Beach Cute

by Beth Reekles, Bethan Reeks

Genres: YA Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

From the author of the hit Kissing Booth series comes another sizzling story following three very different girls on summer vacation! Equal parts romance and humor, this is the perfect beach read for your next getaway.

Luna, Rory and Jodie are strangers in the need of a vacation... 

Luna has unexpectedly broken up with her boyfriend. 

Rory has to come up with a creative way to break it to her family she wants to pursue her art passion. 

And as for Jodie - she feels lost in both life and love. 

But these three strangers have one other thing in common...they are on their way to the same resort. As their lives collide in unexpected ways will they have the summer they'll never forget?

Release date: May 14, 2024

Publisher: Delacorte Romance

Print pages: 384

Sample

1 Luna

“No,” I say, pushing my printed confirmation across the counter. “See? I booked hold luggage. It’s right there.”

“I’m sorry, miss, it’s not in our system.”

I gulp. What kind of useless, cheapo airline is this? Well, not that cheapo, since they’re currently trying to charge me again for my supposedly unbooked hold luggage.

My palms are sweating. I hate stuff like this. I hate arguing over stuff like this. If there’s one thing I normally avoid like the plague, it’s confrontation. But I am not paying that money. Liam would’ve dealt with it so well; he was great at stuff like this—especially because he knew I wasn’t.

I get a pang in my chest just thinking about him, and push that feeling deep, deep down. I’ve got the entire week ahead to get my head around that. Right now, I need to deal with the fact that this woman wants to charge me fifty-eight pounds for luggage I’ve already paid twenty-three pounds to put on the plane.

She’s smiling at me as if she’d like to load me onto the conveyor belt just to get rid of me, clearly waiting for me to cave and pay the money.

Come on, Luna. You can do this. You’re almost twenty years old. You’re an adult now, and adults know how to handle these things.

I inhale a deep breath through my nose and tap the paper on the counter. I’m so glad now that Mum insisted I print everything out “just in case.”

“But I paid for it. Look, it’s—it’s right here. Confirmation of payment, see? That’s what it says.”

The woman suppresses a sigh, but gives me a too-wide toothy smile and says, “Let me go find my manager and we’ll get this sorted for you.”

“Thank you,” I say, but I don’t let myself feel relieved yet—I’m already mentally drafting an email of complaint demanding a refund, just in case this all goes south.

(Confrontation is a lot easier on the other side of a screen, after all.)

I remain on tenterhooks, feeling pissed off and more than a little bit tearful until I’ve had the same argument with the woman’s manager, who looks my booking up on the system just to tell me I need to pay the fee, and I try not to lose it as I push my printed email toward her, too. I can hear people in the queue behind me grumbling because I’m causing trouble and taking so long.

Don’t worry, I want to snap at them. The plane won’t leave without you.

Even though I know I’d be doing exactly the same in their position.

And even though I am worried the plane might leave without me at this rate.

Eventually, the manager concedes that I have in fact paid the fee due and lets my baggage through. My boarding pass is handed back to me with a smile. “So sorry about that. It must be because you booked through a third party. Have a safe flight, miss.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, praying I don’t have the same trouble at the hotel. Maybe booking this whole thing when I’d had a few drinks wasn’t my smartest move…

Then again, there are a lot of things that make the “Luna’s Completely Lost It” list

lately—and a solo trip to Spain isn’t even the most drastic of them.

I turn away, examining my boarding pass and checking my seat number for the billionth time. I’m so focused on it that I walk right into someone trying to get to the counter to check in.

“Oof!”

“Sorry, sorry! I’m so sorry,” I say as the girl starts apologizing too. “Totally my fault,” I tell her.

She fixes the sunglasses perched artfully on top of her head, where her blond hair is piled into a messy bun. “No worries, hon.”

She looks so zen, a pale-blue travel wallet clutched between fingers with lilac nail varnish on long nails, a small and lazy smile on her face. She’s wearing a white camisole tucked into gray linen shorts and a long, almost see-through white cardigan with a fringe that brushes her knees. The look is tied together by a chunky turquoise necklace and giant cork wedges with brown suede straps that match the brown leather bag hanging from her elbow.

For a moment, all I can think is: She’s so Instagrammable. In spite of the fact that she only looks about my age, I wonder for half a second if she’s some popular influencer because my next thought is: Who dresses like that to travel? She’ll have to take those shoes off when she gets to security, and I bet that necklace buzzes when she walks through. And how can she fit her hand luggage in that handbag? It looks mostly empty.

As I get out of the way so she can wheel her small suitcase to the check-in desk, I take another look at how glamorous she is. She’s joined the back of the queue and is holding her travel wallet between her teeth, bags on the floor, as she takes a video of herself wiggling her passport in the air for the camera.

I feel like such a slob in my most comfortable leggings and T-shirt, with my big rucksack, Vans and thin hoodie. We always dress comfortably to go on family trips, and it’s a habit I’m apparently not breaking anytime soon. Traveling alone is nerve-racking enough without suddenly throwing new habits into the mix.

Well, the joke’s on Instagram Girl, I think, hiking my rucksack higher onto my shoulders and heading toward the escalator to make my way through security. Her legs will be cold on those airplane seats.

---

—

It takes me forever to get through security. I remember being tempted in my moment of madness (or rather, drunkenness) by the security fast-track option, for however much extra money. I’d talked myself out of it then, but standing in the queue in front of a man in a suit talking

 loudly on his phone and behind a family with a screaming toddler and a little boy who keeps running under the ropes, I regret it.

The line crawls along. I get my phone out, clicking out of my boarding pass now that I no longer need it and instead tapping aimlessly across social media. Not much on Threads catches my attention, and my headphones are in the bottom of my bag somewhere, so mindlessly scrolling TikTok isn’t much of an option. I have one rubbish email promoting a makeup brand, which I delete, and just as I’m about to check Instagram, my phone buzzes.

Liam.

For a second, my heart stops. Then it launches into a somersault, leaving me feeling queasy in the pit of my stomach.

Saw on Insta you’re off on vacay. Hope you have a good time x

I stare at the message for a while—long enough that Mr. Noisy Talker behind me taps me on the shoulder and says, “Excuse me, could you move forward?”

I do, and before I can even decide whether I should reply or not another text comes through.

Roger brought my stuff over. I’d have come to get it if I’d realized you were moving out early. Thanks though

The dots reappear while he types another text.

They disappear.

They come back again.

I miss you

The guy behind me clears his throat, pointedly enough that I look around. He nods irritably in front of me, and I shuffle along into the space between me and the family.

What am I meant to do about that? What am I meant to do with an “I miss you”? 

Especially when I’ve spent the last couple of weeks wallowing in regret because I’ve realized I miss him, too?

---

—

I knew Liam was The One from the second I met him. We were introduced by friends a few years ago, when we were fifteen. He went to a different school, but we’ve spent practically all our time together since then. I was thrilled when we both got into Newcastle University, so I didn’t have to worry about what the stresses of long distance might do to our rock-solid relationship. I thought things would only get better for us.

Usually, I’m more sensible than to believe in things like love at first sight, but Liam ticked every one of my boxes. He was smart, funny, popular among our friends and even his tutors—and he was close with his family. I liked that most about him.

His laid-back attitude was at complete odds with my compulsion to control everything, but we worked; we balanced each other out. He’s tall where I’m short, lean where I’m curvy, outspoken while I’m reserved and thoughtful. He pushed me outside my comfort zone and helped me have a busy, vibrant social life when I might otherwise have wanted to stay in.

And he loved me.

It was always so easy to picture my future with Liam: we’d graduate at the same time, find jobs near each other, rent a place together while we saved for a house deposit. We’d be on each other’s car insurance, share a Netflix account, argue over what to call the cat we both wanted. He used to laugh when I’d say things like, “I want to be married by the time I’m twenty-five, and have kids by the time I’m thirty,” but then he’d kiss me and say that was good to know—he’d keep it in mind, block out his calendar so he’d remember to go ring shopping in plenty of time.

We were going to be in the same houseshare next year at uni; it would be good practice for when we lived together, just the two of us.

He was supposed to be my forever.

I haven’t heard from Liam since I broke up with him a few weeks ago.

I guess I don’t have much right to wish he’d get in touch when I was the one who ended things, but it still hurts to go from having my whole world wrapped up in him to…nothing.

Well, not exactly nothing, because any time I open an Instagram Story from one of our friends, bam, there he is. Out with everyone. Having fun with everyone. Not wallowing at home, heartbroken, his entire future in tatters, like I was—if only because nobody had

invited me along to give me another option.

I was the one who asked our mutual friend Roger to come grab the things Liam had left in my room. I was too much of a coward to face him myself because I knew if I saw him, I’d end up breaking down in tears and begging him to take me back. Which I would’ve done already if he hadn’t been out with all our friends, carrying on as if everything were the same. As if the last four years just meant…nothing.

Until that text, I hadn’t even known he missed me.

I shove my phone in my pocket; I can guarantee that given half a chance I’ll get drawn back in and try to win him back when I already tried so hard all of last year just to keep him. I think about the vision board I threw in the bin, the pages I tore out of my journal in a flood of drunken tears the night I booked this trip. I think about all the time I wasted being with him, and the time I’m about to waste trying to get over him.

A lump forms in the back of my throat, and I choke it down.

The last thing I need right now is to dissolve into floods of tears at the airport, for God’s sake. I can even hear my brother in the back of my mind, teasing me for being so sensitive.

(Although he was pretty devastated when I told him about the breakup. He really liked Liam.)

I draw a shaky breath and square my shoulders.

Get it together, Luna.

I slip my phone out of my pocket. Liam’s text is still up on the screen.

Going from seeing him every day to not even sending him a video I think he’d like has been torture. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so lonely.

There’s no reason we can’t be friends, I think, once we’ve both moved on. I’d like to be. Isn’t that what grown-ups do? And we are grown-ups now. And if we can be friends, then everyone else will stay friends with me, too.

“Miss?”

I look up, fingers hovering over the on-screen keyboard, ready to tell Liam I miss him, too. But instead I’m being beckoned forward, toward the empty trays behind the security belt.

“Please place all electronic items in the tray separately. Any liquids…”

I tune out but follow the instructions, placing my phone in the tray next to my iPad and Kindle.

By the time I’ve gone through the metal detectors and picked up my tray to begin putting

 everything back into my rucksack, my phone screen is lighting up with an incoming call from Liam. My heart stops.

Is it because he thinks I’ve moved on if I’m going away without him, and wants to patch things up before I leave? Or did he just find one of my textbooks while packing up his room and wants to know what to do with it? No—no, he misses me, he still loves me, this is all just a horrible mistake, a big mess and…

I stare at the screen for a second, hardly even able to breathe for hoping, but then I’m being jostled along by other people coming through the security scanner, and when I snatch my things out of the tray I accidentally cut off his call.

I wince, but…maybe it’s for the best. I broke up with him for a reason, didn’t I? And this vacation was supposed to be a chance to have some space and get over him. Or at least stop me from running back to him.

Standing out of the way, I cradle my phone in my hands and put it on mute.

Sorry, Liam. But this week is all about me.  

2 Rory

My big sisters are way too good to me, I think, breezing past the people in the hideously long security queue with the fast-track pass my eldest sister, Hannah, bought me without a second thought.

“I don’t need that,” I’d told her, watching her click the box as she booked my trip. If I were a nail-biter, my nails would’ve been in shreds at that point. I should stop them, I kept thinking. I shouldn’t let them do this. I should just grow the fuck up and take some goddamn responsibility for my shitty life.

But I was letting them do it. I was even recommending the resort and pulling up a promo code from an Instagram ad I’d seen about it. I was far too excited about the idea of running away from all my problems for seven days in paradise.

(A little less excited about having to give up social media for a week, but…)

“Oh please,” my other sister Nic had scoffed. “It’ll give you more time to nose around in duty-free or grab a coffee.”

“You know I can’t afford flavored syrup in my coffee, right, let alone anything in duty-free?” I’d pointed out to them, but now my travel wallet is thick with euros that our parents gifted me. It’s a total pity gift, but I think they prefer the idea of me jetting off to get some sun rather than moping around my childhood bedroom, withdrawing even more than I already have.

All this makes me feel spoiled and bratty, and I know I should be feeling guilty as hell, but I’m just not.

I’m about to spend a week in the Spanish sun, in a luxury beachside resort, sipping on mojitos and nibbling at tapas, with no responsibilities other than “having a break,” and I feel pretty damn great about it. Who wouldn’t?

Not to mention it’s the perfect opportunity to run away from the impending doom of A-level results and university once summer ends. I can bury my head in the sand (maybe literally; that is very much to be determined) rather than deal with reality.

---

—

A few weekends ago, I’d gone out for lunch with my sisters, letting them pick up the bill because I couldn’t afford it on my zero-hours contract, and knowing full well it was our parents’ idea of a gentle intervention.

“You’ve just seemed so down in the dumps lately,” Nic cooed, pouting at me.

“Me?” I scoffed. “I’m fine. You’re the one with a new baby and getting, like, no sleep. And, Hannah, you’ve got your fancy promotion and have to work twelve-hour days—”

“Aurora,” Hannah snapped, and I’d felt the blood drain from my face. I couldn’t remember the last time either of my sisters had used my full name like that. “We’re serious. We’re worried about you.”

“Maybe you should go back to the doctor,” Nic suggested gently.

And because I couldn’t face going down that road and having that conversation again I’d declared, “I’m not depressed. I’m just…I’m nervous about starting uni! That’s all. Moving out, making new friends, having to try not to burn pasta! Did Mum tell you? I ruined the pan. How does a person even manage to burn pasta, I ask you! So much for a fail-safe, student-friendly meal.”

 

Either I did a good enough job of convincing them or they felt straight-up sorry for me, but they decided that what would really do me some good was a vacation. And a digital detox one at that—because apparently I spend too much time on my phone. Which is ridiculous, if also absolutely true. And it’s a vacation generously paid for by them because my savings account has less than fifty quid in it.

I may not have touched a single book from the suggested reading list for my new course, but I definitely have a head start on the whole “broke student” vibe.

---

—

I breeze through the fast-track security like I do this all the time, and wander around duty-free, sniffing perfume samples like I’m actually considering buying something. I take a free chocolate and chat to the lady on the stand, telling her I’ll have a think and maybe come back later, even though we both know I have no intention of doing such a thing.

I’ve got half an hour to kill before they announce the boarding gate, so I work my way through to the Costa café and splurge (using my own money this time) on a venti chai latte with whipped cream. A dusting of cinnamon on top and it looks—and smells—like heaven. Drink in hand, I have to stand for a few minutes, peering through the heaving crowds, before I spy a couple leaving a table. I make a beeline for it.

As I slam my cup onto the table, someone nearby huffs.

Ha, I think, seeing a guy roll his eyes and turn away with his tray, I win.

I rummage through my bag, tipping out my notebook and a couple of pens. Blue and green felt-tips and my favorite Biro. I can work with that.

I have one week on an all-inclusive digital detox vacation to stop thinking my life is tragic (because it isn’t really) and instead consider what to do after the summer—and map out a plan.

I’ve never been much good at planning, but maybe this will be the week that it finally happens.

Maybe inspiration will strike!

Maybe, when I come back, I’ll find my TikTok account has totally blown up and I’m being slammed with offers to work with brands. Maybe I’ll have sold something off my Etsy store, after a monthslong dry spell. Maybe my parents will see it and think, Wow, look how good Rory is at this thing! And maybe I’ll finally find the guts to turn down the uni offer I never actually wanted in the first place.

I scoff at myself as I press my notebook out flat to a clean set of pages. Not likely. But hey, I can hope.

Before I get started,

I take a video of my coffee and the airport to add to my “Come away with me!” TikTok video, then I stand up and lean over the table to snap a flat lay for Instagram. I fix the filters, tag my location and Costa Coffee, Tiffany & Co. and the independent online shop where the notebook is from.

Unwinding at the airport with some organization and a latte…Going to be off the grid for the next week. Try not to miss me too much! xxx

PS Has anyone checked out the new @tiffanyandco perfume? Talk about YUMMY

I polish it off with some hashtags and put my phone face down on the table in an attempt not to pay too much attention to the notifications. Hannah and Nic kept telling me to make the most of this trip, so I guess I should probably start practicing being without my phone a bit.

This week is supposed to be all about being “restful” and “rejuvenated,” and I don’t want to waste it. I do not intend to come home with just a tan to show for it. Plus, I know my family wants me to get something out of this break. Mum told Nic she hopes I come back “a bit less depressed,” which Nic wasn’t supposed to tell me, but obviously she did, because that’s what sisters do.

This week is my chance to turn it all around.

To feel like I know what I’m doing with my life. To stop moping and start succeeding. I don’t usually go in for all that manifestation stuff, but I’m tempted to give it a shot for a change. Send some positive vibes and a can-do attitude out into the world.

What I need is a bucket list.

I sip my latte, then smack my lips and click my Biro. Time to get to work.

The Vacation Bucket List

1. Write pros and cons list of actually doing the law degree you got an UNCONDITIONAL OFFER FOR

2. Write pros and cons list of doing literally anything but that

3. Consider other degrees to apply to through clearing?

4. Write pros and cons list of a gap year, just in case

5. HAVE FUN! BE RESTFUL! PRACTICE MINDFULNESS!

6. Talk to strangers (make friends??)

7. Try something new!

8. Figure out how to tell Mum and Dad and Nic and

   1. Hannah I don’t want to do the law degree, never wanted to do the law degree, never will want to do the law degree, and might cry if someone mentions the law degree one more time

   2.  

   3.  

   I stare at the blank spots for nine and ten for a while, tapping my pen absently against the page and then chewing the end of it, then tapping again while I drink some more coffee. It bugs me there’s only eight things on the list instead of a nice round ten (ten would make for better content, I can’t help but think), but hell—I’ve got the whole flight to come up with two more things to do this week.

   I embellish the page with a couple of tiny doodles with my felt-tips, then drop the lot back into my handbag and reach for my phone. It’s been maybe ten minutes, which I think is a pretty good start to the digital detox. That’s about the longest I’ve left my phone alone in years.

   I have a few notifications, mostly consisting of overenthusiastic messages from my parents or my sisters telling me to have fun. There are some from my friends about how jealous they are, which I reply to with a selfie of me grinning in the airport. I do feel a bit superior about it, but in my defense, they’re all off on a group getaway to Ibiza this year and I have to miss out because it clashes with the family trip to Tenby, and Dad wouldn’t let me bail on that. Which royally sucks, but I do love the family trip to Tenby. And Mum and Dad are kind of footing the bill for whatever trips I go on, so I can’t argue too much.

   Not that it’s that big a deal anyway, because there’s plenty of time this summer to hang out with my friends. The girls from netball, some of the gang from art club, a few people from my classes…I do feel a bit proud when I see all their different faces popping up as they read my update in Messenger. All these different people I’ve brought together. It’s a nice feeling.

   But before the group chat can start sharing their Ibiza plans and make me the jealous one, I swipe over to the comments section of my #GRWM #getreadywithme TikTok from this morning—and my stomach plummets when I see it only has a few hundred views, making it a total flop in comparison to most of my other videos. My views have been going steadily down for weeks now, and my number of followers has hit a plateau—none of which is helping my recent grand total of zero sales from my Etsy store.

   Why? What am I doing so wrong? Did I upset the algorithm by switching to a different filter on my videos? It doesn’t make sense. Plenty of my videos have tens of thousands of views. And a GRWM is always popular!

   What gives? I want to yell.

   Is this it? The beginning of a downward slope into nothingness?

   Not to be dramatic or anything, but it sure feels like a pretty firm sign to pack in any ideas of pursuing a creative career and do the boring, sensible, stupid law degree that, for some unfathomable reason, my parents suggested might be a good fit after the careers teacher said I had “tremendous potential” and that, for some even more unfathomable reason, I said sounded like fun. It’s the universe telling me I’m a joke.

   Furiously biting back tears (because I’ll be damned if I’m going to cry in the airport over one measly, pathetic video), I throw my phone back into my bag and down the last dregs of my latte, which has gone almost cold by now.

   My nails sound loud and sharp as they tap on the tabletop. A woman at the next table clears her throat, jerking me back to reality. It’s only then that I realize I’ve been huffing through my nose and my lips are twitching like they’re making argumentative replies to my parents, to the algorithm, to that awful letter of doom congratulating me on a place at Bristol Uni.

   I take my phone back out—but only to check the time.

   The gate should have been up four minutes ago. Dad joked about how I’d probably get so distracted, traveling alone, ...