12. SKYE

Chapter twelve

SKYE

Chop, dice, sauté, serve.

Repeat. No time to think about lying CEOs or betrayed trust or stupidly perfect kisses that apparently meant nothing.

The morning rush at my food truck is exactly what I need right now.

"Order up!" I slide the Korean-Mexican fusion tacos across my counter, probably with more force than necessary. The plate skids dangerously close to the edge before my regular customer, old Mr. Peterson, catches it.

"Everything okay there, Skye?" He peers at me over his wire-rimmed glasses.

"Peachy." I attack the next bell pepper with my knife. "Just peachy keen."

The morning crowd keeps coming, and I keep cooking. It's what I'm good at.

What I can trust.

Unlike certain billionaire hotel moguls who sweep into town pretending to be—nope.

Not going there. Focus on the food, Skye.

My phone buzzes for the fifth time this morning. Probably another text from the community group chat. I've been avoiding it since... well, since everything blew up. But when I finally check during a lull, my stomach drops.

URGENT: Unknown company moving forward with aggressive buyout on Seaside Cove. Emergency meeting needed ASAP.

The knife in my hand stills. Below that message is a barrage of panicked responses from other business owners.

This isn't just about my broken heart anymore. This is about my home. My community.

I grip the counter edge, taking deep breaths of ocean-salted air. Fine.

Fine . If Troy Bellamy thinks he can just waltz in here, steal my heart, and then steal my town…

He's got another think coming.

I grab my phone and start typing.

Emergency meeting. Tonight. 7PM at the Lighthouse Café. Spread the word.

Because if there's one thing that jerks like Troy never understand about small towns? We fight back.

The afternoon drags by slower than molasses in January. I've stress-cooked enough special fusion tacos to feed half of Seaside Cove, my mind running through a thousand scenarios about which corporate vulture is trying to swoop in and destroy our town.

Deep down, I know I'm being unfair blaming Troy without proof. The text just said "unknown company," but my heart's already convicted him. Maybe because it hurts less to be angry than to admit I miss him.

“Oh, great, you're totally burning the kimchi!” a voice startles me.

I jump, nearly dropping my spatula. Zoey's hanging halfway through my food truck window, her red hair falling in her face as she sniffs dramatically at the air.

"I am not." But I am. The smell of slightly charred cabbage makes me wince. "Don't you have a salon to run?"

"Don't you have food to not burn?" She reaches over and turns down my grill heat. "That's the third batch I've watched you massacre today. This is getting sad, babe."

"I'm not—" The spatula clatters against the grill. "Wait, you've been watching me?"

"Someone has to make sure you don't burn down your truck while you're too busy having your Troy-induced crisis."

"I am not having a …" I stop, squinting at her. "Have you been stress-eating my tacos again?"

"Maybe." She grabs another one from the warming tray. "But only because I'm worried about you. And because they're delicious, even when they're slightly charred."

I grab a clean pan, trying to ignore the knowing look in her eyes. Zoey's been my best friend since high school – she can read me like one of her gossip magazines.

"Actually," she says around a mouthful of taco, "I'm here about the meeting tonight. You really want to do this at the café? We could do it at my salon. I've got wine."

"No." I keep my eyes on the grill. "The café's more central. Plus, Katie's offering free coffee."

Katie’s the town treasurer and our biggest cafe owner. She told us about receiving an email with huge offers of money to sell off her land.

She obviously is against it and that’s why she is actively helping our course now.

"Uh-huh." She leans further into my truck. "And this has absolutely nothing to do with avoiding certain sexy CEOs who might be lurking at certain places?"

"I will ban you from taco privileges."

"No, you won't. You love me too much." She steals another taco. "But seriously, babe. Maybe hear the whole story before you go full scorched earth?"

She tilts her head giving me a look that says ‘you hear me, girl? Let’s not jump to conclusions.’

Then I watch her sashay back to her salon, probably to gossip with her afternoon clients.

The thing is, I'm scared to hear the whole story. Scared that if I let Troy explain, I might believe him again.

Trust him. And look how well that worked out the first time.

My phone pings again. Another message in the group chat, this time from Katie: Chairs set up. Ready whenever you are, boss lady.

Boss lady.

Right. Because somehow I've become the one everyone's looking to for answers. Me, the food truck girl who can't even figure out her own heart.

I start packing up early, carefully storing away my ingredients. The sunset paints the ocean in shades of pink and gold, and for a moment, I remember watching it with Troy that night on the pier. Before everything fell apart. Before I knew who he really was.

"Get it together, Martinez," I mutter, giving my truck's counters one final wipe. "Town first, feelings later."

But as I lock up and head toward the café, my heart's doing this stupid little dance in my chest. Because a tiny part of me – the part I'm trying hard to ignore – is hoping he'll show up tonight.

And an even tinier part is terrified that he will.

Later, that evening, the Lighthouse Café is packed tighter than my food truck during lunch rush. Katie's pushed all the tables together in one long conference-style setup, though it still looks more like a cozy dinner party than an emergency meeting.

The smell of coffee and fresh-baked cookies fills the air – leave it to Katie to stress-bake at a time like this.

I slide into a seat at the head of the table, trying to look more confident than I feel. Everyone's watching me like I've got all the answers, when really, I'm just as scared as they are.

"Okay, people." I clear my throat, pulling out my tablet. "Let's talk about …"

The bell above the door chimes.

My heart does this weird stuttering thing, but it's just old Mr. J shuffling in. Not Troy.

Obviously not Troy.

Why would it be Troy? I need to stop doing this to myself.

"Sorry I'm late," he wheezes, settling into a chair. "Had to run a quick errand."

I force myself to focus. "Right. So, we all saw the message about the buyout threat.”

"Is it true?" Mrs. Chen from the flower shop cuts in. "Someone's really trying to buy the whole waterfront?"

"That's what we're hearing," Katie says, passing around more coffee. "My supplier mentioned something about luxury hotels."

My stomach clenches. Luxury hotels. Just like Bellamy Corp specializes in.

"The point is," I continue, gripping my coffee mug too tightly, "we need a push forward with our plans. This isn't just a threat anymore. It’s becoming real."

Zoey, perched on the counter behind me (because obviously chairs are too mainstream for her), pipes up. "What about that preservation initiative we talked about last month?"

"Too slow," George from the hardware store grumbles. "These corporate types, they move fast. Like sharks."

The room erupts into worried chatter. I catch fragments of conversations – "My lease is up next month," "Can't afford to relocate," "Been here thirty years..."

The bell chimes again.

This time, I don't let myself look up. I'm done hoping. Done wondering. Done—

"I might be able to help with that."

Every muscle in my body freezes. I know that voice. That deep, slightly rough voice that's been haunting my dreams for days.

Slowly, I raise my head.

Troy stands in the doorway, looking impossibly good in a casual blue button-down and jeans. His hair's messy like he's been running his hands through it – something I know he does when he's stressed. Not that I should know his habits. Not that I should care.

The room goes silent. Everyone's looking between us like they're watching one of those telenovelas my abuela loves.

"What are you doing here?" The words come out sharper than I intended. Or maybe exactly as sharp as I intended.

He takes a step forward, hands raised like he's approaching a wild animal. Which, okay, fair. I might bite.

"I heard about the meeting." His eyes lock with mine. "And I think I know who's behind the buyout."

My heart's doing the cha-cha in my chest, but I keep my voice steady. "Oh, really? Do tell."

"It's not what you think, Skye." Another step closer. "It's not my company."

"Then whose is it?"

"If you'll let me explain.”

The bell chimes a third time, and this time it's Drew – Troy's brother – bursting in, looking worried. "Troy, we've got a problem. Richardson Corp just made their move."

And suddenly, everything clicks into place. The mysterious buyer. The aggressive timeline. The way Troy's been looking more stressed than smug.

He wasn't lying.

He wasn't the threat.

And now he's here, offering to help, while I've spent the past week plotting ways to destroy him.

Well, shoot.

The café erupts into chaos faster than my food truck during the seafood festival. Everyone's talking at once, and I'm still stuck on the fact that I've spent a week mentally villainizing the wrong person.

"Richardson Corp?" Katie's already pulling up searches on her phone. "Aren't they the ones who turned Pine Harbor into that awful resort town?"

Meg walks in behind Drew, little Willow (I think that’s what Mrs. Delmar told me was the little angel’s name some days ago) sleeping peacefully against her chest in one of those fancy baby wraps. Elliott is holding Drew’s hand solidly and plants himself near Drew’s legs. Even in the middle of all this drama, my heart melts a little. Those kids are seriously too cute for their own good.

"Sorry to crash the meeting," Meg says softly, bouncing slightly as the baby stirs. "But when Drew heard about Richardson's plans..."

"It’s worse than we thought," Drew cuts in, pulling out a chair for Meg before taking the seat next to her. "They don't just want the waterfront – they want everything. The whole town."

I'm trying really hard not to look at Troy, but it's like my eyes have a mind of their own. He's still standing there, looking at me with those intense dark eyes that make my stomach do backflips.

"So, what's their plan?" I finally ask, proud that my voice comes out steady.

"Total transformation." Troy moves closer to the table, and I catch a whiff of his stupidly expensive cologne. "They want to turn Seaside Cove into the next big luxury destination. Shopping malls, high-rise hotels, golf courses..."

"Over my dead body," Zoey mutters from her perch.

Willow makes a tiny snuffling sound in her sleep, and we all instinctively lower our voices. It's kind of funny how one tiny human can control a room full of adults.

"Look," Troy says, softer now, "I know I'm probably the last person you want help from." His eyes meet mine, and there's something there that makes my heart stutter. "But I know how Richardson operates. I know their playbook. And I know how to stop them."

"Why would you help us?" The words slip out before I can stop them.

He doesn't look away. "Because some things are more important than business."

Oh.

Oh!

"Well," Drew says, breaking the moment, "I'm in." He looks around the room. "This town gave me everything – my wife, my kids, a home. I'm not letting Richardson destroy that."

Meg shifts Willow to her other arm, her face determined. "Me neither. This is where I want our children to grow up."

One by one, everyone starts nodding. Even Mr. Peterson, who usually naps through these meetings, looks fired up.

And me? I'm still trying to process the fact that Troy Bellamy – Mr. Corporate CEO himself – is actually on our side. That maybe I've been so busy protecting my heart, I didn't see what was right in front of me.

"Okay," I say finally, straightening in my chair. "Let's hear this plan of yours."

Troy's lips curve into that half-smile that definitely doesn't make my knees weak. "Really?"

"Really." I gesture to an empty chair. "But if this is some elaborate scheme, just remember – I know where you sleep." I pause. "And I have access to ghost peppers."

A laugh ripples through the room, breaking the tension. Even Elliot giggles like he’s in on the joke.

As Troy takes the seat next to me – close enough that our elbows brush, sending tiny electric shocks up my arm – I realize something. Sometimes the biggest threats aren't the ones you can see coming. And sometimes the best allies are the ones you least expect.

Now if I could just get my heart to stop doing cartwheels every time he looks at me, that would be great.