Page 6 of Beaches, Bagels & Babes
Perry’s Pier was coming to life with its kitsch-themed fast-casual dining options, carnival food stands, and more. Presumably, one of them sold coffee. Still, Candace loathed the idea of giving her uncle’s money right back to him, even indirectly.
It had been fifteen years since the last time she walked the boardwalk’s two and a half miles of splintery planking. She recalled hearing that a chain coffee shop had opened, but it was nowhere in sight. There was Zeus' Torch, the long-operating 24-hour Greek diner run by Demi’s relatives, which had the best gyros in the area. Even so, the place was a stiff hike to the far side of the boardwalk. As far as she could see, there were T-shirt shops, soon-to-open candy stores, and novelty goods, but norealfood.
Aside from one place, right in front of her, that she had been staunchly hoping to avoid.
Bagel Bombs!.
It looked exactly the same as the last time she saw it, except not. The place seemed clean and cared for, but there was noticeable wear.
The neon pink and lime of its ’90s pop aesthetic had faded todingy russet and sludge green in the harsh salt air. Its styledDA BOMBopen sign struggled with a flicker, and the overhead one needed de-rusting. Four stools were now three, and it looked like a gamble to sit on any one of them. Compared to the newer stores on either side, the place was in bad need of a makeover.
Some things stayed the same, though.
The smell of freshly toasted dough and roasting coffee beans that carried over from the cafe was a memory wrapped in a scent. Even after all this time, Candace could taste her first bagel bomb. Warm, nutty bread with a satisfying outer crust and a soft, gooey center. It had just the right amount of peanut butter, jam, and cream cheese filling. Sweet and savory in perfect balance.
Candace licked her lips at the thought.
After that first sample, she was hooked. Unfortunately, getting the bagel bombs had been difficult. Once her uncle gave her a credit card, he read her statements like it was a sport. If he knew she was stuffing herself with “garbage food from a garbage girl,” she would have never heard the end of it.
Yet, Candace couldn’t resist. Not entirely. Purses, makeup, clothes, shoes… She traded whatever her friends wanted in exchange for getting her fix. It wasn’t the best system, but it worked for the years she had to be sneaky.
Now, things were different. There was nothing stopping Candace from picking up one foot after the other, walking up to that counter, and ordering for herself like a big girl.
Well, almost nothing.
Wasshethere?
Through the busy rush of foot traffic, Candace could not see who was working the cafe’s counter. She strained, balancing on her wedge tips even if it meant scuffing them, but it was impossible. Unbeknownst to Candace, her legs started taking her across the boardwalk.
She couldn’t be here,Candace told herself.That girl probably sold the place years ago, went to college, moved away…
Except, she had not. The girl—woman, now—was exactlywhere Candace last saw her. In what felt like slow motion, the crowd parted enough for Candace to see her standing behind the cafe counter.
Daisy DeMarco.
She, too, had changed and not. Her figure had always been impressive, so tall and toned that it put the roving bands of beach bros to shame. As a teen, it made her stoop and try to lessen herself. Now, she stood as confidently as a model.
Or, more accurately, some kind of punk rock-baker.
In a printed black tank top and athletic shorts, Daisy’s multiple piercings were plain to see. The sleeve tattoo she bore of a seafoam-colored jellyfish was also prominent, with fanning tentacles that twined with seaweed all down her bicep to her forearm. The addition of a flour-covered apron over top, and her short-cropped, ash-blond hair tied under a turquoise bandana, looked effortlessly cool, as if she knew exactly who she was.
Strong.
Confident.
Sexy.
Candace could not stop herself from staring. And Daisy stared right back at her.
Pranayama breathing turned to short, panicked puffs of air. It was like some sort of awful, slow-motion nightmare. Candace’s legs refused to obey her and continued towards the one place shereallyhad not wanted to go. All the while, she argued with herself in an internal monologue.
It’s been fifteen years. There’s no way she remembers you or what happened. You were both hormonal teenagers. It didn’t mean anything, it was just—
“Good morning,” Candace greeted on autopilot once she reached the point of no return. She flashed her best customer’s smile, which often got her exceptional service and the occasional extra goodie. “I’d like a large coffee, and—”
Daisy did not reply. Granite-faced, she reached for theDA BOMBsign. The fluorescent flickered out, along with Candace’s hope that her day would get any better.
Chapter 2
