16. SKYE

Chapter sixteen

SKYE

I'm absolutely terrible at waiting.

My chef's knife hits the cutting board with surgical precision, each chop punctuating my nervous energy.

My wrist flicks as I hack through yet another onion, the rhythm like a drumbeat, my only defense against the mess of nerves tangling in my stomach.

Slice. Dice. Mince. It's like I'm conducting a culinary symphony of anxiety, and these poor vegetables are my unwitting orchestra.

“You’re gonna obliterate those onions if you keep going like that,” Zoey calls out from the food truck window, a smirk on her face as she watches me massacre my produce.

I pause, looking down at the massacre of tear-inducing produce.

She's not wrong.

These poor things look like they just barely survived a natural disaster, and I’m the hurricane.

"Occupational hazard of overthinking," I mutter, wiping my hands on my apron, the soft cotton worn from countless shifts in this truck. This space is more than just a kitchen on wheels; it’s my sanctuary, my armor, the one place I can always count on to be mine.

My phone sits on the counter like a ticking time bomb.

Silent.

Waiting. Mocking me.

But not today. Because my phone — sitting right there on the counter, silent and mocking — threatens to take all of this away from me. One call from Troy and everything could change. For me. For my truck. For the whole damn town of Seaside Cove.

Who would’ve thought some hotshot CEO, looking all broody and corporate, would just drop into my life like an earthquake? And who would’ve thought I’d end up caring so much about what he has to say?

My fingers itch to reach for the phone. Just one quick check. Nothing yet.

Troy. His name alone sends a shiver down my spine—a mix of frustration and something dangerously close to excitement. I remember our first meeting like it was yesterday.

Him, all grumpy and powerful, stumbling out of that private jet disaster, looking more like a disgruntled businessman than a savior.

Me, throwing myself in front of my truck, ready to protect it from some billionaire who probably thought of food trucks as a roadside inconvenience.

And now? Now, here I am waiting for his call like it’s some kind of lifeline.

Not yet. Don't get your hopes up, Skye.

I've learned that lesson the hard way. Corporate types like Troy aren't known for keeping promises. They're known for spreadsheets, profit margins, and destroying small-town dreams.

But this Troy... he's different. Complicated.

Infuriating. This man is infuriating, with his thousand-dollar suits and calculating gaze. But also… kind. And loyal. And the kind of person who keeps his promises, even if I’d never admit it out loud.

The onions are now basically onion dust.

"You're stress cooking again," Zoey singsongs.

"I am not stress cooking. I'm... strategically processing vegetables."

She snorts. "Sure, honey. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

I shake my head at her playfully but can't help the smile spreading across my face. My best friend knows me too well.

It’s nice to have her here, even if she’s the biggest instigator of my spiraling. Zoey’s my rock. She knows me better than anyone. Which is why she also knows exactly what this deal means to me.

Another glance at the phone. Still nothing.

Come on, Troy. Give me something. Anything.

The anticipation is killing me.

One moment, I want to punch him. The next, I want to kiss him.

Love is weird.

Scratch that – whatever this is, is weird.

My phone remains stubbornly silent.

Time to make another batch of my signature jalapeno-mango salsa. Because if I can't control when Troy calls, I can definitely control how many peppers I chop.

After what feels like hours later, my phone finally rings just as I'm slicing the last jalapeno. My hand freezes mid-chop.

My heart stops.

Deep breath, Skye. Play it cool.

I take a shaky breath and swipe to answer, trying to keep my voice from sounding as breathless as I feel.

I answer, trying to sound casual. "Hey."

Troy's voice is a mix of excitement and nervousness. "We did it," he says, and I can practically hear the grin spreading across his face.

My heart does this ridiculous somersault. "What exactly did we do?"

He dives into the details, his words tumbling out in a rush of excitement. His family agreed. The partnership’s a go—a silent investment that’ll protect Seaside Cove from its competitors’ big, greedy hands. No bulldozing the town. No monstrous high-rises. Just the promise of preserving what makes this place feel like home.

My grip on the phone tightens, the relief washing over me like a cool ocean wave. The town’s safe. My food truck is safe. Everything I’ve fought for is safe.

“Meet me on the beach,” he says, and it’s not a question. It’s that deep, delicious command that gets under my skin every time.

He’s here? He’s back? I didn't know about that.

I swear my heart almost bursts out of excitement, but I play it cool.

I roll my eyes, even though he can't see me.

"Twenty minutes," I respond, already reaching for my favorite jacket. The vintage denim one with a few patches from past food truck adventures.

Zoey catches my eye. One eyebrow raised. That classic 'I know something's happening' look.

“Not a word,” I warn, slipping out of the truck as she makes a show of zipping her lips and winking. “I’ll be back.”

She mimes zipping her lips, then adds, "Ooh, beach rendezvous. Very romantic."

I throw a pepper at her. She ducks, laughing.

The beach is my sanctuary. Especially this time of day – when the sun starts dipping, painting the sky in these insane watercolor shades of orange and pink. The waves create a constant, rhythmic soundtrack that always calms my racing thoughts.

Troy's already there when I arrive. Standing with his back to me, hands in his pockets, watching evening fall. He looks different.

Less corporate shark, more... human.

When that happened, I still don’t know.

I clear my throat. "So. We won?"

He turns. Our eyes lock. And just like that, the entire world narrows down to this moment.

No fancy words. No dramatic speeches.

Just us. The beach. The promise of something incredible.

"We won," he confirms.

And then he pulls me close, and everything else just... disappears.

The town's drama, the past few crazy weeks, my absolute rollercoaster of emotions - just... disappears. His arms around me feel like home.

Which is ridiculous. I've known this man for what, a month? And he nearly destroyed everything I love about Seaside Cove.

But here we are.

"You're incredibly infuriating, you know that?" I mumble into his chest.

His laugh rumbles through me.

Deep. Genuine. Nothing like the chuckle I'd heard before.

The waves crash against the shore, creating this perfect rhythm.

It’s my favorite time of day - when the sky looks like someone spilled watercolors across the horizon. Oranges bleeding into pinks, soft purples creeping in at the edges.

Nature's own masterpiece.

"Tell me everything," I demand, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye. "And I mean everything. No corporate speak. No bull."

Troy's smile is a dangerous thing. The kind that makes my heart do these ridiculous gymnastics. "My sisters agreed to the silent partnership and helped me get the board in line. We'll protect the town's character, invest sustainably. No massive developments. No soul-crushing corporate takeover."

I raise an eyebrow. "And the rivals?"

"Blocked," he says simply. "They won't touch Seaside Cove."

I raise an eyebrow, trying not to look as surprised as I feel. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he says, a hint of pride slipping into his voice.

I should be more suspicious. I should be grilling him with questions, tearing apart every word for hidden motives.

But here, in the fading light with his arms still around me, I can’t bring myself to care about the details.

The man who was supposed to be my enemy is standing here with me on this beach, making promises that feel like hope. And I want to believe him. Truly, I want to believe that maybe, just maybe, he’s telling the truth.

"You realize this doesn't mean I like you, right?" I say, trying to sound tough.

Troy's laugh is pure magic. "Of course not."

My hand finds his. Intertwined. Natural. Like we've done this a thousand times before.

The thing about love - or whatever this crazy thing between us is - is that it never goes according to plan. One moment you're chopping onions and plotting how to save your town, the next you're standing on a beach with the man who was supposed to be your enemy.

Life is weird. But right now?

It's pretty damn perfect.