Fireworks and frenemies, p.1
Fireworks and Frenemies, page 1
FIREWORKS AND FRENEMIES
HOLIDAY BEACH SWEET ROMANCE
ELLE RUSH
SBD ENTERTAINMENT
Copyright © 2022 by Elle Rush
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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CONTENTS
Blurb
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Also by Elle Rush
About the Author
BLURB
Bob “Mac” Mackenzie has finally started construction on the house of his dreams. The lakeside paradise is everything he imagined, except for the nightmare next door. The pretty project manager always apologizes for the inconveniences her build is causing, but the accidents keep happening.
The Holiday Beach mansion she designed was supposed to be the diamond in architect Lori Baker’s crown, but instead, she’s wearing dirt on her face. Impossible clients are driving her to the brink, and a few initial misunderstandings with the handsome neighbor have turned every interaction into an all-out war.
When Lori is fired after she tries to fix the damage the owners cause to Mac’s property, she finds herself stranded and jobless. With nothing to go home to, Holiday Beach could be the perfect place to start over on her own Independence Day. All she needs is a chance to showcase her skills—but her best shot means working with her worst enemy.
CHAPTER 1
The only good thing about working on a new summer home build on Star Lake was the fact Lori Baker got to stop in Holiday Beach for the best caramel cappuccino in the state every time she made the three-hour trip from Minneapolis to deal with the project of doom.
By the Cup was a small, independent coffee shop that faced the public beach. It wasn’t busy at this point in early May, but Lori could picture the lines going out the door once the summer tourist crowds descended on the resort town. The coffee was delicious, the location convenient, and the staff friendly—if you weren’t known around town as “that woman working on the house next to Mac’s.”
She had made some missteps when she’d first arrived in Holiday Beach. She was used to taking a heavy-handed approach to contractors and suppliers in the city. That didn’t fly in a small town. Lori knew that now. But it was too little, too late. Her reputation was shot. All she could do was try to be friendly where she could. Like in the coffee shop.
As she was paying, she noticed a sign in the baking display case. “What is the Green, White, and Blue Fund?” she asked.
The quiet barista behind the counter blinked at the question. “The Holiday Beach Parks Committee is running a raffle to raise funds to install new garbage and recycling bins around town to help keep the beach and parks clean this summer. The drawing is this weekend.”
“I’m all for clean beaches. That sounds like a great initiative. I’ll take two tickets, please.”
She got her first smile in three visits. “That’s terrific,” the brunette said. “Here, use my pen. I’m Rachel.”
Lori dutifully filled in her name, address, email, and phone number. “Thanks, Rachel. What’s the prize?”
“A weekend at the Dew Drop Inn. It’s the hotel on the edge of town.”
“The one with the amazing stained-glass window facing the highway?”
“That’s the one.”
“Wouldn’t that be a treat!” Lori drove past that hotel on every trip. The window glowed like a beacon, inviting travellers to come and stay for a while. Unfortunately for her, the company had only sprung for the Fairlaine Motel up the highway on the rare occasion she’d needed to spend the night.
Rachel handed over her tickets, but Lori was already at the door when she realized she’d been given three. “You gave me an extra ticket.”
“No, that’s for you. Earlier this morning, a customer paid for a ticket and told me to give it to the next person who bought one.”
“Why?”
Rachel shrugged. “Lucy has a whole explanation about how her strange luck works, but it doesn’t matter. All three are yours. The drawing is tomorrow, so keep your phone handy in case you win.”
“Thanks.” Lori stuffed the tickets into the bottom of her purse, where she’d find them in a few months to toss them in the trash. Despite how attractive the town looked on the outside, it would never be lucky for her.
Holiday Beach was a charming little place. According to the research she’d done, a few years earlier the town had decided to build on its name and market itself as a holiday destination, using every special date on the calendar as a reason to come to Holiday Beach and celebrate.
Lori had arrived for the first time in December and found a magical winter wonderland. Every house, business, and building sparkled in lights and decorations. Most were for Christmas, but with so many holidays in December and early January, Lori had counted at least four different celebrations. The town was awash in red hearts and winged cupids for Valentine’s Day and then shifted immediately to St. Patrick’s Day green. She’d especially enjoyed Easter earlier in April because, in addition to the decorations, Mother Nature got into the act and sprinkled blooming crocuses and tulips all over the place.
Next on the calendar was Memorial Day. It was only the last week of April, but people had already started preparing their yards for a sunny season of outdoor living. They moved summer furniture out of sheds, hung patio lights, and brought out their flags now that the weather wouldn’t treat them as badly. Lori had seen posters for a service to be held on the last Monday of May.
It was a short trip from the coffee shop to the construction site. She had to drive past Mac Mackenzie’s driveway. The house that had started to go up at the same time as the Parkmans’ had progressed a lot over the past month. She started to mentally track the changes, but quickly abandoned the thought when her project came into view.
At least, it used to be her project.
Lori had toiled away for two years as a junior associate at Turner Architecture Group, taking whatever projects she’d been given. Then Modern Minnesota magazine announced a contest for new environmentally friendly buildings, and Lori’s boss allowed her to enter under the company’s name.
They threw her a party when her design made the top ten. It also encouraged her bosses to let her take the important step of approaching her own clients to bring in new business.
The Parkmans saw her design in the magazine and told her boss they wanted it for their new summer property in Holiday Beach. He assigned Lori as the architect in charge of the project.
The first time Lori arrived at the build site, she found twin stone pillars already constructed at the base of the double-wide driveway. Mr. and Mrs. Parkman informed her all the homes on Shakespeare Drive had literary names, but they had not yet been inspired by her design.
She should have taken that as a sign.
Her prize-winning design was supposed to be a stepping-stone to a new and glorious phase of her career. Instead, it had turned into a weight around her neck, determined to pull her into a pit of despair and frustration. The Parkmans replaced every green appliance choice with something bigger or more powerful. Then they nixed all products made from renewable resources, saying they weren’t as pretty as other options. And those were just the smallest changes to her original design. They began demanding bigger, grander additions. It wasn’t long before the only green thing left was the money it was costing to build it.
The only reason Lori had to come out to the project as often as she did was because the clients continually insisted on increasing the scope of work. She had no idea what surprise was in store for this trip. All Mrs. Parkman said was she had “an exciting new project” to share and Lori had to come to Holiday Beach immediately.
“Where is Mrs. Parkman?” Lori asked the first contractor she saw.
“The solarium.”
The solarium—two-hundred square feet with glass walls and a glass ceiling—had been Mrs. Parkman’s most recent last-minute alteration to the plans. They were scheduled to pour the foundation that day. Lori thumped through the house in her work boots and found her client watching a workman in the distance.
“Laura, I’m so glad you could make it. We had a terrific idea the other night. Since we weren’t able to get the lakefront property we wanted and the public beach is two miles away, we’ve decided to put in a pool!”
“It’s Lori or Lorelei, Mrs. Parkman. And did you say a pool?” Lori repeated.
The demanding redhead clapped in excitement. In ground. Heated, of course. With a lovely, large patio and a pool house with a shower and maybe a small kitchen area for snacks.”
“A pool and a pool house?”
“We’ve already called Tidal Pools to come out. I know this will mean more permits and changes, but you’ve managed so far. I have the perfect location picked out. Just far enough from the house so the noise won’t be an issue, but not too long of a walk.” Mrs. Parkman pointed to the treeline that separated her property from Mac Mackenzie’s. “That spruce has to go. It’ll block the afternoon sun. I’ve sent someone out to take care of it.”
“The tall spruce that’s ringed by the birch trees?” Lori asked.
“Yes, exactly. You know what? I think you’re right. Those birches will have to come down too. I don’t want their leaves clogging the filter in the fall.”
Lori bolted.
CHAPTER 2
Bob “Mac” Mackenzie sipped flawlessly brewed coffee as he sat on his deck, looking out over Star Lake on a beautiful April afternoon. Life didn’t get much better than this. Granted, the coffee was from By the Cup and in a travel mug because his kitchen cupboards hadn’t arrived yet. He was sitting in a folding lawn chair with his back to the wall because the deck didn’t have any railings and it was a long drop. Since he’d never be able to afford shorefront property, the view of the lake was through a gap in the trees across the road. But the sky was blue, the sun was shining, and the first robins of the year had returned to the cluster of poplars at the end of his driveway. Overall, the day was bordering on perfection.
It was a weekday morning. He should be at his current work site, repainting an empty office in the Holiday Beach Business Center with his partner. But his younger brother and partner at Mackenzie Brothers Painting was starting without him. Mac had to wait for the local building inspector to arrive to approve his electrical work so he could move on to the next phase of construction for his new home. The plans had been in the works for years, but it had been one delay after another. Mac had finally acquired the property the previous fall. But now it was all coming together.
The rumble of tires on gravel brought Mac to his feet. He recognized the truck, having seen it at several properties he’d worked on at his day job. “Hi, Murray.”
“Hey, Mac. Is Lee’s Cabin ready for this inspection?”
Mac had begun thinking of a name for his new home the second he’d made the offer for the property. He wasn’t a huge reader, but there was one writer who had never let him down. He expected a lot of people to assume he was talking about another Lee and ask if the property had mockingbirds. He intended to correct his guests by saying it was home to a lot of superheroes. “Ready and confident,” Mac said.
Drywall was stacked in the middle of what would be his living room. Boxes of flooring were in the dining room, and bathroom tiles waited upstairs in the master bedroom. The entire house was a glorified warehouse of specifically chosen materials and finishes. Today’s electrical inspection was the last step out of his hands. If all went according to plan, Mac’s home should be ready to move into by the end of June.
Murray didn’t waste any time. He examined junction boxes, panels, and outlets, marking each with a check mark on his clipboard. “You are good to go, my friend.”
Mac ran his fingers through his dark hair in relief. “Thanks a lot.” He hadn’t expected problems, but there was always the chance something could go wrong at the last minute.
“I’d stay for a tour, but I have a ton of places to go today. Another time?” his friend asked.
“Any time. Although I may end up putting you to work.”
The inspector laughed. “I’ve been warned. Happy drywalling, Mac.”
The annoying buzz of a chainsaw met them when they stepped outside. Both men looked at the half-constructed monstrosity in the lot next door. The new build was the bane of Mac’s existence. Most of the other locals along Shakespeare Drive felt the same.
“Ah, yes, the Parkman project,” Murray said with a grimace.
“Are they on your list for today?”
“Thankfully, no. That place is a nightmare. Sarah at the planning office pulls her hair out every time their name comes up.”
The chainsaw almost drowned out his words. It sounded close. Dangerously close. After the confrontations he’d had with his new neighbors over the previous winter, Mac was quick to react. “You know what? I think I’d better check that out.”
“Good luck, buddy.”
Mac had specifically left a row of trees between the two properties rather than clear-cutting the area. It gave them both privacy and maintained a wind break around his house. The local wildlife also appreciated him protecting their natural habitats, although it had been a battle to keep the squirrels out of the attic until all the windows were installed. He came to a truce with them by constructing a feeder by the spruce tree that he could see from his primary bedroom window.
He was heading to that same spruce tree now, and it sounded like he was heading in the right direction. The chainsaw was getting louder. But now there was shouting as well. Most of it was muffled by the other noise, but two words in a familiar voice were clear. “No” and “stop.”
Mac groaned, but he didn’t stop moving. He had to see the latest disaster to be caused by Lorelei T. Baker. He didn’t know if her middle initial was actually T, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it was. The T was for Trouble because that’s all she caused.
He didn’t know the details of what was going on, but he was certain he could guess the result.
First, he’d find out what she’d done to mess up his construction plans. Like the time she’d told the driver to dump a truckload of lumber in the middle of his driveway until they could get to it.
Then she’d come over and apologize, claiming it was all a misunderstanding. It was what she did after a load of his windows was accidentally sent to his neighbor’s address. Ms. Baker looked at the delivery, declared them to be entirely wrong, and sent them back to the manufacturer. What she didn’t do was look at the invoice to verify they were her windows. When his windows hadn’t arrived by their expected delivery date, he’d spent days tracking them down, only to discover they’d been returned to the factory. It took even longer to figure out how they got there. It put him two full weeks behind.
And then Lorelei Baker would promise it would never happen again. Like she had when her contractors trespassed on his property.
Mac forced himself to tamp down his irritation. That last one was an honest mistake and not at all what he assumed. Yes, there were people wandering around on his land, and yes, Lorelei invited them. But they were from the county zoning office and were there to mark the property line so nobody else would make another mistake. Which he found out after he’d yelled at them. And Lorelei. But the other things had totally been her fault.
It took him a second to realize her shouting had stopped. The reason he hadn’t noticed was because of the cracking and creaking of the pine tree. He blinked. He wasn’t imagining things; it was getting closer. The treetop parted the two poplars closest to his house, and then the branches and trunk came into view, crashing through the thin undergrowth and crushing his brand-new squirrel feeder. The crown of the tree scraped the side of the house, ripping off rows of his brand-new siding.
“What is going on here?” he roared.
He plowed through the brush, uncaring of the branches whipping his face and tearing at his clothes. Lorelei Baker came into view first. Her already pale face went white when she saw him.
“Mac! Mr. Mackenzie, I am—” she began.
