Free Cure for the Common Breakup by Beth Kendrick Page B

really don’t care. How convenient.”
    Beryl picked out a gauzy gray sundress and a slate blue T-shirt with a striped skirt. “Sometimes you have to treat yourself.” She bundled the clothes into a bright pink bag stuffed with pastel tissue paper. “Don’t forget to eat and drink plenty of water.”
    â€œIs that the official town motto?”
    â€œIt’s a fact. Heartache and dehydration are a dangerous mix.” Beryl gave her a little pat on the arm. “Come back whenever you’re ready for those halter tops and miniskirts.”
    â€œNever,” Summer vowed.
    â€œThat’s what they all say. See you soon!”
    â€”
    On her way out of the boutique, Summer had to pause and brace one hand against the doorjamb as she reeled under a sudden dizzy spell.
Definitely time to eat.
    She glanced around the nearby businesses in search of a café. The afternoon sunlight reflected off the bronze dog statue overlooking the boardwalk.
    â€œThere she is!” an angry voice cried. A posh, entitled voice that sounded familiar.
    Sure enough, the terrorist in tweed stood across the street, waving a playing card and pointing out Summer to a broad-shouldered man in a gray suit.
    â€œThat’s her!” Mimi Sinclair cried. “She littered! She tipped without my permission!”
    The man turned around, and Summer realized he was the same guy whose roses she’d run over.
    Except he wasn’t the same, exactly. The Dutch Jansen she’d met in the garden had been windburned and rugged, with dirt in the creases of his knuckles. Now he was clearly Mayor Jansen, all silk tie and cuff links and immaculate grooming.
    She hoisted her bag in greeting, then threw in a flirty little hair flip because, hey, old habits die hard and new highlights look good.
    Mimi’s scowl darkened. But Dutch’s impassive expression finally cracked. He shaded his eyes from the sun, gazed across the town square at her, and smiled as if he couldn’t help it.
    And she had to turn around and hurry away, because she couldn’t help smiling back.

chapter 8

    â€œA ll right, ladies, it’s campfire night.” Marla, ever the nurturing den mother, rounded up the bed-and-breakfast guests at nightfall. “Grab your breakup debris and follow me. Theo usually gets the fire going, but he left for poker night, so we’ll have to do it ourselves.” She led the group out of the lobby and down to the starlit beach, where a circle of charred rocks surrounded a pile of twigs and logs. “Any volunteers?”
    â€œI’ll give it a try. All those years of Girl Scout camp are finally going to pay off.” A stunning woman with dark skin, cropped black hair, and cheekbones to die for stepped forward holding a wedding gown. “Silk chiffon is good kindling, don’t you think?”
    â€œSilk chiffon is perfect.” Marla handed out sweaters and blankets while the woman tossed the white dress into the fire pit. “We’ve had problems with certain fabrics over the years—acetate, anything polyester—but silk burns beautifully.” She produced a can of starter fluid and sprinkled a few drops on the gown. Then she handed a pack of matches to the gown’s owner. “Whenever you’re ready.”
    The guests gathered together, whooping and clapping as the woman lit a match and tossed it into the fire pit. The crumpled dress ignited with a whooshing sound. Someone produced a flask and started passing it around.
    Summer stayed on the sidelines.
    â€œWho’s next?” Marla helped herself to a sip from the flask. “Don’t be shy!”
    The flames leaped higher as the guests piled on their unwanted mementos. Some of these were obvious reminders of failed relationships: engagement photos, love letters, anniversary cards. But some objects held meaning known only to their owners: a take-out menu, a carved wooden elephant, an old-school cassette