Page 52 of Over & Out (Redbeard Cove #3)

Hopper

T he screams are impossibly loud, even before I open the door to the limo.

“You got this,” Tru says behind me. “Just one official red-carpet interview, then we’re done.”

“Got it,” I say. I put on my best smile as I open the door. I don’t tell Tru, because I don’t want her getting any ideas and lingering at more stops than I have to, but I’m feeling lighter than I ever have at one of these events. I don’t even have to work to put on the smile.

When I step out onto the red carpet, the screaming turns atomic. Shit. I should have worn earplugs.

“Good lord!” Adrian yells beside me. “Promise you won’t do one of those interviews right before an event again?”

“That was a one-time only deal,” I assure him.

I sign a few autographs and pose for some photos. Not too many, though. We’re one of the last to arrive on the red carpet. The Iggies start in twenty .

“Hopper!” A woman in a glamorous gold gown with a mic stops me. I glance at Tru, who nods. This is our stop.

“Hey,” I say, smiling as a huge camera’s thrust in my face.

Only this one, then I can relax inside and enjoy watching my colleagues get roasted and praised, depending on the award.

I’m up for a couple too, and this year, I don’t mind.

I’ve started calling some of my actor colleagues, or at least responding in a friendly way when we run into each other at industry things, rather than shutting everyone out.

It was easier, keeping to myself, and I still do to some degree.

But I went out for beers with the actor who plays a detective in a huge franchise the other night, because I heard he was chill, and he was.

We had a great time. Might even be friends.

I also had several more meetings with that indie production company and am about to sign on to the project Chris advocated for last year.

The interviewer gushes about my suit—a dark green velvet Len stitched by hand from a pair of thrifted drapes.

I point out that it matches my whole teams’, and the camera pans to the side, where Tru stands in her high-collar dress and Adrian takes a bow in his weird but cool tank-top tunic thing.

Cindi and Aziz are waiting inside. Tru’s only staying for an hour before she’s heading home to be with baby Samuel, who I already know is going to be another one of my besties—at least when he’s less interested in milk and more into cars.

Then the interviewer leans in and asks what I know she’s going to ask—the same thing everyone’s been screaming for in the columns and blogs and magazine covers.

“Hopper. Is now the time? Will you tell us who your mystery dream girl is? Because you know there’s a lot of speculation out there that it’s Avione.”

Avione Lacroix is an English stage actor Adrian’s adamant should star in the next Duke film. She’s perfectly nice, and according to Adrian, in a top-secret relationship with a high-level politician over there.

“I’ll give you a definitive answer,” I say. The answer I want to give is hell no . Avione’s cool and all, but she’d laugh as hard as I would about that rumor. But I’ll be slightly more diplomatic.

The woman titters, almost jumping up and down. “A definitive answer? We’re so ready.” She holds the mic under my nose, so close it tickles my mustache. But then…then the world goes quiet.

Because over her shoulder, back the way we came and partially obscured by clusters of people and other interviews, I see a familiar face looking earnestly at me. It’s Charlene, who I didn’t know would be here. And she’s calling my name, her face split in a grin.

“The hell?” Tru murmurs behind me.

That’s when I see Charlene’s not alone. She’s pulling someone through the throng.

Someone dressed in green velvet, just like us.

My heart rockets out of my chest then, because that someone’s dress is knee-length, sleeveless, and form-fitting, and it’s paired with pink Chucks.

She laughs a little nervously before brushing her sexy strawberry blond hair out of her face.

I don’t walk. I run. No, I sprint back down the carpet with zero chill, picking Chris up and swinging her around like it’s only the two of us here. As far as I’m concerned, it is.

“You came,” I croak as I look up into her beautiful, sparkling, tear-filled eyes.

“Of course I came,” she whispers. “How could I not after you told me everything?”

“I won’t keep anything from you again, sweetheart. I promise.”

“Even if you think it’ll hurt?”

“As long as you let me tell you all the ways I love you first.”

“You can do that anytime,” she laughs.

“I love you. I love you, I love you, I?—”

She shuts me up with a kiss. One that feels like all the atoms in heaven and earth are swirling between the two of us, lighting my insides up with pure, unadulterated sunshine.

It’s her, lighting me up. It’s Chris who has my whole heart, body and soul.

“Well, folks,” says the interviewer as we break the kiss. She’s followed me over here. The cameraman is sweating like she told him to sprint too. “I guess that’s as definitive as it gets,” she says. “Tell us, Hopper. Who’s this mystery girl?”

“Her name is Chris,” I tell the woman, the camera, and the world. But I keep my eyes on Chris. “She’s my dream girl. My bangles. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”

I swallow down the emotion threatening to choke me. And I say to Chris, “She’s the love of my life. ”

“Wow!” says the interviewer, looking, if I’m being honest, just the tiniest bit green.

“And would you call Hopper the same thing?” she asks Chris.

Chris grins as she wipes a tear from under my eye. “Nah,” she says. “I think I’ll call him Dirtface.”