Page 7 of Hearts Adrift
So why here, in little Dreamwood Isle?
And inthatparticular bungalow?
“Y’know what? Maybe just skip meeting with Dad.”
I look at her. “Huh?”
“Just go there directly,” she suggests, her voice going low and dripping with scandal. I’m reminded of countless times she’d tug me aside in the halls back in high school with that same voice, wanting to vent about her annoying cheerleader friends and speculate about which boys on the wrestling team were gay. All of them, I had hoped. I had so many crushes and a heart that was wide open to the first compliment thrown my way.
A heart that was anyone’s to take, if they just showed me a smile and a speck of kindness.
That’s all I thought my heart was worth.
Theo was the first one.
And yes, he was on the wrestling team.
“Pretty sure that’s why he wanted to talk to you,” she goes on with a shrug. “So why not just take the initiative, go there directly, and put us out of our misery? Text me the second you find out who it is. Like, thesecond.”
I shake my head. “Nah, sorry, Brooke. No matter who it is, rich, entitled celebrities are not my thing. I’m the last person you want to send over there.”
“Finn, come on!”
“Why don’tyougo check on him?”
“We’re not supposed to.”
My nose twists up as I shoot her a look. “Then why’re you tellingmeto go and—?”
“Because you’re not me.Idid the welcome basket and letter. Our guest is expecting absolute discretion, minimal contact, the whole works, and I was his correspondent. Butyou…” She pokes my arm like I’m a plushie toy. “Youcan play dumb. Pop in to ensure he’s got all he needs. Be your cute helpful self. I’m, like, a thousand percent sure that’s what Dad wants you to do anyway.”
Brooke and her schemes. I cannot believe I’m actually letting her twist my arm. “I’m not even showered.”
“You look fine. You look more than fine. Totally hot.”
“I might as well drop by the house to see Dad first, clean up, and—”
“Rock, paper, scissors, and you go there right now.”
“Brooke …”
She puts forth a fist, ready. And I fling out my fist, too, turning twelve years old again in an instant. “Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!” we shout at the same time.
And that’s how eight minutes later, I end up in front of the Breezy Bungalow, unshowered, sweating right through my polo, about to knock on the door to meet some mystery dude whomight not even be a celebrity, and who explicitly stated he did not want to be disturbed.
But when I reach the door, it’s me who’s disturbed.
The lock has a broken key sticking out of it.
Was that his doing? Or did someone try to break in and no one noticed?
I give the door a knock. No answer. With a glance into the front window, I don’t see any evidence that someone’s inside. Is Brooke even sure the guest is here yet? There’s an old car by the curb I’m fairly sure wouldn’t belong to a celebrity, so I’m guessing it’s just overflow from the beach parking or Fair down the road. Something must be up.
Maybe Ishouldhave gone to Dad first.
Then I hear a squeaking noise inside. I come around to the side of the house to check through another window. No movement, nothing. I continue around to the back door.
My shoes crunch over glass.
