Page 70 of Lowering His Guard

The spark doesn’t die. It hangs on. He didn’t deny what he said after all.

“Which way am I going?” he asks once we reach the main road.

I point left. “Toward Pirate’s Perch.”

“What are you going to do with the parrot once you’ve captured it?” he asks as we drive toward the hamlet at the far end of Smuggler’s Hideaway.

“Take it home and wait for the Perchers to come pick it up.”

“How will they know where to pick it up?”

I dig in my pocket and flourish a calling card. “Because they’ll find this at the scene.”

“What does it say?”

“Plank has accepted a position with a rival crew. No hard feelings. Signed Captain Surfing Queen.”

The tiny barely there smile is back. “You’re crazy.”

“You say crazy. I say amusing, adorable, exceptional. Should I go on?”

He grunts.

“That’s a yes. Surfer extraordinaire. Awesome daughter. Loyal friend.”

He holds up a hand. “I get it. You’re awesome.”

“Finally! You accept the truth.”

“Slow down,” I order just before we reach Pirate’s Perch. “We’ll park and walk from here.”

“Park where?”

I point to a gravel road.

“If my car gets dinged up, you’re paying for it.”

I roll my eyes. “Relax, giant. Or have you forgotten you’re a millionaire?”

He doesn’t respond, but he does turn into the gravel road and park the SUV. I grasp the door handle. “We walk from here.”

He glares at my feet. “You’re wearing flip-flops.”

“No one will suspect a thief wearing flip-flops.” I wink before opening the door and jumping out.

He hurries around the front of the SUV. “You should have waited.”

“In case you missed it, I hardly do anything I should do. Should doesn’t get you an invitation to the Eddie Aikau Big Wave Invitational.”

“What the hell is—” Brock cuts himself off. “Never mind.” He grasps my hand. “Lead the way, pint-sized.”

He laces his fingers through mine and the teensy tiny spark of hope grows. I should extinguish it. I shouldn’t let myself hope about any man. Let alone a football star who’s leaving the island in a little over a month.

Brock’s thumb rubs circles into my hand and the spark grows into a flickering flame. I am officially in the washing machine. I hope the waves don’t tumble me too hard.

It doesn’t take more than five minutes before we arrive at the first house in Pirate’s Perch. I steer us around the house to the rear where there’s a path between the beach and the houses. We reach the third house and I stop.

“This is it,” I whisper. “This is where Plank is.”