Page 71 of Fragile Hearts

Not saying that Owen and my weekend wasn’t amazing, because it was. I wouldn’t change it for anything.

“Yeah, but they’re out there taking on the surfing world and kicking ass. They’re a fucking power couple,” Miles says, and as the words leave his mouth, his eyes are focused solely on Daisy.

But she doesn’t give him the time of day. If anything, she gives him the biggest fuck you possible by looking over her shoulder and catching the wave that comes in.

“Get it, Daze!” Kai yells, throwing up a shaka as she rides the wave into the shore. Hopping off her board, she returns Kai’s shaka and then gives us a goodbye wave.

“Gotta go!” she shouts, her hands cupped around her mouth. “Catch you later!”

We all wave her goodbye, but an awkwardness falls around us—the constant tension that is there because of her and Miles.

I have to admit, a part of me didn’t want to date Owen because what if we ended up like Miles and Daisy? It’s like a divorce when a couple in a group of friends breaks up. People have to choose a side, someone doesn’t show up to get-togethers, and everyone seems to be on the defensive.

But Owen is worth the risk.

Nothing feels like it could ever come between us.

The group spends the next hour or so catching waves. The swell is almost perfect, and as the sun moves higher in the sky, we all start to head in.

“The Pipe Dream,” Nate says, checking his watch and letting out a sigh.

We all feel the same way. We’d love to spend the day out here, surfing wave after wave, but life calls: jobs and school. Still, it’s been great to make time to be together today.

“Yep, lessons and class,” Owen adds. “What you got going on today?” His question is directed at Miles, who shrugs absentmindedly. “You’re not on the schedule. No lessons?”

“Nah, not today,” Miles responds but doesn’t elaborate. “Gonna head in. See ya later.”

And with that, the group slowly starts to break up. Owen and I head in too, trekking across the sand and up to the house.

I still can’t believe I live somewhere like this as I take in the back of Owen’s place, catching a glimpse of the water over my shoulder. The view from the back deck is something dreams are made of, and I love all the storage for our boards.

I place mine on the rack, waiting for Owen to follow, and then I slip the lock into place. Not that we need it, but I know Owen’s board is custom, and I’d hate for anything to happen to it. Mine is just an old board that came into The Pipe Dream, one someone traded in, but Nate fixed it up for me.

I actually love it. All broken in and repaired. It still surfs like I want it to, and I wouldn’t dare think of replacing it.

I stop, again, looking out at the water. Its crystal blue color shines in the sunlight, its vastness reaching farther than my eye could ever see.

“I love it here. I love the ocean and your house, and you,” I say to Owen as he comes to stand next to me. Resting my head against his arm, I link mine through his and close my eyes.

“Our house,” he whispers, his lips kissing the top of my head. “You got it wrong. It’s our house.”

I swallow hard at his words, remembering our conversation last night when he asked me to move into his bedroom. The way he called me a good girl and how it sent my body into a tailspin. Hearing him call me that, I never want to be anything else other than Owen Sinclair’s good girl.

“Our home,” I whisper back, the words catching on my tongue, barely making it out. I’ve never said something like this before, always avoiding it, always knowing nothing in my life was ever that permanent.

“It’s our home, sweets, and it always will be.”

I look over at him, my heart bursting with joy, and I push up on my toes, kissing him. I can’t get enough, wanting to kiss him and hold him and have his hands on me at all times. He’s my safe space.

With that, we head inside, this feeling of pure and utter bliss running through me, and I can’t imagine starting my day any other way now. Being here with Owen, I wake up and go to sleep with a smile on my face, and there’s nothing better.

“A package was on the porch for you this morning,” Owen says as he heads back toward our now-shared bedroom. “I dropped it by the front door. Meant to tell you before we went out but forgot.”

“Thanks!” I call out to him, but I’m not sure he heard me.

And there, by the door, is a large cardboard box, my name right there on the label, our address there too. I smile, taking it in, and I see Alana’s name in the return address location.

What did she send me?

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