Page 38 of Tides Of Your Love (Riviera Shores #3)

Rio

WHEN HE WHISPERED RIO Mio last night, I nearly let Our Owen slip from my lips.

My Owen.

He felt like my Owen, but he wasn’t. Not completely.

Giving it a name wouldn’t make it true. It wouldn’t change the reality of waking up alone, the warmth of his body missing from the bed, his room’s open door revealing that both Owen and his suitcase were gone.

The driveway no longer blocked by his gigantic SUV.

The house quieter. Just me and Walter again.

The town no longer holding his temporary presence.

“I won’t miss those god-awful frittatas,” Walter muttered when I set down a bowl of yogurt, fruit, and granola in front of him.

“Yes, you will,” I said, a faint smile tugging at my lips as I sat across from him.

We ate in silence in the beautiful, bright kitchen, with the sun washing in from all the windows and French doors at the far end of the adjacent living room .

Then, out of nowhere, Walter spoke again. “You shouldn’t have gotten yourself mixed up with him.”

I nearly choked on my granola.

He didn’t even look up. “I’m half-deaf, but I’m not blind.”

My panicked mind scrambled for a denial, but nothing came. I just sat there, admitting it in silence.

Walter sighed, tapping his spoon against the rim of his bowl.

“You young people don’t know what’s good for you.

I love my grandson, but his dedication belongs to soccer.

Anything else comes second. And with women—he’s had too many.

You can’t appreciate anything when you’ve had too much of it.

” He waved a hand dismissively, the prelude to turning off his hearing aid.

I set my spoon down. “It wasn’t like that.” Great time to get the ‘I’ in ‘it’ stuck in my throat ...

Walter made a noncommittal grunt and gave me a look that said he wasn’t buying it, but he wasn’t going to push either.

How many more people would I have to explain this to? This was the consequence of mixing romance with your closest circle. No clean break. No privacy. Just layers of opinions and concerned looks I never asked for.

He scooped another spoonful of yogurt, shaking his head.

My phone buzzed on the table. A text from Owen.

“Waiting to board. Can’t stop thinking about you.”

How long would that last?

Thanks, Walter, for poisoning my thoughts so soon after he left.

I stared at the screen, fingers hovering. A moment ago, I would’ve told him I missed him. But now, all that came out was:

“Same. Safe flight. Walter sends his regards.”

His reply came almost instantly.

“Tell him I said thanks and that he can text me too, though he hates texting. And you—I already miss you.”

Stop being nice, Owen. We don’t even know if you’re coming back.

“He knows about us,” I started typing, then deleted the text and set the phone facedown on the table. I peeked at Walter and decided not to update Owen. Simon was enough to contend with.

At work, I caught myself glancing at the clock, calculating when he’d land, imagining what awaited him there. Would paparazzi be waiting? Would he feel different the moment he set foot back in London? Would everything here start fading for him already?

That first night, he video-called from his London apartment. I answered in the back room at work, stealing a quiet moment while the shop was empty.

His face filled my screen, blue eyes tired but bright. He turned the camera, showing me around his place—a tidy, modern bachelor pad. “My agent sent a service to clean it. They even replaced the dead plants.”

The tour ended up in his bedroom where he turned the camera back to himself, smirking. “You look delicious.” His gaze skimmed over whatever my phone’s camera showed of me, and heat curled low in my stomach .

He threw himself back on the large bed and held the camera over his face.

I laughed softly, shifting in my seat. “You’re exhausted, and yet you still have the energy to flirt.”

“With you? Always.”

His voice, his face, the way he looked at me—it should’ve eased the distance. Instead, it sharpened it. How long until this feels like a different life to him?

“Wish you weren’t at work right now,” he said, his voice timbering low and vibrating in my lower belly even through my device.

Absent-mindedly, I licked my lips, as if I was going to kiss him. “But I am.”

I looked at him in the middle of that large bed and wondered how many women he’d had there.

“I’m meeting my agent tomorrow. Then we have appointments lined up,” Owen said.

“Best of luck,” I replied, switching ‘good’ for ‘best of’ to avoid getting stuck on the G. The selfish part in me didn’t know which side I hoped luck would land—which outcome I was hoping for.

The next evening at my local time, my Google Alerts pinged with fresh headlines.

Owen was back in the spotlight.

.

Owen ‘Wonder’ Wheaton Is Back Home!

.

Wheaton’s New Chapter Starts Today – What’s It Going To Be?

.

Back Where He Belongs – Owen Wheaton Set For Talks With Westbridge Management

.

I WAS HAPPY TO SEE his name lighting up the news again, but the jaw-punches these headlines delivered blurred that feeling with ones I’d sworn I wouldn’t entertain. I had to stifle the scream in my head—that this was his home, this was where he belonged, I was his new chapter.

A text came in the next day.

“Nothing new, Wio. Except that I’m beat.”

“Get into bed then,” I texted back.

“You in yours? Why don’t we switch to video and you show me what I’m missing?”

“I’m at work. Eight hours, remember?” I texted back. He was already adjusting to London time.

“Damn. In that case, have a good day, and don’t let Walter give you a hard time.”

I sighed. If I’d toyed with thoughts of a long-distance relationship before, I knew now—it wouldn’t work. With the time difference, we’d mostly be left with texts. Late-night messages, stolen moments between meetings, between obligations. Scraps of time. This couldn’t last.

Falling back into my old routine came naturally, but I felt split—between two time zones, between here and there. My mind went back and forth, while my heart went in one direction: to where Owen was .

Night lurked as I made my way to Coral Bay after a short stop at home. Ruby had a little house by the Inn.

“You should go there,” Ruby said, popping open a cold bottle of rosé. “Guard away all the models.”

“First of all, he’s only gone for checkups. And second, if he needs me there to guard them away, then ...”

“Fair point. Would you consider going later?”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “I don’t know. I’d be lost and dependent on him there. I don’t know if that’s smart. Soccer is practically a religion there, and he’s ... the archbishop or something.”

“And what do you have here?”

I took the glass she handed me. “A life? My family, my friends.”

“But no Owen.” Ruby gave me a pointed look.

I took a big swig, hoping it would drown the ache rising in my chest.

Ruby took a sip off her glass. “An international fling ... hmm. That’s something I haven’t tried yet.”

She treated it as a fling—something I‘d told myself repeatedly I should adopt.

“Unless you count that Swiss tourist who thought this was the filming site of Big Little Lies.” She laughed again at the memory.

All I had was her tale of the week she’d spent with that tourist. I could see why he’d mistaken the inn and Coral Bay for Monterey Bay. The similarities were there.

“So what are you going to do?” Ruby asked, swirling the wine in her glass, watching it like the answer might be written inside .

“What do you mean?”

“First you held off, scared of falling for him. Then you realized you already had—probably a long time ago—and you went for it. And now what?”

“I meant what I told myself and him. His career is at a crossroads and once the picture clears, he’ll have to decide for himself first. I don’t want to push him. Besides, if I go, I’d have to take Walter. And I’d feel sorry for the flight crew.”

Ruby gave me a long look. “You always make jokes when your heart’s torn.”

I didn’t argue, but under her gaze I found myself pressed to continue talking.

“I am torn. I want him to get what he worked for. I don’t want him to end his career because of an injury; he should get to finish it on a win.

I miss him and wish we could ... But even if it has to end, I’m still glad it happened.

I’ll never regret him.” I truly meant it and only hoped I could hold on to it.

“I’m glad to hear that. I hated watching you prefer foam rollers over real men. For years, your fire dampened. I’m happy you rediscovered it.”

I scoffed. “That bad, huh?”

“Owen or no Owen, don’t let yourself settle again.”

“Deal!” I pointed toward her bedroom. “And what’s back there?”

“What?” Ruby frowned.

“Sebastian’s shelf in your closet!”

Ruby’s expression twisted like she’d just tasted a live snail. “What’s that got to do with anything? That’s not settling. That’s choosing to be in a friends-with-benefits situation.”

I nodded, because I wasn’t about to get into why a thirty-five-year-old woman would choose to never feel and still lecture me about being scared of feelings.

Ruby twirled the stem of her glass. “He and I are on the same wavelength. So ...”

I tilted my glass at her. “To wavelengths.”

Ruby clinked mine with hers. “I brought a cake from the inn’s kitchen. Eve’s on her way. Daph couldn’t make it.”

A few more days passed with no real news and I began realizing that this was going to take time.

Meanwhile, my Owen wasn’t there anymore.

He was—through texts and short video calls while I was driving to work, sitting with Walter, or catching him in the morning as he rushed out the door in London—but he no longer felt mine.

The headlines continued pouring in with conjectures about his future —“Owen Wheaton To Attend Team’s Training.

Here’s What We Know.” Occasionally, fresh pictures of him from London would accompany the stories.

His beloved face, sometimes in clothes I knew well.

The same camera-commanding smile. It wasn’t mine anymore.

In my mind, he started slipping back to the visitor he’d always been. The superstar.

And I? I was the woman watching from the other side of the world, wondering if I had been the layover on his way home.