Page 138 of Found by the Pack

“Julian?” Boone asks.

Shepard nods. “Julian.”

Then he looks between the three of us. “So? What do you say? A day out on the water. Just us.”

I can’t help it—I grin, a laugh bubbling out of me. “Yes. God, yes. Absolutely.”

The thought of it thrills me. Sunlight on the waves, wind in my hair, all of us untethered from Driftwood for a little while. Just us.

Boone squeezes my hip. “Then it’s settled.”

Gabe raises his beer in a mock toast. Shepard tips his glass. I sip from mine, the taste of wine and salt still lingering on my lips, and think that maybe I could start a life here, with them.

I want to stay.

Gabe’s driving. His arm rests easy on the open window of Boone’s truck, wind slipping in and pulling strands of my hair loose from the clip I shoved it into this morning.

Boone sits beside me in the back, his long frame stretched out, sunglasses covering his eyes. The sun is already sharp, bouncing off the hood of the car as we cruise along the coast road.

We pass by the lighthouse, its white stone bright against the blue sky. I find myself staring at it, struck with the realization that it’s been months—maybe longer—since I let myself just… be.

No sketches half-finished in my bag, no scaffolding, no brush in my hand or paint on my skin.

My life has been narrowed down to walls and deadlines and the four of us tangled up in each other. I’ve been so caught up in surviving and producing that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to have a day stretch wide in front of me.

“Baby,” Boone murmurs, low enough that only I hear.

I turn to him. “Yeah?”

He slips his sunglasses down his nose, those eyes finding me, soft but lit with something mischievous.

“Excited?”

I smile, nodding. “More than excited. I think I really did need a vacation.”

He smirks like he already knew that answer, then nudges my thigh with his.

We drive into the harbor. The rebuild is obvious—scaffolding, new boards stacked, workers moving in the shade of half-finished beams.

I lean forward between the seats. “Why’s it all being rebuilt?”

Gabe glances at me in the rearview, one hand steady on the wheel. “There were supposed to be a couple of resorts put in down here, high-end stuff. The money dried up when the market dipped, so everything got put on hold. The town’s been arguing for years about what to do with it.”

“Hmm.” My gaze drifts over the bare skeletons of buildings, imagining them finished, full of tourists, or just left empty like ghosts.

We pull into the lot and park. The harbor smells like salt and diesel, gulls crying overhead.

My pulse jumps a little when I see Shepard already standing near the dock, talking to a man I don’t know. The sun hits his hair in a way that makes it look too golden for someone who insists on being serious all the time.

He looks up, sees us, and lifts a hand. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I call back, sliding out of the truck. Boone’s already circling to help me down, even though I don’t need it. His palm cups my hip for a second longer than necessary, and I grin at him.

The man beside Shepard turns as we approach. He’s older, with skin browned from years on the water, hair streaked silver. He shakes Boone’s hand, then Gabe’s, and gives me a small nod. Shepard makes the introductions.

“Julian’s the one doing me the favor,” Shepard explains. “He’s letting us take her out today. Crew’s already on board, so it’s all set. No work for us, just the ride.”

We turn toward the yacht.