Page 80 of Surfer's Paradise

“Amy—”

“It’s on the gallery,” Amy cut in. “Let us take you out.”

Rosie sighed, rubbing her temple. “Does everyone know I’m poor?”

Amy barked a laugh. “Rosie. Baby. We know you’re an artist. Same thing.”

Rosie shook her head, opening her mouth to answer when something terrible happened.

Out of the corner of her eye, past the street, she saw him.

Tall. Jacked. Black baseball hat pulled low.

Leaning over the railing of a patio, grinning.

Isaac.

Her stomach dropped.

Her fingers went cold.

And then—the blonde.

Tall. Leggy. Stunning.

Looking French as fuck.

Rosie’s heart stopped.

The woman stood, smooth, graceful, smiling.

And then—hugged him.

The French two-kiss thing.

One cheek. The other. Close. Familiar.

Rosie turned and speed-walked in the opposite fucking direction.

Her pulse was slamming.

Her breath was shaky, uneven.

Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.

Amy’s voice snapped in her ear.

“Dude. What?”

Rosie choked back a sob.

She wasn’t going to cry.

She wasn’t.

But fuck—she was.

Tears pricked hot behind her eyes.

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