Page 40 of Wild Flower

“Never?” I stare at her dumbfounded. How can that be possible? “What kind of assholes have you been sleeping with?”

“Ha!” She laughs. “You saw who I came to Flambé with, didn’t you?”

“That guy was a douche. Did you sleep with him?”

“No!” Becca shakes her head. “God no. My mom set me up with him.”

“And you went?”

“Things with my mom are … complicated.” She shivers, disengaging from me like she doesn’t want to talk about it, slipping into the water beside us.

I get it. Things with my family aren’t hunky dory either.

“But this night didn’t turn into a complete bust,” she says, leaning forward and kissing me softly, then she twists in the water and turns to face Finn. “Both of you are amazing.” She kisses him with the same tenderness she gave me. “Please tell me this wasn’t a one-night thing,” she says with a vulnerability stripping her eyes. “I mean, if it is, I’ll … It’ll be fine. But…” She stops a moment to catch her breath, panting as if she’s reliving the heat we just shared.

“Are you asking to be our girlfriend,” I tease, swimming up behind her and wrapping an arm around her waist. She looks over her shoulder at me sheepishly.

“I don’t know if that’s even a thing,” she admits. “There’s three of us. How does that work?”

“It works like tonight,” I say. “It works however you, and me, and Finn want it to.”

She turns to Finn. “Do you … want that?”

He kisses her like it’s a stupid question, which frankly, it is. There’s no way either one of us are walking away from Becca after tonight. We just trapped a mermaid; there’s no way we’re throwing her back.

23

BECCA

Morning creeps through the palm trees and a ribbon of blue mist hangs over my flower farm. I step out of my van with the straps of my high heels hooked over my finger and my velvet dress hugging my salt-water skin. My hair is a mess, and I surely smell like seaweed and two men—a smell that leaves a wild, uncharted buzz in my chest like I’m a pirate who’s found a treasure and has to hide it.

I tiptoe barefoot past my parents’ house, trying to be as quiet as possible.

I’m a grown-ass woman and I shouldn’t feel like I have to hide like a teenager. If I want to stay out all night with a man (or two) that’s my business. But I know my confidence is easily popped by the first prick of my mother’s condescension. Plus, there’s a good chance Carl called her last night to tell her about my new status: black listed from the country club.

Honestly, that feels like winning to me. But to her …

I breathe a sigh of relief when I make it to the guest house and slip undetected into my front room, pulling my phone out to text Miranda. I type her a message that she’ll need to open the shop without me this morning. Calling in late is a perk of being the boss.

Of course, Miranda’s going to sound the alarm. I never call in late. I’m the epitome of hustle culture: work harder, do more, wear all the hats and sacrifice your time. Farm, sell, design. No rest for the wicked.

Still, I send the text, because I need a shower and a few hours to rest. Or at least a few hours to reconfigure my brain to the fact that I may have started a new relationship with two men. Twoperfectmen who made me come alive in ways I didn’t fathom possible.

Just wait till I can gloat to my sister Helena, announcing that she was wrong and romance novels aren’t a fantasy. Theycanbe a real thing. A real thing I’ve been waiting my whole life to believe in.

Not that I’m seriously going to tell my sister about any of this.

Ever!

“That text better be an apology,” a voice snaps from my kitchen.

I yelp and drop my heels, lifting my phone like a weapon as I turn to the intruder. A small shadowy figure sits at my kitchen table with her arms crossed and a frown etched in stone.

“Mom?” I exclaim. “You scared the shit out of me! Not to mention, this is trespassing! You’re not allowed in the guest house without my permission.”

“It’smyguest house,” she corrects. “I have keys, and you didn’t come home last night. You could’ve been dead.”

“Dead?!” I pinch my lips together, trying to hold back the tsunami I want to scream at her. “I don’t have a curfew. I’m an adult.” I say as calmly as possible. “I can stay out all night if I want to. It’s none of your business.”

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