Page 3 of Hearts Adrift (A Texas Beach Town Romance #4)

“How are you holding up after the breakup?”

This is a question I’ve sadly gotten used to. Everyone’s so concerned. Everyone’s hearts are bleeding all over the place. All I’m trying to do is run my afternoon errands.

“I’m fine,” I assure Malik, manager of the Blue Coral Bakery, as I help carry the last box of his delivery into his back office. “Just dropping by some flyers for the Fair and saw your delivery, thought I’d help.”

“Sure you’re fine?” he asks again, eyebrow poked up.

No one believes me. Everyone thinks I’m shattered. On the floor every night sobbing and gripping my heart. Here I am, out and about, racing around town getting chores done just to keep myself occupied so I don’t gorge every tub of ice cream in my freezer. That’s what they think I am now.

I don’t know whether to be comforted by everyone’s sympathy or annoyed.

“I would have handed out these flyers you brought me without you helping me carry all these heavy boxes in,” he says, “but a strapping young gentleman like you, built like an Olympic gymnast, why am I gonna risk throwing my back out when you’ve dropped by just in time?”

Honestly, I didn’t even break a sweat. “It’s no big deal, Malik, I’m happy to help.”

“Seriously.” He stands back and lets his eyes wander. “You could bench press me in half with those guns.”

I blink at him.

Malik is married, by the way. To a woman.

Is it my imagination, or did everyone on Dreamwood Isle get thirsty as fuck since I broke up with Theo? Even all the straight men. Maybe Malik is bi and he and his lovely wife have an open thing going on I don’t know about.

How would I know? Apparently I don’t know anything about anyone anymore. Ten years with a guy you call the love of your life. Then you become strangers overnight.

I know nothing.

My next stop is the salon further down the Quicksilver Strand.

I’m greeted by Francisco, the dripping-hot hunk of a hairstylist whose clothes are glued to his abs, pecs, and thighs.

He’s apparently more than happy to hand out any amount of flyers I ask him to.

“Just keep bringing them on by,” he says with that permanent amused smirk of his, “and I will get them into each and every hand I can find.”

His eyes do that familiar dance up and down my body.

I don’t get what people see. I’m not a runway model.

All I see in the mirror is a short, reclusive dork with a habit of hitting the gym whenever he’s stressed—which is every hour of every day of every season.

Other than being the son of the owner of Dreamwood’s fancy Hopewell Harbor and Fair, I don’t see myself as much of a hot commodity.

Is it because I’m newly single? Because I’m no longer one half of the model couple on this isle? Did my freedom from Theo clue everyone in on the island that I’m now a sad, easy lay for anyone to score?

I don’t know what singlehood makes me. Other than something else—something I guess I’m trying to figure out one flirty gaze at a time.

“You holding up okay?” asks Francisco with sudden concern. His hand slides onto my shoulder and his voice lowers. “I’ll glow you up for free, baby. Let’s let that loser bastard see the beauty he’s lost.”

I’m getting really good at smiling. “Thanks, Francisco, but I’m fine.”

His lips purse. In other words, he doesn’t believe me.

Neither does Louisa, the recently promoted manager at the seafood restaurant Thalassa nearby, next on my list to drop off flyers to. “I can’t even imagine what you’re going through,” she gushes. “Weren’t you and Theo together for, like, over ten years? That has to sting.”

“It doesn’t.” I hand her the flyers.

“When my ex and I broke up, I couldn’t get out of bed for a whole week and lost nine and a half pou—Are these for that cute new ride at the Fair?” she cuts herself off.

“Booty Bridge,” I confirm, then poke a finger on the top flyer. “Discounted tickets, next two weekends. Trying to drum up some excitement for it. Tell all your customers. Perfect way to end the night after enjoying dinner here.”

“Will do. Scratch our back, we scratch yours, and the whole island gets scratched.” She squints at me through her thick black eyeliner. “You sure you’re okay?”

I tighten my smile.

Again.

My hair gets tossed up at the front as I make my way down to the breezy beach, flyers hugged tightly against me so the wind doesn’t steal them.

I’m only just now starting to break a sweat from the heat, but the wind coming off the Gulf sure makes it pleasant to endure.

Too often, I take for granted the place I live in, the atmosphere that surrounds me every day of my life.

Even the constant flow of people around me—tourists scattered over the beach, the hum of cars calmly passing by, teens on skateboards rolling down the sidewalks, music thumping from a DJ who set himself up a spot on the sand, waves rushing in and breaking along the shore.

Just a glance in any direction reminds me how lucky I’ve been in life, to be blessed with this every day.

Then a volleyball smacks me in the head.

Flyers go tumbling out of my arms as I stumble and fall over in the sand, completely caught by surprise. While I blink stars out of my eyes, I scramble to grab hold of the flyers before they’re all gone.

A gleaming, muscular body shiny with sweat eclipses my view, helping me gather up the flyers. “Sorry, man,” he says, handing me the ones he managed to recover. “Bud of mine’s drunk, whacked the ball outta bounds. You okay?”

I look up—and before I even note what he looks like, I find his eyes drinking in my whole body. The unmistakable glance-dance, peeling off all my clothes in his mind. He’s your typical beach hottie. Backwards hat. Messy hair. All the charm in his playful lips. Every muscle on display.

“Y’know …” he murmurs, and yeah, his voice totally changes, becoming slippery with suggestion, “you’d make a great addition to our team. No balls would fly off where they’re not supposed to …” He bites his lip and peers down between my legs. “Unless you want ‘em to.”

Don’t even know what that means. “I’m fine.” My tone is more abrupt than I intend as I snatch the flyers from the guy with a mumbled, “Thanks,” then continue on my way. I’m sure he’s watching me the whole time I go—though if we’re being honest here, he’s just staring at my ass.

It’s only since breaking up with Theo that I let myself fully realize how much bigger the world is. How much sex I could have, if I just let go and allow myself to live. How many opportunities a day there are. How easy it would be.

And guys like that, dangling themselves in front of me.

All their sweaty meat. All their charming smiles.

All their thirst .

It’s a relief when I make it to my last destination of the afternoon: the Easy Breezy, my buddy Cooper’s beachside bar, the signature hangout for guests at Breezeway Point.

Over the last two years, it’s undergone a major renovation, expanding its size nearly threefold with a huge outdoor seating area built onto the side that overlooks the beach.

Fairy lights crisscross overhead. Big screens on the walls broadcasting sports.

The place even has a modest stage for performers to use—singers and musicians, even poets and standup comedians.

There were a lot of snags during the renovations which ate up a considerable amount of money, but Coop was still able to pull it off.

Been so busy between the Fair and dealing with my boyfriend— sorry, ex —that I haven’t had a chance to properly congratulate him.

“What do you mean Coop’s not here?” I ask Chase, the pretty-boy bar manager who wears a bowtie and crisp dress shirt every day—in this weather—despite it not in any way being required as his uniform. “He’s always here.”

“You mean he’s always with Seany ,” Chase spits right back, leaning forward on the counter with his phone out, tongue dug into the side of his cheek as he squints at the screen. “Can’t keep him a minute before he’s gone again.”

So much for congratulating him today. “Just wanted to drop off some flyers. Discount tickets. New attraction. My sister wants to do some silly kissing booth thing.”

“Which sister?” asks Chase with his eyes still glued to his phone. “Oh, can I be behind the booth?? I need action. I am starting to think my singleness is a disease I contracted. Oh.” He looks up suddenly, pained. “So sorry.”

I frown back at him, confused. “For what?”

His eyes go blank, like he forgot what he’s sorry for.

This is common for Chase. He’s a gorgeous, freckly-faced guy with tanned skin and sandy waves of perfectly-styled hair who becomes a genius in front of any computer, or when counting money and performing quick math at the end of the night, yet is so easily confused and clumsy in the day-to-day things.

Also, he’s been single, like, forever, and no one can make sense of it.

I just realized he thinks he hurt my feelings by likening being single with a disease. Fuck me, I’m losing my mind with everyone today . “Anyway, I’ll trust these flyers with you, and I’ll have to catch up with Coop next time.”

Chase’s brain has rebooted. He’s right back to normal. “Have you seen the video?” he lifts his phone up, wiggling it. “This actor totally lost it during a film shoot …”

“I could not care less.” I search for a dry spot on the counter to set down the stack of flyers.

“Punched his director straight in the jaw. Like— bam, bitch! —then stormed off. Video’s everywhere.”

“Sounds like someone just tanked his career and got himself a few lawsuits on the way.” I find the spot and set down the flyers. “One per customer, if you can.”

“Finn, my man, how have you not seen this?”

“I don’t do social media. That was always …” My eyes go sideways. “… Theo’s thing.”

All the photos we’d taken.

The silly things he would write up, all cheery and fun.