Page 10 of Even Beneath the Stars

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’severythingto 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 fatherleft 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’tcall 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.

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