Page 75 of Banter & Blushes #1

BECKETT

B eck was exactly where he planned to be. He was barefoot, semi-horizontal, and holding a lukewarm cup of coffee on his weathered front porch.

It was his favorite part of the day. Just him, the waves, and gulls squawking like they had opinions to share. He stretched, bare toes curling against the porch railing, and took another sip of coffee. It wasn’t great, but it was caffeinated. He had no complaints.

Until he heard a sputtering, rattling, and high-pitched electric whine.

It was unnatural.

It was coming closer.

Then, racing into his gravel driveway like a mission statement on wheels, the pastel menace came into view.

He blinked.

Surely, she wasn’t coming to see him. But the golf cart skidded to a stop, and Beck knew in an instant he’d underestimated Caroline Hollis’s determination and his own reluctance.

Beck stilled. She parked next to his truck, a bright punctuation mark in his colorless world. He watched, half-amused but mostly incredulous, as she stepped from the monstrosity and surveyed the beach house.

The echo of Sandy’s cheeky observations rang in his head.

Caroline emerged with a flourish almost as bold as the contraption she drove.

Her hair, tousled by the wind, gave her an air of frazzled elegance.

Despite the intrusion, and despite himself, Beck couldn’t help noticing how the bright pink sweater made her look fresh and stubbornly out of place against the muted gray of the sky.

She hesitated, taking in the driftwood porch and the hammock swaying lazily like it had all day. Beck’s eyes narrowed as he noticed the clipboard clutched in her hand. Of course. Tropical storm Caroline: the agenda-bearing menace. He braced for the impact.

Taking a breath, more for show than necessity (feigned disinterest always worked best) he stood up, leaning casually against the porch post with practiced indifference.

“You lost, Hollis?” Her eyes found him, and the familiar, unyielding set of her jaw told him this was no social call.

“Do I need to call the authorities?” he shouted down to her.

She looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun. She was manic energy wrapped in a pink sweater.

“Really, Beckett? You’re going to run and hide when I haven’t even made it to your porch?”

“You lost? Off course? Got the famous Caroline GPS malfunction? This doesn’t look like city hall,” he remarked, watching her step with purpose across the gravel in shoes that seemed hostile to Bluebell Bay’s casual terrain.

He put his mug down on the railing and curled his hands, shoving them into his pockets. Caroline wasn’t supposed to be here. Not in his space. Certainly not in his head.

“Nope,” she said, her voice breathless with certainty and sea air. “I’m right where I need to be. Turns out city hall needs a lot of help,” she replied, her steps rhythmic on the porch.

Those words got his attention.

“Well, Mayor Hollis, what can I do for you?”

Caroline stopped at the bottom of the stairs and put her foot on the first step. Pulling a planner from her oversized tote, she flipped it open with military precision.

“I need help.”

He blinked. “Not usually how people start conversations with me.”

“Bluebell Bay needs a rebrand. A website. A summer campaign. And according to your very nosy fan club at The Holler & Fork, you’re exactly the man for the job. You have a background in marketing.”

“Had,” he corrected.

“You’re retired.”

“Blissfully.”

“Not anymore.”

His brow lifted. “Excuse me?”

She looked up from her planner, sunglasses still perched on her nose like a shield.

“Bluebell Bay is floundering. Tourism’ s down. Businesses are struggling. We need a campaign. Something fresh, modern, and effective. You used to create that kind of thing, didn’t you?”

“Used to.”

“So, you’re capable.”

For a moment, Beck stared, a mix of confusion and grudging admiration on his face.

“You always come in this hot?”

“Only when the future of my town is at stake.” After pausing for a breath, she snapped the planner shut. “And I’m on a deadline.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but I retired for a reason.”

“You’re not eighty. You’re barefoot.”

“These are two excellent life choices.”

“And yet,” she said, sliding something across the porch railing, “you’re still curious enough to hear me out.”

He looked down.

A flyer. Or rather, a rough draft of one. At the top, bold font read:

Bluebell Bay: Where Summer Comes to Stay.

He winced at the bright clip art and Comic Sans font.

A dolphin wearing sunglasses? Seriously?

“Wow. This is … impressively tragic.”

He could already see the changes he’d make, how he’d tie it to a social media campaign, geo-targeted ads, coastal influencer outreach…

Beck scowled.

“You tricked me into brainstorming.”

“I absolutely did.”

“You’re dangerous.”

“I’m persistent.”

He took a step closer, arms crossed.

“You will not let this go, will you?”

“Not even a little.”

Beck sighed, looked at the flyer again, then at the woman who’d stormed his porch without warning, and turned his quiet morning into a strategic planning session.

“You have coffee in your bag?”

She reached in, pulled out a travel mug, and handed it over.

“Hazelnut creamer, two sugars.”

He stared at her. “You asked Gigi, didn’t you?”

“Gigi has a very detailed bingo card, Mr. Beckett. Don’t flatter yourself.”

He chuckled despite himself. Took a sip. She wasn’t wrong. It was exactly how he liked it .

“Okay,” he said finally. “One meeting. Just one.”

“One’s all I need. Be at my office at 1 o’clock sharp. Wear shoes.” She turned and headed back toward The Hollis Express, hips swaying with victorious satisfaction.

“Nice binder, by the way,” he called after her.

“Don’t mock the binder,” she tossed over her shoulder. “It’s saved more lives than sunscreen.”

He watched her drive away, her wild curls whipping like a victory flag, determination written in every inch of her posture.

Beck took another sip of coffee.

Well, he thought. There goes my quiet summer.

And somehow … he wasn’t mad at all about it.

Beck had barely stepped through the doors of Bluebell Bay’s town hall when the scent of burning coffee hit him in the face and paper shuffling reached his ears.

She was already there.

Of course she was.

Caroline sat behind her desk, her legendary binder open like a sacred text, tabs fluttering as she flipped pages with alarming speed.

“You’re half an hour early,” she said without looking up.

He peered over the desk at the open binder. “And you’re only on page twelve. Should I be worried?”

“Only if you thought this was going to be easy.”

He set a paper to-go cup on the edge of her desk. She glanced at it and returned to studying the paper in front of her. “That for me?”

““Light cream, no sugar. Sandy said it’s how you drank it.”

“You stopped by the diner?” Manicured nails wrapped around the paper cup, pulling it closer.

“I stopped and grabbed lunch. Do you want anything? I can always call.”

Beck watched her hair bounce around her shoulders as she shook her head.

“No. I grabbed a sandwich from home.”

“I believe in starting strong.”

“I believe in follow-through.”

“ And I believe you’re already bossing me around.”

“Excellent. We’re aligned.” She finally looked up, and something about the way she smiled made him forget for a second he was supposed to be retired. “Thanks for the coffee.”

He watched her for a minute and then moved to the windowsill, leaning against it so she couldn’t read every thought on his face. “What’s the plan, Hollis? You’re the one with the grandma army and the strategic initiative.”

Caroline twirled her highlighter between nimble fingers.

“We know what we’re up against. Empty town, empty pockets, empty promises from my father, the traitor .

We need to lure tourists back and keep them coming through Labor Day.

” Beck nodded, although she couldn’t see it.

“How do we make Bluebell Bay the place to be? Coastal nostalgia with a modern twist? Lower the median age of our visitors from sixty-five to twenty-five.”

“You need to do it without scaring away everyone else.”

She swiveled her chair and scrutinized him closely, as if determining whether he was genuine or merely humoring her. “You in, Beckett?”

Beck rubbed his chin and felt the familiar buzz of adrenaline from a marketing campaign. He was supposed to be done with the lure and high from out-thinking the competition.

“It’s never going to work,” he said lightly. “Those clip art dolphins might make it to senior center tote bags, but not a movie star’s Instagram.”

All Caroline heard was he accepted the challenge. “So, I’ll need someone who can do better.”

Her confidence startled him, how she assumed he’d already said yes.

“This is a one-time deal, Hollis.”

“You sure? It sounds like it might be more.”

“One condition,” he said, liking the way she focused, the flicker of determination in those green eyes. “You don’t get to boss me around this summer.”

“Two conditions,” she replied, a stubborn tilt to her chin. “You actually show up.”

“Deal,” he replied.

“Have a seat.” She motioned to the chair in front of her desk.

He watched her for a minute before sinking into a chair on the opposite side of the desk and took a sip from his coffee cup.

“You okay over there?” he asked.

“What makes you ask?”

“Because you’re holding your highlighter like a weapon.”

She blinked, looked down at the neon-yellow marker clutched in her hand, and slowly set it aside.

“It’s this gala,” she admitted. “There’s a lot riding on it.”

“You don’t say.”

Scowling, she tapped her fingers on her desk. “The town needs a win, Beckett.”

He put the cup down and leaned back into the seat, arms crossed, eyes softening. “You need a win.”

She didn’t answer, but her fingers brushed the edge of the binder like she needed the anchor.

“So.” He cleared his throat. “What’s first?”

Caroline perked up, flipping the page with renewed purpose.