Page 3

Chapter Three

(Maggie)

T he scent of fresh paint and cinnamon drifts through Board and Brews, mixing with the salty breeze sneaking in through the propped-open front door. The place is a work in progress—half café, half mayhem—but my mom is practically vibrating with excitement as she surveys the stacks of board games we’re unpacking.

"You know," I say, slicing through another cardboard box with a pair of dull scissors, "I think we might actually own more board games than a corporate warehouse."

Mom dusts her hands off on her jeans, surveying the chaos. "Good. That’s the goal."

"Yeah, but where are we supposed to put all of them?" I motion toward the already-stuffed shelves behind us.

She tilts her head. "Stacking them to the ceiling might be an option. Maybe some Jenga-style suspense for our customers."

Laney snorts, peeling tape off another box. "High-stakes game retrieval. I like it. Loser gets buried under an avalanche of Settlers of Catan."

"Survival of the fittest," Mom agrees.

The bell over the door jingles just then, and I glance up, expecting another delivery. Instead, two guys walk in—one of them almost as familiar to me as Laney. Liam Kilberg. And the other one, I've only met a few times. Beckham Travers. Really tall, really gorgeous. Also, really arrogant. But possibly a decent guy underneath the cool swagger and tough-as-nails persona.

Apparently, he just moved here last year, and since then, he's reigned Ocean Heights the same way Seb Murdoch reigns Sandy Haven Prep. Girls fall all over him at every turn. Which is why I suspect he's had his sights set on me these past couple of weeks—because I'm one of the few who hasn't.

It's like it's destined to become my Sandy Haven mantra: self-absorbed guys are not my jam.

Beck saunters over with a relaxed stride, ocean-blue eyes taking in the café like he’s already memorizing every detail.

I’ve hung out with him a couple of times so far this summer—mostly at bonfires and parties—but never long enough to really figure him out. Yeah, he can be a jerk—and from the stories I've heard, kind of wild—but he's also got this effortless charm, the kind that makes people gravitate toward him.

"Hey," he greets, grinning as he takes in the space. "Damn. This place is sick."

Beside him, Liam barely steps inside. "Looks like a lot of work."

"That’s how businesses work, dude," Beck deadpans, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You do stuff, people pay for stuff, you get money. Basic capitalism."

Liam grins. "Yeah, I'm gonna hit the beach. I'll catch you guys later." He gives a lazy salute and heads out, leaving Beck standing there like this was his plan all along.

"What a bum," I laugh.

Beck grins, picking up a box of Cards Against Humanity which he turns over in his hands. "He conserves all his energy for surfing and jamming."

Mom wipes her palms on her jeans and steps forward. "And who might you be, oh wise sage of surf and capitalism?"

Beck flashes his easy, signature grin, placing the game back on the table. "Beckham Travers, ma’am. This your new coffee shop?"

"Credence LeClair," she says, shaking his hand. "And yep, all mine."

I love the pride in her voice. The unfiltered happiness. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now. This café—it’s everything to my mom.

For years, it's been just the two of us, figuring out life together after my dad bailed and left her drowning in debt when I was just a kid—months before she was due to open a rustic little coffee shop. He was barely around during those early years, and never paid me much attention when he was, so the emotional hit for me when my father left wasn't horrible.

But it was for my mother.

She had to abandon her dream café venture to take a better paying job at a call center, babysitting and working a lot of evenings and weekends, sacrificing so muchjust to make sure I had a happy childhood, despite the mess my deadbeat father left behind. We spent years pinching pennies, stretching grocery budgets, and leaning on each other. But we also had our little traditions—the biggest one being board game nights. No matter how bad things got, we always had that.

And now, finally, after years of grinding, my kick-ass mom is debt-free. And she’s taking the leap. Opening her board game café.

I love that I get to be a part of it.

"Awesome." Beck's eyes flick around again, taking everything in. "Feels like a spot people are gonna love. You need help with anything?"

Mom perks up instantly. "Why, yes, we do. Maggie, put this one to work."

Beck turns in my direction. "So? Where do you want me?"

Laney coughs into her fist. "Loaded question."

I smack her arm, ignoring her muffled giggles and the way Beck waggles his eyebrows suggestively when my mother's turned back to stacking games. Laney's mind lives permanently in the gutter, which I'm used to now. Also, how boy crazy she is, always trying to pair me up with someone or nursing a crush or ten of her own. She thinks the fact that Beck is gorgeous and clearly interested in me is reason enough to tumble into his waiting arms.

I think tumbling into Beck Travers' arms would only lead to trouble and get annoying really fast.

"You can move those shelves to the front," I tell him.

He salutes and gets to work, joking with my mom, dodging Laney’s teasing, and generally fitting into the rhythm of things.

"So Maggs," Laney says after a while, settling onto the counter. “You officially made it through probation. Are we celebrating? Or are you still too traumatized by the Rockwell Incident?"

I groan. " Don’t call it that."

Mom, who’s stacking cups by the espresso machine, turns with a frown. "Wait. What happened with the Rockwells? "

Laney and I exchange a look.

"Nothing," I lie.

Mom narrows her eyes. "Maggie…"

I sigh. "Fine. I got put on probation at the Kid's Club because Xavier Rockwell exists, and The Welsford is allergic to upsetting rich people. But I survived, and now I am officially a free woman."

Technically, the probation lifted a week ago, but this is the first time I've hung out with Laney outside of work in a few days.

Mom's expression softens. "Aw, hon, I'm sorry that happened." She wipes her hands on a dish towel and leans against the counter. "Was this Rockwell guy being offensive?"

Beck straightens to his full height a few feet away. "Was he giving you problems?"

I refrain from rolling my eyes. Just like the arrogance thing, the whole macho guy thing isn't my jam.

"No. He was just obnoxious and entitled."

"Well, there you go." Mom nods sagely, her dark curls bouncing. She gives me that look—the one that says she's about to drop some motherly wisdom. "Sounds like his issue—not yours. Don't let some entitled rich boy get under your skin. Pick your battles, Maggs."

I exhale, then nod. "It’s over, anyway. And honestly? I ended up loving his little brother, Finn. He was a total nightmare for the first few weeks. But turns out, he just needs someone who isn’t gonna let him bulldoze them."

Laney nods. "Yeah, Finn's an awesome little dude, once you get past the tantrums." After a second, she adds, "Don't think I met his parents once yet. Did you?"

"Nope," I shake my head. It's always the new nanny or Denise—the infamous P.A.—who picks Finn up. Interestingly, Xavier's name still hasn't been added to Finn’s pick-up list. So clearly, even his parents realize their eldest son is an obnoxious sugar-coated toad whose maturity level doesn't clock in much higher than his five-year-old brother’s, and therefore should not be entrusted with his care .

"Probably weird rich family dynamics going on." Beck smacks his hand a couple of times against a shelf to click it into place.

Laney lets out a dreamy sigh, sliding off the counter. "Well, I don't care if Xavier Rockwell's family dynamics are more bizarre than a pack of caffeinated chihuahuas. I would literally empty my college fund for five minutes with those perfect lips on my chapped, sunburned ones."

"Gross." I wrinkle my nose. "You need ChapStick and therapy, not Xavier Rockwell."

"Come on," she protests, gesturing wildly. "You can't tell me you haven't noticed his—"

"If you say jawline, I'm throwing this Monopoly board at your head."

I ignore the niggling thoughts reminding me that I did, in fact, notice Xavier Rockwell's jawline. And his eyes. And lips.

Unfortunately, I also noticed his deplorable attitude.

Beck chokes on a laugh, nearly dropping the shelf. "Careful, Laney. I think she means it."

"She better not. That's a brand new Monopoly board," mom pipes in.

"His eyes then," Laney continues, undeterred. "They're like… pools of—"

"Nope." I push my finger against her lips. "No poetry about Xavier's eyes. I'd rather bathe in a tub of week-old gas station sushi."

Mom snorts from behind the counter. "Wow, that's oddly specific."

"You're all impossible," Laney declares, throwing her hands up. "One day, you'll understand. One magical day when you realize Xavier Rockwell is—"

"The only unexpected revelation I'll ever have about Xavier Rockwell is that—"

"Alright, boss". Beck cuts me off. "Enough bashing Rockwell." He glances at the shelves he just positioned. "What’s next?"

The next few hours blur into a rhythm of unpacking, organizing, and transforming the space. Mom's vision comes alive with each box we open. The massive windows flood the café with late afternoon light while Beck helps hang potted plants, their leaves casting dancing shadows across the hardwood floors, while Laney and I string fairy lights across exposed beams.

Eventually, Laney, Beck and I hug my mother goodbye and bike out to Marram Lighthouse, racing through Sandy Haven's winding streets. The salty air whips through my hair as we coast downhill, past sprawling beach houses and overflowing flower boxes. Beck shows off almost the entire time, doing backflips and spins and a bunch of other insane stunts on his bike. And I think even Laney finds his brand of cockiness eye-roll worthy.

A few people are already there when we arrive, gathering driftwood for the fire pit. And once we get it started, we cook hot dogs over the flames. Talk for hours, then set up tents and fall asleep sometime in the wee hours of the morning to the sound of waves lapping against the shore.

So far, Sandy Haven is turning out to be nothing like I expected it to be, but in all the best ways.