Page 56 of The Best Wrong Move

“I loved being back out there this morning.” I’m unable to hide how proud of myself I am.

“Alone? With all those sharks?” There’s a tone of mock surprise in his voice.

“No.” I grin. “With the sunrise.”

“She’s getting under your skin,” he says, referring to the ocean. I can hear the smile in his voice, and it makes me blush. “I knew she would.” I smile silently, knowing he’s right. “Listen, I’ll be back in a few hours, if you’re still around.”

“That’ll give me a goal to work toward. If I’m still in the garden when you return, it means I’ll have had a successful day of writing.”

“I hope the setting works its magic for you, so I get to see you back at my place in a few hours.”

Chapter 34

I sit in the back seat of my Uber for another minute, afraid the real homeowners are going to come out of their mansion to see who’s parked in their driveway. I’ve rechecked Google Maps at least three times to make sure the driver has gotten the right address, but this can’t be Dom’s place.

There’s no way a young, thirty-something-year-old bachelor lives here.

I take a photo of the front of the house and text it to Dom.

Is this it?

He responds right away.

I left the gate to the right of the driveway unlocked for you. Head on back

I feel like I’ve died and woken up as Julia Roberts inPretty Woman, minus the whole prostitute thing. I expected to see a shabby little bungalow when I pulled up, maybe one or two bedrooms, with a row of surfboards lining the wall of a rugged man cave, just grateful he doesn’t have roommates. However, I’m looking at what appears to be a sprawling Italian-inspired villa set against the highly desired North Shore beach. Creamy stucco walls — topped with layers of individually molded terracotta roofing tiles — span a roomy courtyard leading up to the double-wide mahogany doors. The home is nestled into a beautifully manicured tropical paradise, with bold orange and pink blooms lining the driveway. Three ancient banyan trees shade the property, with dozens of roots sprouting out of the ground toward the branches, as if pulling the tree slowly back into the earth.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d guess we’d driven right into the state’s botanical garden.

Grabbing my laptop and solar charger from the seat beside me, I thank the driver and get out of the car slowly, my head on a swivel.

Lush, leafy ferns and palms with blooms of every size and shape spring up around me, lining the walkway that’ll hopefully lead me to Dom’s backyard. Birds chirp overhead and the sound of waves hitting the shore beckon me to continue down a meandering path flanked by orange Birds of Paradise flowers fanning out along the walkway, each bloom nearly as tall as my hips.

A stark white note card comes into view, taped to a heavy teak wood gate, lined in black molded iron.

Enjoy, Liv. Make yourself at home

The blocky chicken scratch matches the note that was tucked in with the gift I opened earlier.

Okay, if Dom is this loaded, why was he so insistent that I finish out my reservation at first?

And what is he running from back home in California?

Dozens of bangles clink down my wrist toward my elbow as I reach up to push against the gate. It swings open wide enough to reveal the most beautiful garden I’ve ever seen. A collection of birds in the palms overhead — all yellow, red, and black — chirp loudly as if to say hello in their own cheerful way when I walk inside.

I think I’m falling in love, and not just with Dom. This garden is incredible.

A flock of koi fish rush to meet me in a wide, bean-shaped pond, speckled with lily pads topped with purple flowers. Tripping over one another in a frenzy of orange and gold flashes under the water. I bet they think I’m here with a snack for them.

“Not unless you like Swedish Fish.” I pat my purse full of snacks.

Their bodies rush around each other in a dizzying dance, somersaulting and diving, then boldly breaking the surface of the water, all lips and scales. A waterfall trickles down the side of the pool, then drops into a second lower koi pond with another half-dozen black and gold speckled fish, the largest as wide as my thigh, poking its nose out of the water. The ponds are cushioned on either side by a collection of lush green fronds.

The whole effect feels like a fairytale come to life.

I imagine Dom feeding these fish every day as I make my way around a bend, staying on the gravel pathway, anxious to see what’s coming next.

After wrapping around a hand-laid stone wall, the roar of waves against the empty shore greets me. The garden’s tree line gives way to an open beach, where turquoise whitecaps roll onto soft white sand.

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