Page 16 of Half Baked

Chapter 8

Poppy

Ispent all morning in the kitchen once again. After a restless night’s sleep, I knew I needed to whip up some soothing treats. Starting with my lemon lavender scones, it didn’t take long for the air to fill with sweet, floral notes. Inhaling deeply, I allow it to work its magic while I start on the banana bread.

Somewhere along the way, it starts to work. My thoughts slow, and my urge to scream settles. Pulling the bread from the oven, I check the clock. I have successfully kept my worries at bay until it’s time for the beach.

I cross under the arch to the narrow entryway that houses the staircase. Across the hall is another arch into the rest of the downstairs living space, creating a cottage-like feel. The home was always big enough for my mom, grandmother, and myself to be comfortable as I was growing up. It was always cozy and filled with a sense of warmth.

Climbing the stairs and turning into my bedroom, I look out the window to the neat rows of peach trees filling the front yard. Lining both sides of the drive, they’re thriving this summer.

Automatically, my mind drifts to the peach recipes I could create for the show. I could talk about summers spent in the orchard as a child. Barefoot and tan, with hair that matchedthe ripe peaches I would pluck from the trees. My grandmother would help me pick them and I’d take a generous, juicy bite from right there in the yard.

But that’s not the story they want. They want the hot firefighter. Objectively, of course, I can see why Hayden would fit their vision. But it would be a lie.

Whatever Tara saw between us was a lie. I can’t imagine getting through a single recipe without one of us storming out from a fight.

Me. I’m not too proud to admit that I would be the one storming out from a fight.

Pulling open my dresser, I withdraw my pink, crinkle bikini and quickly change into it. Sliding my denim cutoffs and linen tank on over top, I make my way back downstairs.

My woven beach bag is already packed by the door, and I scoop it up, pulling my sunglasses from an inside pocket. Slipping into my slides, I’m out the door and headed for my Bronco. With the top off, I quickly toss my hair into a ponytail before I hit the gas.

The drive over to Stevie’s is short, and I’m in front of her cottage in a matter of minutes. She bounds down the flower lined walk, a cheery smile on her face.

“I cannot wait to hear all about the audition yesterday,” she exclaims when she reaches me.

I pick at my bottom lip, watching her load her own bag into the back and jump into the passenger seat. “It was… something.”

“Something good?”

“I think there were good parts,” I tell her, putting it in drive and heading for the sea. Above us, lush green trees line the road and create a canopy. As we drive, sunlight streams down through the breaks in the foliage, the first signs of the shore being the sound of rolling waves in the distance.

Then the sign for Ocean Avenue comes into view. I turn onto the road, which runs parallel to the sea, and in an instant, the gleam of pale blue waves stretches out beside us. Stevie turns up our Spotify playlist, titled Endless Summer, until it’s loud enough to drown out the sound of wind whipping through the roofless, windowless frame. When I come to a stop sign, we pull our scrunchies out of our hair in unison. It slows to a twenty-five miles per hour speed limit at this point, the perfect speed to enjoy the ocean breeze.

There’s something about having the ocean at your side that makes you feel free. And in that moment, I forget my worries. I let myself simply enjoy the sun on my face and wind in my hair, my favorite smell of the salty sea, and the steady friendship with the person beside me.

The road curves along the bluff, bringing us to the Pearl Beach access lot south of town. Most people try to be up near the wharf and food establishments, leaving us this quieter stretch. Gravel crunches under my tires as we park near the stairs that lead down to the beach, and I look around for a familiar vehicle.

“We beat Ivy and Wren?”

“I think they were hitting the café on their way,” Stevie replies, reaching around to grab her bag. “They mentioned something about getting us iced coffees.”

“Mmm, good call.”

With our things gathered, we start down the wooden staircase. At the bottom of the bluff, I sink into soft, fine sand. Pearl Beach gets its name from the delicate white sands that often catch visitors by surprise.

I slide my sandals off and curl my toes into the earth. The sand is warm from the morning sun, but not so hot to the point of burning my skin. I continue barefoot down the rope lined path to the open stretch of beach.

By the time I reach Stevie, she already has a blanket laid out. “I know we should wait for the others, but can I just ask… do you know if they are going to put you on the show or is it one of those things where they said they’d call you?” she asks as I approach.

“Oh, I heard from them.” I sigh, dropping onto the quilt. “Can I ask you something? Between us?”

“Sure,” she says, studying me.

“How much pull do you have with Beckett?”

“Pull? Like as in…”

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