Page 111 of Chasing Paradise

I didn’t need to look inside to know it was a blueberry muffin.

Tired, achy, sticky from old sweat, I was still smiling as I sat down in my seat to drink my coffee, eat my muffin, and reminisce about how much life had changed in the course of a year.

I’d gone from being a complete workaholic, couch surfing, zoning out with TV shows in my free time, and feeling a loneliness I didn’t even share with my closest friends, to only working when I really liked a case, having a home with Wick in Navesink Bank, but also exploring the world with him, visiting all the places he thought I needed to see, and so in love that it was almost painful to be away from Wick for too long.

The plane landed, and I was feeling a little more human thanks to the coffee and muffin.

So good, in fact, that when I saw a familiar white straw hat walking toward the docks, I broke into a sprint.

I didn’t slow down.

I ran at him at full force, knocking him to the ground and coming down on top of him.

He made a grunt as he pushed up and rolled over.

I knew a second before I saw his face that something was wrong. He smelled wrong. Felt wrong.

The man below me shot me a smile, clearly in on the game, then nodded his head over toward the docks.

Where freaking Wick was beaming at me as his speedboat pulled away.

“Damn you,” I grumbled at his retreating form. I climbed off the stranger. “Nice hat,” I said to him as he got to his feet. “I hope he paid you to get tackled.”

“He said I might get knocked around a bit,” he said, patting the sand off his clothes.

I rushed toward the dock, frustrated when I had to wait for the next speedboat to fill up before we took off toward Santa Cruz.

By the time I made it off one speedboat on the next island, Wick was already idling inside another, shooting me a playful grin.

“You’re gonna pay for this!” I called as I spotted his personal speedboat still docked. One of the workers stood there, holding the rope, ready to release it when I jumped in.

I hadn’t grown any fonder of speedboats since that first trip to the Galapagos. And I’d only gotten behind the wheel once, and hatedthateven more.

But there was Wick, turning his boat in a little circle, face daring me.

“Dammit,” I grumbled, rushing down the dock, throwing my bag into the boat, then climbing inside.

Before I could even get my nerve up to tease the throttle forward, Wick took off, leaving waves in his wake that rocked my boat.

“Ugh,” I grumbled, knuckles white as I eased the throttle forward. My stomach bottomed out as the boat lurched forward.

I’d love to claim that being in control of the vessel helped me overcome my fear and borderline seasickness.

But that would be a lie.

I wanted to race Wick, to beat him to Isla Perdita.

But he left me in his dust as I kept a granny hold on the throttle, getting to the dock long after he’d climbed off and tied down his boat, then promptly disappeared.

“There better be a bath drawn for me and a back rub in my future,” I said as I gracelessly climbed off the boat and did my best to mimic the tie Wick had done with the other boat before walking down the dock toward the island house.

“Wick!” I called as I went inside.

But, somehow, I knew he wasn’t in there.

That didn’t mean I didn’t stop for a nice, cold drink. And to strip out of my rainforest clothes and into a bathing suit before making my way back out of the house.

I snatched an orange off a tree as I walked through the forest, cooing at a tortoise as he crossed in front of me.

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