How to Kiss a Bad Boy

by Ashby, Amanda

  She sprinkled it with cocoa, her lips still pressed together in concentration. Then she looked up and gave him a toothy grin.

  “Ta-da.”

  “I’m impressed,” he said truthfully before frowning. “Since you clearly love plating up the cakes, and you’re a self-confessed control freak, why are you always out front? Unless you’re scared to let a bad boy loose in public.”

  “I deserved that.” She ran her finger around the rim of the teapot. “Last summer Kenneth was a nightmare. He kept arguing with customers and forgetting orders. We lost loads of money. This is a big part of Lo’s income, and I didn’t want things to get worse, so we swapped roles.”

  “Why didn’t Lo just fire him?”

  “Ah, the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.” She stopped fiddling with the teapot and began to measure out Earl Grey tea, her eyes not meeting his. “Look, I’m sorry that—”

  “Hey,” a slightly familiar voice said from the other side of the counter. “I thought I saw you here.”

  “H-hey yourself,” Frankie said as the scoop in her hand clattered to the floor. Her cheeks reddened, and Jackson turned to see who had spoken.

  Aaron Tremain.

  He let out a silent groan.

  Aaron was one of those golden kids who looked like they’d been dressed in fifty-dollar bills from the day they were born. His mom was a dentist from old money, and his dad had been a semi-famous surfer who’d traveled the world before moving back to Cricket Bay to set up a store and become local royalty. It had obviously gone to Aaron’s head, because the guy was a king-sized douchebag who was always talking about his conquests in the locker room.

  None of which seemed to bother Frankie if the color on her cheeks was to be believed. She crossed the minuscule space until she was leaning over the counter, her blush only making her look cuter.

  “Can I get you anything?” Her voice was breathy, and her fingers were clutched tightly together.

  She likes him.

  It made sense in a preppie kind of way. After all, on paper Aaron was a star baseball player and didn’t have a summer job that involved wearing a floral apron. The fact he was a jerk was apparently immaterial.

  “Nah.” Aaron flashed her a smile as his phone beeped. “I better get back to work but wanted to say hi. I guess we’ll be seeing each other around.”

  “S-sure.” Frankie nodded, her straight blonde ponytail swinging around her neck. “Okay…so, bye then.”

  Aaron winked and jogged away. Frankie let out a soft sigh and seemed to follow his progress across the square. She turned back to Jackson and opened her mouth. Then she shut it again, as if recollecting who he was.

  “S-sorry about that. Where was I?”

  “Making tea. I’ll do it,” Jackson said as he passed her the plates of cakes that were ready to be delivered to the table.

  “Sure.” She gave him a vague nod, though if the gleam in her eyes was anything to go by, she was replaying her conversation with Aaron. Jackson finished off the order. It was none of his business if she had a crush on a tool like Aaron. It was her summer. She could do what she wanted. He just needed to stay focused on what really mattered.

  xxxx

  By the end of the day, the only part of him that wasn’t tired was the thick oil in his hair. He used his arm to wipe away the sweat on his brow as he finished packing up the large awning. It had taken far too many trips to pack the furniture away in the storage shed, but it was finally done.

  People were still wandering around the square, eating ice cream and laughing. As long as they didn’t want cupcakes or pots of tea, he didn’t care.

  He untied the floral apron as he walked back. He’d only worn it to prove he was happy to follow the rules in the binder, no matter how ridiculous they were. The fact she’d almost felt bad about it had been a bonus. Though considering how filthy it now was, maybe there was something to her crazy rules?

  Frankie had packed away the open sign, and the serving window had been closed. He increased his pace. There were a couple more loads of dishes to do before he could knock off.

  He’d worked in construction last year, but this was harder.

  A familiar giggle rang out from the food van, and he stiffened.

  Chelsea?

  He stepped inside. His kid sister was perched on the countertop, the ugly green doll on her lap. Next to them was a plate with two tiny cupcakes covered in swirls of lemon frosting, while Frankie was peering into the fridge below the counter. She emerged with a juice box.

  “Victory. I thought I had one in here.” She freed the straw from the side of the box and pressed it in before handing it to Chelsea. Then she turned to Jackson. “Oh, hey. You have a visitor. I hope it’s okay I gave her something.”

  Jackson rubbed his chin, not quite sure what was happening. He crouched until he was eye level with Chelsea.

  “Hey, kiddo. What are you doing here? Where’s Mom?”

  “She’s out there.” Chelsea pointed toward the door. He swung around. His mom was on one of the many wooden benches that dotted the square. It looked like her eyes were shut. No doubt trying to catch up on some sleep. “She said we should wait by your car, but I wanted to see where you worked and give you this.”

  His sister handed him a crumpled piece of paper with a stick figure in the middle. The figure was standing next to a table that had a teapot on it, while a yellow circle hung in the sky. On the figure’s head were long lines of black hair spiking upward.

  Next to him, Frankie suppressed a giggle.

  “It’s you, J! Do you like it?” Chelsea demanded.

  “Of course I do.” He leaned forward and kissed her head before lifting her off the counter.

  “I think she’s really captured you,” Frankie added with a grin as she emptied out the last of the cake stands before they were washed up for the night.

  “Thanks,” he muttered, before turning to Chelsea. “Why don’t you go back to Mom? I won’t be long.”

  “I could help,” Chelsea said hopefully as she stared at the tiny cupcakes Frankie had given her.

  “Yes, but then who would feed Miss Sparkles?” Frankie said, her eyes darting between Jackson and his sister. She reached for a take-home box and carefully put the cupcakes in there. She then added a third one. “You could take them out and show your mom.”

  Indecision crossed Chelsea’s face before she broke into a smile, still clutching her doll and the juice box. “She’d like that. But what about my picture?”

  “How about we put it here?” Frankie nodded to the section of back wall that wasn’t covered in shelves. She reached for the tape they used to seal up the take-home boxes and carefully hung it, with all the reverence of a gallery owner. “What do you think?”

  “I like it. So does Miss Sparkles,” Chelsea said.

  “As long as she’s happy,” Jackson said before steering her toward the door. “Off you go. I’ll be there soon.”

  “Okay.” Chelsea clutched her cupcakes and skipped across the square until she reached the park bench where their mom was sitting.

  “Sorry about that.” Jackson squeezed his way past her to reach the sink. The fabric of her dress brushed his arm, and he swallowed hard. “She just wanted to see where I worked. It won’t become a habit.”

  “Are you kidding? She’s adorable.” Frankie finished putting away the cakes and leaned forward on the counter. “Though I’m not really sure about her friend.”

  “Yeah. Miss Sparkles is creepy all right. I wouldn’t be surprised if she murders me in my sleep.” That earned him a smile, and he wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not.

  Frankie Hargreaves wasn’t for him. But it was hard not to like someone who’d made such a fuss over his kid sister. He filled the sink with water.

  “Why didn’t your mom come over?” Curiosity flashed across her face. He didn’t return her gaze. It was because she didn’t want to jeopardize his job. But despite her worries, she’d obviously not been able to say no to Chel
sea.

  “No reason.” He plunged his hands into the steaming water and methodically washed the first cup. Fifteen minutes later, the place was spotless, and they stepped out into the late afternoon sun.

  “So…I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” Frankie toyed with the door keys, the brass gleaming against her long fingers. It was hypnotic, and it wasn’t until she coughed that he realized she was waiting for an answer.

  “I’ll be here,” he said truthfully.

  It wasn’t an ideal job. Rosie was too small for both of them and watching her flirt with Aaron Tremain all summer wasn’t his idea of a good time. But she worked hard and seemed to have fallen under Chelsea’s magic spell. Things could have been a whole lot worse.

  xxxx

  “Excuse me, this tea’s too weak. Can I get some more leaves? And I need another bowl of cream. There isn’t nearly enough.”

  “Of course.” Frankie plastered on a smile and took the gold-rimmed teapot from the woman at table two. She tried to remind herself that the customer was always right.

  Even when they were annoying and unpredictable.

  The lunch rush had died away, which was a blessing. If she was redoing pots of tea and filling up the cream bowls, all while trying to serve six tables at once, her brain might have exploded.

  “Problem?” Jackson looked up from the pile of dishes he was washing, his dark eyes narrowing in on the teapot in her hand.

  “Nothing I can’t handle.” She filled up the kettle and waited for it to boil. Once it was done, she poured a small amount of hot water into a teapot. She swirled it around, just like Lo had taught her. Some of the water splashed up the sides. She put it down on the counter and managed to knock over a pile of paper napkins that had been sitting there. They scattered to the floor.

  “Remind me never to make you mad.” He peeled back his rubber gloves and bent down to gather them up. His hair was slicked back again, and the white T-shirt had been replaced by a black one. The apron he’d selected from the hook at the back of the door was red gingham with tiny flowers embroidered along the pocket. It should have looked ridiculous, but—

  But nothing.

  She dragged her gaze away from his crouching figure and shook out two scoops of tea leaves before adding the hot water and leaving it to steep. It was true Jackson was a vast improvement on Kenneth, and that he wasn’t nearly as bad as his appearance suggested. Not to mention that his little sister was the cutest thing she’d ever seen.

  But it didn’t mean she wanted to spend more time with him than she had to.

  “I’ll gladly remind you as often as you want.” She grinned and filled up a clean cream jug and set everything out on her tray. On the front counter, Jackson had topped up the display of cupcakes. Out of habit, she lifted the glass cover and nudged a couple of them over. Then she plucked a few of the rose petals off the bunch she’d brought in this morning and carefully scattered them around the plate.

  That was better.

  When she turned around, Jackson had a bemused smile across his face. He thinks I’m weird. Not that she cared. When the displays looked better, they made more money, and when they made more money her aunt could afford to do things like pay the mortgage and buy food. It was a win-win. Simple as that.

  “I think someone’s trying to get your attention,” he said, breaking into her thoughts.

  “What?” She followed his gaze to the customer who’d complained about the tea. Oh, right. She knew that.

  She carried her tray out.

  “Here you go,” she said with a bright smile before moving to a nearby table that had just been vacated. She stacked up the dishes.

  “Cute dress,” a voice said, and Frankie almost knocked over a teacup.

  Aaron?

  Two days in a row?

  It was like her plan was getting supersized in front of her eyes.

  She slowly lifted her head. His blond streaky hair was spiked up, and his crooked smile did wicked things to her stomach muscles. His aftershave was strong, but considering how much some boys stunk, she thought it was sweet, even if she couldn’t identify the scent. Citrus? Mint? And he was wearing a T-shirt with three curling waves printed across the front. The Waves were a local band who’d had a couple of big hits and were coming back to town to play Summerfest. The fact they both liked the same music sent a fizz of excitement up her spine.

  And he was waiting for her to reply.

  “Th-thanks,” she stammered. Okay, it wasn’t her finest work, but it was better than just staring at him. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hiding from my dad,” he said with a wink before letting out a mock groan as he glanced over to the surf shop. A blond-haired guy with leathery skin stepped out the door and scanned the area before narrowing in on Aaron. “I think I failed. I really need to work on my invisibility suit.”

  “Don’t make it too good,” Frankie said before she could stop herself. His gaze swept over her, and a smile tugged at his mouth.

  “I won’t,” he promised. From somewhere inside Rosie, a pan clattered to the ground, but Frankie ignored it. Aaron was speaking to her—maybe even flirting with her—and it didn’t get much better than that. “My cover’s been blown…but I should get your number in case I need to call for help. He might lock me in the basement.”

  Frankie doubted it, but all the same she took the phone from his hand.

  “We can’t have that,” she said, proud of how calm her voice sounded as she tapped in her digits. Would it be wrong to put xoxo next to her name?

  “Definitely not.” His gaze caught hers. She hitched in a breath as he gave her a final smile and jogged away.

  “No offense, but that guy smells like a hospital.” Jackson appeared beside her, his nose wrinkled in distaste. The table she’d been halfway through clearing had been reset, as had the other tables.

  “No, he doesn’t,” she said, before inwardly wincing. Maybe the aftershave had been a bit antiseptic, but it was probably just because he’d put too much on. To impress me? She allowed herself a small smile.

  “If you say so.” Jackson shrugged and carried the tray back into Rosie. Not that Frankie cared. Aaron had asked for her phone number. And flirted with her. As far as days went, it was pretty much perfect.

  An hour later, she was still smiling as she rang up a sale and handed over the change. Jackson hadn’t spoken much but had seemed happy to get on with his work, still wearing the gingham apron, which was now liberally smeared with frosting and cream.

  She glanced at the time. Fifty minutes to go. Would Aaron still be at the surf shop? She could accidentally-on-purpose bump into him there and continue their conversation. Or—

  “Hey boss, I hate to interrupt your important job of looking into the distance with a smile on your face, but you’ve got in-coming.”

  “What?” Frankie jumped before letting out a groan. She’d been miles away, and Jackson had caught her. For the second time in as many days. Her groan increased as she saw a slim woman marching toward them.

  Despite the weather, she was dressed in a tweed skirt and a long-sleeved blouse, buttoned up to the neck with a strand of pearls peeking out from under the collar. Her gray hair was pulled back in an old-fashioned updo, and she was eighty years old, if a day.

  Mrs. Willis.

  “I knew it was too good to last,” she muttered before she could stop herself.

  “Trouble?” Jackson lifted an eyebrow as Mrs. Willis sat down at a newly set table, taking time to examine the freshly laundered tablecloth. No doubt looking for stains.

  “You have no idea. Last year she stressed Kenneth out so much he took three days off work.” Frankie reluctantly picked up her order book. As tempting as it was to be rude to the bad-tempered customer, Cricket Bay was too small to get on the bad side of a local.

  And Mrs. Willis was as much of a fixture in the town as the mermaid fountain was.

  “Want me to serve her?”

  “You’d willingly walk into the lion’s d
en?” She raised a quizzical eyebrow at him. Kenneth wasn’t the only one Mrs. Willis had stressed out. Her tongue was as sharp as Lo’s favorite paring knife.

  “Nothing like living on the wild side. That’s if you don’t mind me breaking the rules.”

  “They’re not rules,” she admitted. They were both paid the same amount of money, and Lo certainly hadn’t told Frankie who she wanted serving and who should be bussing and washing. Lo didn’t exactly know about the binder either. “Well, not technically.”

  “You’re saying I don’t need to wear this?” Jackson glanced down at the apron wrapped around his waist, his face twisted in mock-outrage. Then he shrugged. “If you don’t want me serving, that’s fine. I just figured—”

  “I was a control freak?”

  “No…just that you seem happiest doing the behind-the-scenes stuff,” he corrected, though there was a hint of a smile on his face.

  Her resolve lessened. He was right. Organizing was her happy place. But after the disaster that had been Kenneth, she’d been forced to let him do it. The lesser of two evils. And Mrs. Willis really did seem to dislike her. Frankie chewed her lower lip, then looked at the crayon drawing hanging on the wall. How bad could Jackson Lang really be when he had such a cute little sister?

  Was this the universe trying to give her a sign?

  “Are you sure? I wasn’t joking about her.”

  “I think I can handle it.” He grabbed the order book and stepped out the door. Frankie busied herself rearranging the slices of cake on one of the display stands as Jackson reached the table.

  Mrs. Willis’s glacial gaze swept over him, and her mouth tightened.

  Frankie put the lid back on the display.

  It had obviously been a mistake to send him out there. Mrs. Willis would probably eat him alive. And worse. He might retaliate. After all, Kenneth had when he’d dropped a pot of cream into the cranky woman’s lap.

  She raced out the door only to be greeted by a blast of rich, throaty laughter. Coming from Mrs. Willis. Frankie’s jaw dropped as the older woman tilted her head with interest while Jackson talked to her. Then she laughed again and patted his arm as she pointed to something.