lost his mind," Mona says softly.

"And now?"

"Now he has a beautiful wife, a precocious son, an adorable daughter, and the inn's profits are up 40% over a year ago." Lillian finishes. "Point taken."

"So, you'll come?"

Another shared look between my sisters. Even separated by screens, they've always had this uncanny ability to communicate silently.

"Fine," Mona says. "But don’t expect me to fall in love or anything. I’m bringing my hardest self.”

"And I'm bringing my spreadsheets," Lillian adds. "If we're going to restructure our entire small-town acquisition strategy, I want to run my own numbers."

"Deal." I try to hide my relief, but I'm sure they see it anyway. "I'll have Drew help with arrangements."

"Troy?" Mona's voice stops me before I can end the call. "Is she worth all this?"

The question hits harder than expected. I think of Skye's passion when she talks about her recipes, her laugh when I admitted I'd never eaten from a food truck before, the way she lights up when talking about her plans for the future. A future I almost destroyed.

"The town is worth it," I say diplomatically.

"Right." Lillian smirks. "The town."

After ending the call, I lean back in my chair, loosening my tie completely. A breeze from the open window carries the scent of the ocean, mixed with something else – the unmistakable aroma of Skye's food truck. She's back at her usual spot by the pier.

My phone shows no messages from her, not that I expected any. But now, at least, I have a plan.

I type out a new message: Mona and Lillian are coming this weekend. I know you're angry, and you have every right to be. But I'm asking for one chance to show you – to show everyone – that there's a better way. No hidden agendas this time.

My finger hovers over the send button. Through the window, I can hear the distant sounds of the town coming alive – shopkeepers calling greetings, the coffee shop's morning rush, children laughing on their way to school. All the little pieces that make this place what it is. What I almost helped destroy.

I hit send before I can second-guess myself.

Then I do something I haven't done since arriving in Seaside Cove: I pull up my calendar and clear it completely. No calls. No meetings. No acquisitions.

Just one impossible task: proving to my siblings, this town, and most importantly, to Skye, that Troy Bellamy – corporate shark, notorious dealmaker, and self-proclaimed enemy of small-town inefficiency – can change.

The irony isn't lost on me that I'm approaching winning back Skye's trust like a business deal. But it's the only way I know how.

At least for now.

My phone buzzes. For a moment, my heart stops, thinking it might be Skye. Instead, it's Drew: Meg told me about your morning chat. About time, brother. Need help with damage control?

I smile despite myself. Yes. And Drew? Thank you for being right about this place.

Took you long enough to admit it , comes his reply.

Standing at the window, I watch as the morning crowd gathers around Skye's food truck. Even from here, I can see her moving with practiced efficiency, her dark curls caught in the sea breeze. She's wearing that ridiculous apron with the dancing tacos that I secretly find adorable.

My phone buzzes again. This time, it's Skye.

This weekend. You get one chance to explain. After that, either leave us alone or help us. No middle ground.

It's more than I deserve, but less than I hoped for. Still, it's a start.

I begin making lists – accommodations for my sisters, local attractions they need to see, key community members they should meet. But my eyes keep drifting to the pier, to the vibrant food truck that somehow became the heart of my redemption story.

One chance. That's all I need.

I hope.