Page 36 of Hearts Adrift (A Texas Beach Town Romance #4)

I take my coffee outside, morning air on my face.

Gulls draw wide, sweeping circles overhead, floating on the warm air currents.

The Fair, still asleep, as the water whispers and giggles at its feet, like the whole Hopewell Harbor is still dreaming.

There’s a boat out in the water, far away, perhaps a fisherman, or just someone out for a quiet morning on the calmer waves.

“Never was a morning person,” grunts River. Oh, did I mention he’s next to me? “This is your fault.”

I smile and nudge his side. “Look at what you’ve been missing, sleepyhead. Isn’t it nice out here?”

He turns his grumpy eyes onto me, then cracks a smile and throws an arm over my back, pulling me close. “Only ‘cause you’re here, Finny.”

Yeah, that’s a thing that happened.

Finny.

I don’t know where it came from. How it came. I’m not even sure when it came. He snuck it in once, then snuck it in again, and suddenly it’s what he calls me now.

I guess it’s low-key cute .

My life, in many ways, feels the same. I check up with my people at the Fair, tend to my duties, stock, training and new hires, type away on a computer in the office, run my errands around the island.

But now, something else lives under the surface of these otherwise mundane day-to-day activities, something electrical and bright.

Something that makes my life feel fresh and new.

Something called a romantic, sometimes overdramatic, but overall adoring man named River Wolfe.

Whose actual last name is Peters , by the way.

I didn’t even have to read up on all his public info out in the open on the internet, which I’m never usually on anyway—despite Brooke insisting that I should start right now and hashtag everything as #RiverIsMyBoyfriend.

I’d have a million followers overnight. I could give diet and workout tips.

Dance badly. Give deliberately terrible video reviews roasting River in his own movies—lovingly, of course.

It would kill, she insists, and River could even do a cameo in some of them.

I bookmarked that idea for now.

Besides, she’s got her hands full with being an official part of River’s actual social media team. She doesn’t need her brother out there making a fool of himself.

At least not yet .

It’s always a good morning when River is in town.

But don’t get me wrong: River is an amazing boyfriend even when he has to fly out for work.

He checks in whenever he lands. He tells me about his costars, lets me in on secrets I probably shouldn’t know about regarding his film projects, and even sneaks on-set selfies just to make me feel like I’m there.

My heart dances all over the place like a schoolboy with a crush, lying on my bed in the bungalow, feet tracing funny shapes in the air as I giggle with my phone clutched, typing away replies.

It’s like night and day, the way I feel with River compared to anyone else in the world.

River makes me a better, calmer person. Someone who can embrace the curveballs easier. Who doesn’t need to grip so tightly to every little thing. He makes me trust the ebb and flow of the unpredictable sea of life.

He’s the river my fins never have to battle upstream.

Speaking of cheesy name puns, which River adores, I wonder if it’s occurred to him yet that “Brooke” is another name for a river. I ought to point that out. He’ll groan, and I’ll live for it. Then I can suggest to him that we should go in together on starting a new … stream -ing service.

Okay, I’ll stop there.

River and I go for a walk in the afternoon to enjoy the cooler weather rolling in (early December is always a toss-up of warm and cool air around here) after having lunch at the Desert Moon Diner a handful of blocks from home.

We take a much longer walk than expected, nearly taking a lap of half the island as we make it to the Quicksilver Strand, arm-in-arm, the strong Gulf breeze over our faces.

Malik stands outside the Blue Coral Bakery sweeping something up and stops when he sees us.

“Oh, you lovebirds make me sick,” he calls out teasingly. “You set a date yet? Jeez.”

“Don’t go giving this one any ideas,” I warn him with a nudge into River’s ribs. “He’ll produce and star in a film about it next summer.”

Malik snorts at that. “Can’t be sure about anything, you know …

love’s in the air. Before you know it, you’ll be out on that beach renewing your wedding vows like that sweet young couple from Spruce did last year.

They had a whole ceremony on New Year’s Eve with fireworks and all a’ that nonsense.

” He clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

“Why does anyone need to renew vows anyways? The first time wasn’t convincing enough?

Or is it just an excuse to hit the beach?

Oh, by the way … while I’ve got you here …

could I trouble you to, uh …” He nods toward the shop.

“I’d ask Kent, but he’s running late today, and my back … ”

“Sure thing, Malik.” I nudge River. “Want to help me lug in a bunch of stuff? We can skip the gym later.”

River smirks and smacks my ass as we head inside.

That’s River-speak for “hell yes”.

And it just so happens that at the exact time that he and I carry boxes in through the back, two young women come to the front.

Malik helps them, presumably just to purchase a tasty funnel cake or cinnamon-sugar-dusted pretzel—we can hear every word of this from the back room, unseen—but as he rings them up, one of them says, “Don’t bother denying it.

River Wolfe lives here, right? My sister swears she saw him near the pier two weekends ago when she was here clubbing with her gay bestie.

” “Do you think he could sign my shirt with something like, ‘I met River and didn’t get punched in the face?’” “I don’t think you’ll get as much for that on eBay as you think,” her friend points out.

“No, no, it could go for a lot … attach it to a video we do here.” “Oh my god, Becks, you’re so bad. ” “What?? It’s genius!”

Malik lets out a gracious sigh. “Girls, girls … I hate to disappoint, but River’s still living fulltime in LA, and even if it was true, I read he just flew to the UK to shoot a film.”

After the girls huff, sputter a handful of disappointed curses, and leave, Malik’s face appears at the door to the storage room.

“Sorry about that. Customer I had last week, told her and her spunky influencer pal you literally stole a yacht from the harbor and got lost at sea.” He frowns as he strokes his chin.

“I think they believed me. Did I go too far, do you think?”

This is a running gag among the locals on the island.

When asked, River is everywhere else, doing anything they can think of.

He’s in France for a cologne campaign. It’s another Dreamwood Isle he resides in.

He’s being method, backpacking across Europe preparing for a role.

He’s busy running a VIP interpretive dance studio in Hawaii.

The number of people poking around town grows less and less each weekend.

River doesn’t seem to mind either way. Whether we’re strolling along the boardwalk, helping Malik lug in a load from the back, lounging on Sugarberry Beach where only the locals hang, or he’s helping me make the rounds at the Fair, it’s just another day in our beautiful paradise together.

We arrive at my dad’s get-together a bit early.

It’s the first he’s had in quite a long time—we used to have them every weekend.

River notices my dad struggling with a big heavy bag of charcoal and rushes to help him.

Heather and Brooke are doing our usual: moving furniture out of the way to accommodate the crowd we’re sure to receive.

It’s funny, how we always invite just a handful …

and the handful becomes the whole island and their plus-ones.

In just an hour, that expectation becomes a reality.

Someone’s Bluetooth speaker is popping music in the living room.

Smoke hovers in the air off the side porch, the sizzling of burgers being the culprit.

Nothing much else can be heard over the overlapping chatter of the island.

I’ve apparently forgotten how quickly our parties can spiral out of control, leaving my own house feeling like something I barely recognize.

River and I squeeze through the crowds laughing and chatting and blowing off steam from another long weekend of Dreamwood Isle serving its weekly share of tourists and vacationers, the number of which seems to have grown considerably this fall.

River doesn’t want to take the credit, insisting it has nothing to do with his semi-permanent presence here, but rather because Brooke’s social media skills are receiving the spotlight they deserve at last. I’ve noticed myself that Dad and Heather have started trusting Brooke more and handing off more responsibility to her—as well as listening when she has something to say.

And speaking of Brooke’s wild ideas: “No, I did not find myself a boyfriend ,” says Chase when he arrives to the party, sleeves rolled up and shirt sweated through.

“Kissing booth idea was the worst. Don’t tell your sister,” he adds, “or she’ll sweet-talk me into doing it again.

I can’t. My lips are closed for business. Officially and totally closed .”

A minute later, I catch Heather in the foyer, and she has her own thoughts: “Chase is worse than Cinderella. His lips aren’t a glass slipper he needs to fit into some perfect set of other lips. Why is that man so damned picky?”

River and I run into Brooke in the upstairs game room, and she sees it differently: “Don’t shame Chase for being picky! The heart knows the instant lips meet. Chase is just waiting for his instant.”