Rogue Wave by Isabel Jolie (reading eggs books txt) 📕

world for good. And all I’d really done is ended up joining the capitalists.

“Did you ever get kidnapped? Was there a reason you went a year without calling home? Gregg considered trying to hire contract help to find you, but they weren’t even sure where to start. Said the GPS tracker your dad bought you stopped working your first year.”

The tracker had gotten crushed sometime early on. Didn’t matter, as I hardly ever charged it. I’d forgotten about that thing. Gabe wanted answers. Sounded like there’d been more worry and concern than I realized. But, at a certain point, I’d evolved into more of a drifter. My past felt distant, another universe away.

Chapter 8

Luna

Poppy and I ran up the wooden ramp, laughing, completely soaked from the torrential downpour by the time we tugged open the heavy door. A slim awning hung over the door, providing zero shelter from the deluge. Even the hostess had abandoned her outdoor stand and stood just inside the door, holding a clipboard. Her apologetic smile told me a lengthy wait existed for one of the indoor dining room tables.

They designed Jules with the beach crowd season in mind. It had a wide deck sitting over part of the marina, and an upstairs deck for overflow, but inside, there weren’t nearly as many tables. Indoor tables weren’t often needed during the busier, warm season, as everyone wanted to sit outside and enjoy the harbor view. That made getting a seat in inclement weather difficult, even in the fall shoulder season.

“Any seats at the bar?” I asked.

“Probably. You can check.”

Poppy led the way back through the front seating area, past the narrow hall and kitchen, into the barroom. The bar took up about half the space, and there were a few more tables set back along the windows.

My breath caught, and I stopped short in the doorway. Poppy, ever oblivious, moved on, pulling out a barstool and sitting on it before searching for me.

“What’s wrong?” She might as well have shouted across the bar.

Tate nodded an acknowledgment. I shouldn’t have been surprised to find him here, but I felt shellshocked. I searched for him every day when I surfed, and we never crossed paths.

“Hey.” The guy he was sitting with turned my way and flashed all of his teeth in a grin so big it stood as a direct counterpoint to Tate’s furrowed brow.

“Well, hello there,” Tate’s friend said.

Poppy had chosen bar stools a couple down from the guys. I held my hand up and wiggled my fingers in a silly girl half-wave as I made my way to the stool Poppy had commandeered.

Poppy pushed a cocktail menu my way, and as I read through the specials, my skin tingled and warmth radiated off my rain-drenched skin. I lifted the wet strands off my back and looped them to twist into a bun, and only then did I dare to glance his way. Our eyes met, and I felt him, all of him. I breathed deeply, opening my core to the energy flowing between us, taking him in, accepting. One with the sea.

He blinked and twisted on his stool, showing me his back. His friend leaned around him, smiling. “You ladies want to join us?”

“We’d love to.” I picked up my menu and took the stool beside Tate.

Poppy walked around to stand in front of the guys.

“Hi. I’m Poppy. Are you guys vacationing here?”

I doubted Tate would speak up, so I did. “Tate lives here now. He’s the guy I told you about.” I raised an eyebrow and gave her a tight smile, hoping she’d connect the dots.

“Oh! We went by your house one night. That’s right. You weren’t home,” Poppy said with a snap of her fingers.

Tate gave me a questioning look, squinting, no doubt wondering when I stopped by and why. He’d probably forgotten my showing him the note we left when we missed him.

Poppy ignored us and centered her focus on Tate’s friend. “So, are you visiting?”

His clean cut, dark-haired friend smiled, and his posture and smooth grace reminded me of a politician. “Tate and I go way back. I’m Gabe.” He shook Poppy’s hand and held on to it for a beat before letting her hand go and setting his gaze on me. “And you are?”

“She’s no one.” Tate’s voice broke through. I gasped, and he added, “Not no one. I mean, she’s a young girl who lives on the island.” His voice was stern, and embarrassment lit my skin at his emphasis on the word girl. He glared at Gabe as he spoke, as if warning him.

“I’m a coastal scientist at the Haven Island Nature Conservancy. And I’m assisting Tate with the redesign of his cottage.”

Gabe looked back and forth between us and covered his mouth with his hand. Even with his mouth covered, you could tell he wore a big grin. His eyes gave him away. Then he looked to Poppy. “And what about you?”

Poppy had a good base tan and wore her everyday level of blush, but I could swear I saw tints of color expand along the sides of her face and down her neck. I jumped in. “Poppy owns an internet business.”

“Oh, what kind of business?”

“Photography,” I blurted.

Poppy asked Gabe, “What do you do?”

“I’m a hedge fund manager,” he answered.

Poppy slid onto the stool on his other side. As they continued their conversation, I asked Tate, “How long is he in town for?”

“Just the weekend.”

“Where’s he from?”

“New York.”

“Wow, that’s quite the trip for one weekend.” It wasn’t that North Carolina was far from New York, at least by plane, but there weren’t many direct flights from New York to Wilmington, which meant he probably had a connection in Raleigh then a drive to the beach and then a ferry. Even with a direct flight, it was still a hassle getting to the island.

Tate grunted then offered, “We hadn’t seen each other in a long while.”

Tate frowned at his friend’s back. Gabe and Poppy sat engrossed