Page 17 of Hearts Adrift (A Texas Beach Town Romance #4)
His adorable eyes fall into mine yet again.
Pushing and pulling into mine the same way the water keeps clawing at the stones before sliding back into the sea.
The fire’s back.
A lot of fire.
I chuckle and look away. “Sorry. Again. My nature, to be ‘too much’ all the time. You were just opening up to me and … I just made it awkward. Forget that I said anything.” I carry on walking.
After a moment, I hear him following me, just a step or two behind, feet crunching in the sand and rocks.
Echoes of distant laughter catch us both by surprise. We stop and turn, the pair of us spotting a gaggle of teens who also found our cozy hiding place down here below the pier, eight or nine of them.
And that’s eight or nine too many pairs of eyes that’ll no doubt recognize me.
“Are they allowed down here?” I ask.
“No,” says Finn, “and if it were any other day, I’d be shooing them back up to the Fair. Come on.”
Then he takes hold of my hand.
Again.
I reflect surprise—and relief—as his eyes meet mine with urgency.
Then we take off running. Fleeing the scene like a pair of runaway lovers.
Lovers? I need to stop calling us that. We’re not lovers. I have this bad habit of deluding myself—even if saying it causes my heart to jump so pleasingly.
He didn’t exactly reject the metaphor I was making.
Haunted houses and knocking and letting ourselves in.
I wonder, had he not fallen asleep last night, would he have … knocked on my door?
We’re soon out from under the pier, crunching through the gravel of the parking lot and ducking between the cars.
He opens the door to one of them—his own, presumably—and inside I go.
“Keep down,” he says to me, slapping a hat on my head—a Hopewell Fair souvenir hat with a rainbow Ferris Wheel logo across the front.
I quickly lower the hat so it shadows most of my face, then scrunch down in the passenger seat as Finn takes off.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“No idea. Around town, I guess, until I hear back about our potential creeper at the bungalow. My friend should be there any minute. He doesn’t have a shift at the Easy until later tonight.
Are you thirsty?” With a swiftness, he snags a water bottle from a stash behind his seat and offers it to me. “Might be a little warm. Sorry.”
I take the bottle, crack it open, and chug nonetheless. “I and my vocal folds appreciate this lukewarm offering.”
He chuckles at my wording. “You always so poetic?”
“Not really. I’m just feeling a bit—”
“Stay down.”
I guess I sat up to drink the water. I scrunch back down into place, slouching deeply in the seat. “I’m just feeling a bit … fun, I guess.”
“Fun?”
“Is it weird? That I’m finding this kinda fun?” I look at him. “Maybe it’s because I’m doing it with you. You’re the guy who brings the fun.”
“That so? I’m your entertainment?”
“Is that weird?”
“I feel more like your chauffer at the moment,” he says back. “Looking for a place to hide you … away from the place you were already hiding.”
“This is actually pretty tame compared to how my life is usually like.”
He comes to a stop at a red light and glances at me. “What’s your life usually like?”
“Chaos. Except … it’s also numb. A numb chaos.
I’m always where I’m supposed to be. Every minute of my day is scheduled, down to when I take a shit.
Gym. Eating. My one day off every couple of months, which is usually filled with something that spills over from some other obligation, so I’m never really off.
This is … the longest stretch of nothing I’ve had in years.
” The thought makes me laugh. “I feel like a kid on summer vacation, free from school, with a whole summer ahead of me …”
“More like a kid racing around town escaping a set of pursuing helicopter parents,” he mutters back.
“Light’s green.”
He resumes driving. “I just thought of a place we could go. Cottonwood Cove. No one’s ever there. Just one naked hot guy who lives in a shack near the water.”
“Did you just say … ‘naked hot guy’ …?”
“A nudist, maybe? No one knows or asks. He keeps to himself. Every time I go, he’s not there, and even if he was, there’s a high chance he’s like me and hasn’t watched any of your movies.”
“That’s … a relief … I think?”
“We’re headed in the right direction already.”
I gaze at him, seeing the determination set in his eyes.
It’s unexpected, yet totally unsurprising to watch Finn become my warrior, insistent on finding me somewhere to lay low, fighting for my safety.
And considering we’re not even sure whether there’s a threat to begin with at all.
He’s got so many better, more important things to do with his day, and instead, he’s driving me around town seeking a place for me to hide from a ghost I might’ve invented.
I’ve never known anyone like Finn before. As genuine as Finn. As committed and moral as him.
Not even before the fame happened.
The road grows bumpy as he takes a dirt path that I, for a hot second, am about to question him taking.
He seems to know exactly where he’s going like he’s driven here before as we cut between tall trees, strange rock formations, and patches of pebbly sand.
I don’t even see the road anymore as we start rolling downhill to a spread of dead grass and dirt, where he finally comes to a stop in the fractured shade of trees.
“Should be safe,” he mutters, killing the engine.
We get out of the car. My feet land on the crunchy dirt.
I peel my jacket off and toss it back in the car, then notice him giving me a once-over, likely checking me out in my skimpy tank top I had on underneath.
Slept in it last night and didn’t have a chance to change before darting out the back door.
I smirk to myself, enjoying the attention, as I go on ahead of him.
I imagine his eyes dropping to my ass in these scanty thin-material gym shorts I’m sporting.
I will be first to admit, they hide nothing, not even the crack of my squat-happy ass.
The sound of the hissing waves reaches me before the view does.
Through the trees sandwiched by two cliffs, I spot a moody, secluded beach.
It’s unkempt and messy in a beautiful, natural way, unlike all the typical tourist beaches that are groomed and combed to artificial perfection.
The sharp, fishy aroma of seawater is much thicker here.
I feel both like I’m in heaven or could get my toes bitten off by a mean crab hopping out of the brush to defend its territory.
This is real beach-meets-wilderness territory.
“I continue to be impressed,” I say as we stroll side-by-side down the indistinct sandy path toward the water. “This beach town keeps a lot of secrets.”
“Too bad we can’t explore more freely,” he points out, disappointed.
“We’re exploring freely enough, aren’t we?” I pick a shell up off the ground, toss it in my hand. “I’m getting the sense I’m seeing a lot more than your typical guest.”
“But you haven’t seen the restaurants. Or the museum. Art exhibit. Sugarberry Beach where the locals hang out.”
“That beach sounds edible .” I pick up another shell and turn it over in my palm.
“If there ever comes a time when you happen to not be chased around by the world, I’d love to show you so much more. There’s a reason people come here to get away.”
I peer at him. “Is one of those reasons you?”
He meets my eyes, then quickly chuckles away my question, looking off.
Finn is so easy to flirt with.
When we reach the water, we just stand there for what feels like ages, listening to the unique way this narrower, isolated stretch of shoreline sounds, the waves giggling as they sweep up over the sand.
I know it’s far less pretty here than it might be on the beaches with fancy storefronts and a souvenir-lined boardwalk, no doubt.
But in its own way, I find this Cottonwood Cove to be exceedingly preferred.
Even if it looks more like a crime scene than a beach.
“All rivers head for the sea,” I wax poetically.
My words are lost somewhat in the waves, it’s amazing that Finn hears them. “Guess that’s true. Rivers flow to the sea. Like you did.” He tucks his hands into his pockets. “If we’re going on with cheesy name-related metaphors …”
“You think my metaphor’s cheesy?”
“… I am what fish need to navigate in the water.”
I consider it, then laugh. “Finn. That’s … a thousand times cheesier than what I just said.”
“And maybe I’m what you need to navigate the rough waters,” he goes on. My laughter fades. “Especially during a storm, fish rely on their fins the most to stay the course.” He meets my eyes. “It’s … okay to rely on me.”
Everything grows still. “Then who’ll you rely on?”
His eyes drop to my lips.
This time, I don’t miss the chance. I take hold of Finn’s face right there, cradling it like precious treasure, and bring my eager mouth to his.