Love Next Door (Lakeside #1) by Helena Hunting

“Is there a way to do that? To maintain the beach on this side of the lake without making it too appealing?” I stop to pick up an empty beer bottle and toss it in the trash.

“I don’t think anyone has tried too hard. Bee was vocal at town-council meetings back in the day, but no one else has stepped up to the plate. Besides, there’s a hefty price tag attached to that kind of thing. Maintaining the beach costs man-hours, and that’s not in the town budget.”

“It should be equitable, though, shouldn’t it?” The docks on this side are falling apart, whereas the public beach on the other side has lifeguards, new floating rafts, and gorgeous sand.

Dillion gives me a knowing look. “It all comes down to the money and who’s providing it. The people in this community are middle class, and most of them make ends meet just fine, but they don’t have thousands to spare to pay someone’s salary to maintain a slice of beach.”

It’s not like I don’t already know this. I witnessed it firsthand every summer. While I chose to stay in Grammy Bee’s cottage and spend most of my days on this side of the lake, if I’d wanted to, I could’ve gone to the beach on the other side, and no one would have given me a second glance, but it’s not the same for the locals. Or at least that’s how it seems.

There’s a level of tolerance between the local community and the vacationers. But it isn’t necessarily symbiotic. Especially since now, more and more of the vacation homes are becoming permanent residences, which changes the dynamic of the community. I see it more clearly now than I did when I was younger, and I can only imagine how hard it must have been for Grammy Bee when she married someone her family didn’t approve of and eventually chose his world over her own.

Warning signs are posted at the end of each dock, a single flimsy chain strung across the two anchoring posts. The signs are faded and peeling, indicating that they’ve been in this state of disrepair for a number of years already. Their effectiveness is highly questionable, with a few hanging so low even a toddler could step over them. As if that isn’t bad enough, several docks are missing boards along the way, a gap-toothed grimace of rotten wood.

It’s clear that people use them all the time, though, based on the words carved into the decaying boards. Some of it looks like the work of teenagers, while others are far more sophisticated, with messages like “Protect the South Beach community.” I look around the beach and notice for the first time that the mess from last night has already been cleaned up. Only a few stray red plastic cups are lingering in the bushes, and the bonfire has been put out and marked with signs so kids don’t accidentally run through the ashes.

“How did this get cleaned up so quickly?”

“Usually there’s a group of us who will come with a couple garbage bags to get rid of the trash and make the beach useable again,” Dillion says.

“Were you one of them?”

“Not this time, but Allie and Tawny pitched in while I was at that meeting with my dad.”

“If they’re willing to pick up plastic cups and beer bottles, do you think they’d be willing to go further to make it safer, especially the docks? Sometimes people need to see change is possible to be compelled to help make it happen.”

“They might be, but cleaning it up is one thing; fixing all the docks and maintaining them is totally another.” Dillion tucks her thumbs into her back pockets.

“I can look into it,” I say. “See what the town is willing to do to help out, maybe push the Grammy Bee angle, since I know it was important to her?”

She smiles. “She loved it here. More than anyplace in town, this was her favorite. I used to drive out here with her, even in the winter. It’d be balls cold, and she’d bundle up and trudge through the snowbanks just to stand on the beach until we couldn’t feel our toes and the tears froze on our cheeks, thanks to the wind.”

“Sounds like Bee. Did you drink hot toddies afterward?”

“First we stopped at Boones for apple fritters. Then we’d head back and drink spiked hot chocolate. It’s a wonder we never ended up in a sugar coma on those days.”

She used to do exactly the same thing with me, even before I was allowed to drink alcohol legally. It makes me wonder how many of our experiences with Bee echo each other’s, and if she hasn’t been working her magic from the other side by threading our lives together, without us even realizing it.





CHAPTER 18

THE NEW NOT QUITE NORMAL

Dillion

As amazing as sleeping next to Van is, I move back into my trailer after a few nights. He insists that I can stay with him as long as I want, and while the comfort of his bed and the company are incredibly appealing, I cite early mornings and my middle-of-the-night thrashing as reasons why I should stay at my place most of the time.

But the real reason is . . . I’m starting to like him. A lot. And as fun as he is to spend time with, I don’t want to lose sight of my own goals. It would be easy to get caught up in a summer romance, one that invariably has an end date attached to it, and that date is likely going to be sooner rather than later.

Since I’ve been back, I’ve been undecided on what my next move will be. I’ve been looking at positions for project managers in Chicago and checking out rentals that have a half-hour commute or maybe even less. I want to have options once I’m no longer needed here, but none of the positions have been all that appealing so far. With all the reno projects this winter, it seems like my dad is going to be on-site more and in the office less, so no matter what happens, I’ll likely have to train someone to take over for me when the time comes.