Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
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.