Under The Boardwalk. Amie Denman

whipped past Augusta, nearly clipping her.

      Jack pulled off his suit coat and slung it over his shoulder.

      “Roll up your sleeves, boss,” Mel yelled over the rattling of the ancient cart. “You’re going up on the Sea Devil with me.”

      “Problem?”

      “State inspectors. One hour. They’re several days early. They claim it’s just a preliminary, but I don’t want to take chances.”

      “Are we ready? Think we’ll pass?”

      “We’re gonna try. Get in.”

      Jack tossed his jacket in the back of the cart, sat on the cracked vinyl seat next to his best friend and jerked off his tie while Mel whipped the cart around and headed back in the direction he’d come from. They breezed by Augusta, only inches away, and Jack’s eyes briefly met hers. It was probably a good thing he wouldn’t have time to talk about the contract today. The next time they met, it would be on his terms. No angry villagers with pitchforks waving contracts and snapping him with rubber bands.

      Jack twisted around in the seat and looked back at Gus. She stood by the railing, facing him. He was getting farther and farther away, but he knew she was watching him. He finally turned and faced forward, trying to put the image of her, with the sun and water behind her, out of his head.

      “Heck of a good-looking woman,” Mel said.

      “Looks like trouble to me.”

      “Know her?”

      Jack nodded. “She owns Aunt Augusta’s Bakery. Makes cookies you’d kill for. Gonna operate three vendor shops here this summer.”

      “I saw the signs in the warehouse. Our guys will put ’em up later this week.”

      “If she signs her contract by tomorrow afternoon.”

      “She hasn’t signed yet? Season starts in ten days.”

      “None of the vendors have officially signed.”

      “Thought your dad handled all that before...you know.”

      Jack unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled his sleeves. “My father left quite a few loose ends when he died. I had to draw up the contracts myself. I changed some of the terms, and the vendors aren’t too happy with me right now. Especially one particular baker.”

      Mel glanced over then resumed navigating the rear gate from the hotel area to the back of the Sea Devil. “Never been interested in your business affairs and contracts and such, but I figure you’ve inherited about as much as you can handle.”

      “Wish I could tell you you’re wrong.”

      Mel laughed. “You love it when I’m wrong.”

      “Makes me feel smarter. And right now, I need all the help I can get.”

      Mel parked the cart under the new ride. “Wish the inspectors weren’t showing up early, but I think we’re ready. This ride’s been a long time in the works, and we’ve just got a few details to finalize before it’ll be safe enough for your china dinner plates.”

      “Nice to know you’ve been earning that generous salary.” Jack punched Mel lightly on the shoulder as they stepped out of the cart and headed for the steel ladder extending from the steps on the first hill of the coaster.

      “Doubt you could pay me what I’m worth, but you’re welcome to try,” Mel said.

      “Let’s see how the inspection goes. I’ve got a lot riding on the Sea Devil.”

      If only Mel knew just how much.

       CHAPTER FIVE

      AFTER A MARATHON session making wedding-cake flowers, Gus stood at her shop door ready to flip the sign to Closed. A tall man loitered outside. He met her eyes but didn’t move a muscle.

      She stared back, waiting to see if he would make the first move.

      Or any move.

      Gus caved first, stepped back and pulled the door open.

      “Can I help you?”

      “Are you closed?” Jack asked.

      “Closing,” she said, managing a small smile until she remembered the thirty-thousand-dollar kick in the gut he’d delivered a few days ago.

      “I just...” He stopped. Gus wanted to put him at ease—her natural inclination was to be the sunshine in the rain, especially in the doorway of her own business. She glanced at her apron and fiddled with the knot in front. It was fully decked out in summery designs. Beach chairs, fireworks, bikinis, a flag, a boat.

      Jack gestured to her apron. “I like it,” he said.

      Gus said nothing, trying for a neutral expression and hoping he would go away. She was the official spokesperson for the lease vendors at the Point, who were getting a rotten deal from the six feet three inches of man standing in front of her. She squared her shoulders and tried not to think of him as an attractive man with a sweet tooth and a smile that could melt chocolate.

      “Summer is my favorite season,” he said. He looked pointedly at all the symbols on her apron. “I like all of those things.”

      One hundred percent awkward.

      He shifted his feet and propped the door open with his hand. “Maybe you could put the Sea Devil on an apron to wear at the Point this summer.”

      Gus had broken her own record. She hadn’t kept her mouth shut for this long since she’d gotten her wisdom teeth out in high school.

      Jack stepped into the open doorway now, preventing her from slamming the door in his face and locking it.

      “I saw that you signed the contract,” he ventured. “All the vendors did.”

      Gus tried to relax her jaw. What was the point of his visit? To gloat? She untied her apron, pulled it over her head and hung it on the back of a nearby chair.

      “We didn’t have much choice,” she finally said.

      “Yes, you did.”

      Gus started arranging chairs around the small tables in the front of the shop. Four chairs per table, perfectly spaced and shoved in. There was something satisfying about keeping her hands busy and her back to Jack. She could not look at him. Would not give him the satisfaction. He was on her turf here. He was the one who should be uncomfortable. She aligned the chairs viciously, snapping them into place with their shoulders pinned against the tables.

      He approached the glass case and looked at the cookies and cakes on display.

      “What I mean is,” he said, “you did have a choice.”

      Gus crossed her arms over her chest and faced him. She wanted to get behind her counter, her shield, her fortress of confections—but he blocked her way to the pass-through.

      “You could have told me to go jump in the lake with my contract,” he continued, a small grin sliding up one side of his face.

      “I thought about it,” Gus said. She’d thought about him quite a lot, as a matter of fact.

      He chuckled. “I’m sure you did.”

      Gus exhaled slowly. “Sorry if I don’t find it so funny.”

      “It’s not. It’s business. Nothing funny about business.”

      “Says the man who owns an amusement park.”

      He continued to gaze at the cookies in the case. No way was she offering him one now. Even if it would make him go away.

      Gus wondered if her aunt was listening to this conversation. Aunt Augusta had helped her all day and should be washing up. Gus should hear water