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.”

I shrug. “Mark Ruffalo’s hot.”

Girl same

“Bella, ti parlerò in qualunque lingua tu mi dica se questo ti farà continuare a guardarmi in quel modo.”

“You don’t think she could use someone to help take some of that shit off her plate? Carry some of the weight for her?”

I’m not going anywhere, Dahlia. You can ask things of me, and so can your daughter.” His eyes bore into me, as if ensuring I absorb every word. “It’s not unreasonable.”

Taking that kid out on a surfboard and watching her laugh, watching you laugh because of it”—he smiles to himself—“it certainly feels like the sun is shining after years of cloud cover.”

I look good in everything, Wildflower. But you in a cerulean dress that matches the color of your eyes? That’s enough to bring a man to his knees. Preferably me.

For the first time, I realize that I don’t want to leave Dahlia before she notices that. I just want to figure out a way to be enough for her.

“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.”

“Me moriría de sed por ahogarme en ti,”

“So, I go where she goes. She’s my person. She’s Lou’s person too.”

August gets her a coloring book, but it’s filled entirely with black and white drawings he made himself. Different animals, landscapes, and some abstract designs. He included a box of colored pencils.

The matching one of which Lou lost a year ago, and I’d been unable to replace. Something I mentioned to Everett only once.

“Potrei annegare in questa figa. Muori qui. È mio. Tutto mio.”

“And that’s the last time I hear you say the word ‘God’ tonight, understood? You need to call out for someone, Wildflower? You say my fucking name.”

“Quiero vivir, ahogarme y morir entre tus piernas, cariño.”

“I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give, as long as whatever you are giving me is real.”

Even if she can’t give me all of her, I can give her all of me. I don’t think anyone ever has. But I will.

“Wow.” Leo lets out a slow whistle. “That’s the same look Honeysuckle gives me when she’s reading about cowboys and I try talking to her.”

“I see the way you look at me, Wildflower, and I want you to know that I’m seeing you the exact same way.”

Leo extends his hand toward me, my keychain hanging from his finger. “I believe these are yours. You hit me in the back of the head with them.”

“Estas tan mojada. Tan estrecha. Eres perfecta, cariño,” he rasps against my lips. “Todo lo que siempre he querido. Te necesito para siempre. Dime que eres mía. Por favor. Mía, cariño. Sé mía.”

If I had asked more questions, asked to see a picture, would it have clicked?” I breathe against her soft, sweet skin. “Would I have seen your face and known instantly what you would become to me? Could I have been the one to save you from that house? Help you escape it?”

“It’s okay, Dal. We’ll have more nights together.” All my nights, preferably.

The fact that Everett knew exactly how to answer in a way that both protected Lou and respected me has my knees ready to buckle.

“The point I’m making,” he continues, “ is that you’re an invisible string, Luz. Without you, none of us ever would’ve met each other. Do you know how much happiness and love you’ve brought into our lives just by existing?”

You’re meant to be. You’re a fucking cool kid, and I want you to remember that if anyone ever tries telling you otherwise, got it?”

“Because I study you. Because I want to know you better than anyone else does. Because I want to give you exactly what you need, tell you exactly what you need to hear, without you having to ask. Mostly because I know you won’t.”

“I’m keeping you, Wildflower. You’re mine,” he rasps. “Se mia per sempre.”

“Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done. The hard part is that you won’t let me.”

“No, this is where I live. Where I grew up. Where my family is. That’s all true.” He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “But you and your daughter are my home.”

Por qué estás llorando?”

I need to know what the fuck that man is doing here, what he wants with my kid. I need to make sure he stays the fuck away from Dahlia too.

“She’s my light,” I whisper. “And you’re all my colors, Wildflower.”

I glance down at the bracelet, a pattern of blue beads and little orange flowers—a mixture of mine and Dahlia’s favorite colors. In the middle of my wrist are three small letters: D-A-D.