Wicked & Wildflower (Pacific Shores, #2)

by Sarah A. Bailey

“Jesus, Everett. You’re like a panting dog.” Ryan laughs at me. “I’m about to start barking.”

“I was thinking of something more like colorful. Bright. Resilient. Sprouting up in the places you least expect them and blowing away on the wind just as quickly.” That wicked smile morphs into a full grin. “Beautiful too, of course.”

Said phase allows me hours to stare at Chris Evans, though, so I can’t complain.

Grief kind of feels like a bullet wound that never fully heals. Sometimes, it’s just a scar, and then other days, you wake up and feel like it tore right through you again, this gaping hole in the center of your chest sucking the life right out of you. You’re never entirely sure which days you’re going to find yourself bleeding out and which days you’ll feel patched up,

“Dahlia,” he rasps, eyes meeting mine. “I speak three fucking languages—three—and when I tell you that there is not one word in any of them to describe the way you look right now. You’re beyond beauty. You’re beyond comparison to anything in this plane of existence. You’re something beyond comprehension. Unreal.”

“Your body is my new religion, baby.” I wrap both arms around her legs, gripping her inner knees. “Now, spread those thighs and baptize me.”

“You’re my wildflower.” He lets out a breathless laugh. “You blew into town one day on a whim and planted yourself right inside my soul. You’re rooted in me now, baby. I don’t mind waiting to watch you bloom.”

“You’re my compass, Wildflower. I’ll follow you forever, because that’s where I find home.”