Toff frowned. “Why?”
Dallas shrugged. “Because Viv wants me to hurt you. Because you’re a sorry excuse for a human.” He chewed on his compostable straw. “Because you’re heartbroken and don’t know how to fix the mess you made.”
Deep inside his chest, Toff’s heart peeked out of its cell. “Do you?”
“Do I what?” Dallas jammed his straw into his green smoothie and slurped.
“Know how I can fix things with Amy.”
Dallas spun on his stool, deep in thought. Or at least that’s what Toff assumed, since Dallas’s brain was a computer, always processing input and output.
Short of cutting out his own heart and offering it to Amy on a platter, Toff couldn’t think of anything he could do to prove he loved her. He hated that he’d never told her exactly how he felt, that he’d never said the L-word.
“I know what I’d do if I screwed up big with Viv,” Dallas said, jolting Toff out of his thoughts.
“Tell me.”
“I can’t.” Dallas shook his head. “I only know what I’d do for my girlfriend. You have to figure out what to do for Amy.”
Toff’s heart slammed the cell door shut. “So much for helping me.”
“I am helping you, idiot.” Dallas’s green eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “You can’t do a generic apology. You have to knock this out of the park. Do something that shows how well you know her.” Dallas pointed to Toff’s smoothie. “Aren’t you going to drink that?”
“Not hungry.” He hadn’t eaten much at all the past few days. He knew he should sleep and eat healthy if he was going to compete, especially since he still wasn’t 100 percent, but Toff couldn’t find it in himself to give a crap.
Dallas’s phone lit up with a text. “I’m due at Viv’s in ten minutes.” He glanced up. “Want to try out your groveling skills on her first?”
Toff shook his head. He needed to figure out a way to win back Amy, not face down his almost-sister, who’d rip him a new one.
Dallas hopped off his stool and grabbed Toff’s smoothie. “I’ll tell her this is a peace offering from you.” He grinned. “Hope she doesn’t throw it in my face.”
…
Hours later, Toff unzipped his wet suit and flopped onto his towel. He was exhausted and in pain. He’d spent the afternoon channeling his frustration and cluelessness about how to apologize on his board. He’d pushed himself too far, much farther than Doc wanted when she’d cleared him to “ease back into surfing.” Coach would be pissed if he saw him.
He lay on his back, one arm behind his head, the other holding his ribs.
Dad’s words echoed in his head: Why are you so smart about some things and so clueless about others?
His legs shook and his stomach felt hollow. He really should have drunk that smoothie earlier. He closed his eyes, listening to the gulls’ cries overhead and shouts and laughter echoing down the beach. His stomach curdled. Nothing sounded appetizing…except one of Mr. McIntyre’s cookies. He sighed. He’d never taste those epic cookies again.
Wait…
Buzzing tingles streaked through Toff’s body, from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. He sat up abruptly, scrabbling for his phone in his backpack.
Was this what people meant by a light-bulb moment? Being zapped with a genius idea? His idea might be crazy, but somehow, it felt right.
It would take every ounce of swagger he had, but if he could pull this off…
He swiped open his phone and dialed.
…
Thirty minutes later, Toff met Brayden at the bottom of Monarch Lane. Brayden perched on the bus stop bench, holding a small box, wearing oversize sunglasses and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. A grin tugged at the corner of Toff’s mouth as he approached his favorite troublemaker.
“What’s the code word?” Brayden asked when Toff sat down.
“There isn’t one.”
Brayden clutched the box to his chest. “No code word, no merch.”
Toff huffed a sharp laugh. “Brayden. Come on. I need your help, bro. You’re the only person I called.”
Brayden lowered his sunglasses, surveying Toff suspiciously. “What about your other friends?”
Toff shook his head. “You’re my main man, dude. The only guy who can help me.”
Brayden removed his sunglasses and squinted at Toff. “I don’t see how my dad’s cookies are going to help you win back my sister. She can eat them whenever she wants.”
“You’ve gotta trust me.” Toff reached for the box, but Brayden clutched it tighter.
“I’m not sure I should help you.” His face pinched into a glare. “You made Amy sad, Toff. I sort of want to punch you.”
Toff nodded. “I want to punch me, too. You go first.” He flexed a bicep. “Right here. Hard as you can.”
Brayden’s eyes lit up, and Toff clenched his muscles, ready to take a hit.
“Go on. Do it.” Somebody needed to hit him. He deserved it. He’d half hoped Dallas would, because it would’ve hurt like hell and left a mark, but he hadn’t. Stupid best friend.
“Nah.” Brayden sighed. “I can’t.” He scowled at the box in his lap. “I’m probably supposed to hate you, but I don’t.” He swallowed and looked up, the hurt and confusion in his eyes making Toff flinch. “I’ve never liked somebody as much as I like you, then been so mad at them. It’s confusing.”
Toff wished Brayden would’ve punched him. It would’ve hurt less.
Brayden’s eyebrows pinched together. “Why’d you stop liking her, Toff? I know she’s weird, but she’s great, too. I thought you liked that she was a weirdo. I mean, I saw you two kissing all the time, and you even read one of her stupid books and—”
“I do like her,” Toff rasped, desperation threading his voice. “I like her so damn much, Brayden. I— I—love her.”
He choked on the last words and turned away. How fucked up was this, spilling his guts to a kid? Finally saying the L-word but to Amy’s brother instead of her? He didn’t know whether to laugh or howl at the moon.
Brayden tugged on his sleeve, then handed him the pastry box. “I was kidding about a code word, but I think you just said it.”
…
Toff took the turnoff at the secret rock pile, his van bouncing up and down as he navigated the dirt road. Once he reached The Lodge, he headed to the employees’ parking area, where Mark the security guard had said he’d meet him. As he approached the employees’ entrance, the guard dog charged the fence.
“Yo, Buster. Don’t you remember who brought you bacon?” Toff glanced up at the security camera mounted over the employees’ door and waved.
Mark pushed through the door looking like a legit cop, except he didn’t carry a gun.
“Christopher.” He gave a curt nod, then motioned Toff inside. “Come on. I’ll take you to the chef.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Toff said, a spike of nervous adrenaline shooting through him. He didn’t know how to talk to a chef. He hoped Mr. McIntyre’s desserts would speak for themselves.
“It’s not a problem,” Mark said. “Lucky for you, Chef’s a surfing fan.”
Toff frowned, not sure what to think, but he followed Mark through the boring employees’ wing into the main lodge.
“Don’t stare,” Mark murmured under his breath as they crossed the enormous lobby. Toff recognized several of the celebrities gathered around the huge fireplace.
Like all the locals, he knew the unwritten Shady Cove rule about ignoring celebrities, so he didn’t gawk. They crossed the courtyard to the dining cabin. Well, it wasn’t a cabin so much as another huge building that pretended to be a cabin.
Mark led Toff to the kitchen, which was in total chaos. People dressed in white uniforms shouted and gestured, pots boiled and sizzled on multiple burners, and the sounds of choppi
ng and mixers assaulted them.
“Uh, maybe I should just leave this with you,” Toff said, holding out the box.
Mark ignored him and caught the eye of a woman standing at a giant stove. She glanced at Toff, then hollered, “Chef! Mark and his guest are here!”
Toff’s neck burned as everyone stared at him.
A petite woman dressed in chef garb that looked fancier than the others zipped down the line, pausing to snap in French at a couple of the cooks, who nodded and said, “Yes, Chef,” the same way Toff imagined soldiers responded to generals.
Toff didn’t speak French. A sheen of sweat slicked his skin. Was it because of the hot kitchen or his nerves? He glanced at Mark, who grinned as the chef bustled up to them, her blue eyes flashing with excitement. Her curly dark hair was cropped short, and she was pretty in the way old movie stars were. The ones who didn’t mess up their faces with surgery like the ones in the main lodge.
“Alors!” she exclaimed. She beamed at Toff, then glanced at Mark. “This is le surfeur, no?”
Mark nodded. “Chef Marie, this is Christopher Nichols. Christopher, this is Chef Marie, one of the most renowned chefs in—”
“Pfft.” Chef waved away Mark’s compliments and clasped her hands under her chin. “J’adore regarder les compétitions de surf. Tu es très talentueux.”
“She loves watching local surf comps,” Mark said. “She says you’re very talented.”
“Oh.” Toff blushed, surprised she knew who he was. “Um, merci beaucoup?” He hoped he pronounced it right.
Chef laughed, then pointed to the pastry box. “You want me to taste, no?”
“Go on.” Mark nudged him. “She never gives outsiders the time of day. You’re lucky.”
Toff swallowed, reminding himself that he was here for the McIntryes, not himself. For Amy. So what if he was embarrassed? He opened the box.
“My g-girlfriend—” He stumbled over the word that he’d never said to the person he should’ve. “Her father is a pastry chef. He’s really good.” Toff’s blush deepened. “I mean, I think he is.” He glanced at Mark, who nodded encouragingly. “He used to work at a fancy restaurant.” He blanked on the restaurant name but kept talking. “But he, um, needs a job, so I thought—”
Chef reached into the box and selected a madeleine. She examined it with narrowed eyes, held it to her nose, and sniffed, then nibbled a small bite. She raised a dark eyebrow, then nibbled another bite.
Toff held his breath. He glanced at the line cooks, who darted them curious glances.
“May I?” Chef asked, holding out her hands.
“Yeah. I mean, yes, Chef.” He handed it over, hoping his hands hadn’t sweated through the cardboard.
Chef smiled up at him, batting her eyelashes. “T’es charmante, Christopher. So charming.” She closed the lid. “I will taste. I will consider.” She tilted her head, studying him. “Ahh…young love. To be so young again.”
Toff’s stomach lurched. He had no idea if Amy still loved him or if she’d ever forgive him. But even if she didn’t, he wanted this to work out for her dad. For their whole family.
Mark made a snorting noise, then turned it into a cough when Chef shot him a withering glance.
Toff’s heart thudded. “Thank you, Chef. Merci beaucoup.”
“You are welcome.” Chef laughed and patted his shoulder. “Je suis exigent…I am, how do you say, hard to please.” She shrugged. “I do no favors, not even for le surfeur.”
Toff nodded, grateful she’d agreed to at least try the pastries. He pointed to the lid of the box, where he’d scrawled Mr. McIntyre’s name and phone number. “This is the pastry chef.”
Chef nodded and spun around. She snapped back into General mode, shouting orders in French and English as she stopped at each station to taste or scold.
“Let’s go,” Mark said, steering him out of the kitchen.
Once they were outside, Toff shook Mark’s hand. “Thanks a lot, man. I owe you.”
“Stop feeding my dogs bacon and we’ll call it even.” Mark crossed his arms over his chest, staring him down.
“Uh…” Toff swallowed. He thought he’d stayed out of the camera’s line of sight. Guess not.
Mark gave a gruff laugh. “You’re lucky I like your dad. Get outta here, le surfeur.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Viv: Book club meets tomorrow at 9:00. Amy’s going to tell us all about her big interview.
Toff’s heart raced like he’d just caught a barrel wave; then it stuttered and stalled. Was that an invitation? Damn it. If he won his heats and moved up to the finals tomorrow—which he would—he’d be surfing way past nine o’clock.
If he surfed. He was in more pain than he had been a week ago because he’d pushed it too far today.
But he didn’t quit stuff. He needed to beat Mack, show him on the water what he hadn’t been able to do in the restaurant. Anxious and hopeful in a way he really didn’t deserve, he settled in for what he knew would be another sleepless night.
…
Toff’s restless gaze took in the Summer Spectacular scene. Warm sand spread out in front of him. Sparkling waves rolled toward shore in perfect sets. Fans buzzed with excitement as they watched their favorite surfers get their boards ready. Photographers roamed through the crowds, catching every last detail. Groms chased one another while older local legends soaked up the attention. Judges perched on their tower for a decent view of the surf action. Sun glinted off the row of trophies waiting to be awarded.
Toff had wanted this so badly. Badly enough that he’d pushed himself too hard when he shouldn’t have. He needed to beat Mack. Needed to prove he still had it. That an injury wasn’t enough to take him out. That he was ready to go pro. He’d take that trophy and add it to the already huge collection in his room.
Yep. One more shiny dust collector.
For the first time in his life, winning felt…hollow. A high that would last a couple of days but fade. Then, he’d be on to the next rush. The next win.
What was wrong with him?
He’d gone out long before everyone else arrived this morning, surfing a few easy waves to see how he felt. Definitely not 100 percent.
Book club at 9:00.
“You gonna do it?” Murph asked, joining him at the registration booth.
Was he? Viv’s text had given him hope that he still had a shot with Amy. His soon-to-be sister had ignored him all week, but this had to mean something. Last night, he’d Googled the book event and found pictures of Amy online. She freaking glowed with excitement. With happiness. He wished like hell he’d been there to celebrate with her.
Maybe he’d text her after the comp was over. Maybe even swing by her house if he was feeling brave enough to face her family.
Or…he could just go to the bookstore now.
He looked out at the waves. At the other surfers warming up. A few yards away, Mack was talking to a local reporter, grinning like he’d already won.
Was he seriously considering walking away from this?
Yes. Yes, he was.
“You know what,” Toff said, “I’m out.”
Murph’s mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope.”
“Dude. You’re walking away from the chance to shove it in Mack’s face.”
Until you figure out what I mean to you, Toff, I can’t see you anymore.
“First time for everything.” Toff shot a cocky grin over his shoulder and started jogging up the beach, past Mack, who made chicken squawking sounds, past a group of girls in bikinis who called out for him to join them.
“You sure about this?” Murph yelled after him.
Toff didn’t turn back. He’d never been surer about anything in his life.
…
“To Amy!” Viv raised her glass of sp
arkling cider. The Lonely Hearts Book Club cheered and toasted Amy. She was so happy to celebrate with her reader friends.
“It was incredible.” Amy beamed, still floating on a cloud from her time with Lucinda. “I still can’t believe I won.”
“You won because of your talent, Amy. Give credit where credit is due,” Rose said.
“Hell to the yeah!” Megan, their grad student member, chugged her cider, and everyone laughed. She was writing a thesis on the subversive power of the romance genre. “Hey, did HeartRacer give you any free books or swag?”
“They did.” Amy jumped up to grab the box of books she’d brought home, including a couple of gift bags from the Sunset Bookstore. As she handed one to Megan, she thought of the one Toff had brought to their dinner gone wrong. She still wondered what was in it.
Not like she’d ever find out. To her dismay, tears burned the backs of her eyes.
“Don’t think about Flipper,” Viv whispered, pulling her into a sideways hug. “I hope he didn’t make it past his first heat.”
Amy huffed a laugh, swallowing over the lump in her throat. She hoped he didn’t reinjure himself by competing too soon. Even though he’d steamrolled her heart by not contacting her, she still hoped he’d surf well.
Not well enough to win another trophy, necessarily—she wasn’t that big of a person—but not completely suck, either.
Viv released Amy from her hug and grinned, eyes shining with excitement. “Give us the full replay. Start at the beginning.”
“Don’t leave out anything,” Rose said, grabbing one of the cupcakes Mrs. Sloane had made.
Amy laughed. What would she do without her book planet?
…
Toff’s van chugged sluggishly up the coast, jerking erratically when he downshifted. “Come on, baby.” He patted the dashboard. “Don’t fail me now.”
Most of the time, he loved his old beast, but today he wished for a Maserati that would hug the curving road at high speeds. At the rate he was going, he’d get to Murder by the Sea too late.
He rounded another curve. The van sputtered and groaned, then stalled.
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