The Wrong Mr. Right (The Queen's Cove Series #2)(52)

Wyatt flashed me a tentative grin from the driver’s seat of his truck. “Oh, yeah?”

We were on the highway, his truck full of camping gear and a cooler of food, drinks, and ice. Music played on the radio and trees blurred as we drove past.

I fished the tiny figure out of the pocket of my jacket and hung it from the rearview mirror. Wyatt studied it with brief glances, alternating between the road and the figure swaying.

He snorted. “Is that supposed to be me?”

I grinned wide. “Yep.”

I had contacted someone on Etsy with the Tula music video and commissioned a 3D-printed figurine of him, merman costume and silver body paint and all. The figure was about two inches tall. I didn’t tell this to Wyatt but I had one made for myself as well. It sat on my dresser at home.

It made economic sense to buy two. The designer only had to create the design once. And this way, if he lost it, he’d have a backup.

Wyatt shot me a wry look. “I love it and hate it at the same time.”

That made me laugh. I turned and watched out the window as he drove, smiling to myself and listening to the music. My stomach rolled forward. God, he was handsome. Even the crinkles around his eyes were hot.

He reached over and gave my knee a quick squeeze, making my stomach flutter. “Thanks, bookworm.”

I thought about the way he looked yesterday in the surf shop, when I told him about doing my homework. The heated hunger in his eyes. The way his mouth pressed into an unhappy, unsatisfied line, like he was doing everything he could to hold back.

The way his gaze flared when I called him professor. I’d keep that in my back pocket for later.

“You’re welcome.” I smiled out the window.

Anticipation rolled through me and I pressed my thighs together. Maybe he’d kiss me again tonight. My stomach fluttered and I bit a grin back.

“You look cute in those glasses.”

I hadn’t worn them in a while. I rolled my eyes. “I’d rather wear my contacts but I didn’t know if it was a good idea to put dirty camping fingers in my eyes.”

“I brought lots of hand sanitizer.” His gaze raked over my face with appreciation. “I like your glasses, though.”

My chin dipped down and I played with my hair again. No one had ever said I was cute in glasses. I always thought I looked like such a dork. “Thanks.”

“You want to put on Spice Girls? I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?” I already had my phone out, fingers scrolling to the playlist. “We don’t have to.”

He jerked his chin at the radio and rolled his eyes with a grin. “Go on. I know you want to.”

The opening notes of Wannabe started and I sang loudly with them to make Wyatt laugh.

“You know all the lyrics.”

I threw my hands up. “Of course I know all the lyrics. This song is a classic. It’s carved deep in my brain.”

Forty-five minutes later, Wyatt turned off the highway and the truck bumped up a series of gravel switchbacks, higher and higher. He pulled the truck off the road and parked on the shoulder.

“There’s a clearing through those trees.” He pointed into the forest.

We climbed out of the car and Wyatt led me along a small path, worn down by footsteps, through the trees.

“Oh, wow,” I breathed.

The clearing overlooked the ocean. The area was flat with slates of rock underfoot. Fifty feet away, a cliff dropped down, too far for me to want to approach. Beyond that, deep blue water stretched all the way to the horizon. Trees towered around us.

Wyatt stood at my back, warm and solid, and I fought the urge to lean against him.

“See, down there?” He pointed to a spot. There were a few specks in the water. “That’s the cove where we hang out after surf lessons.”

“We’re so high up.”

“Mhm.” His low voice rumbled in his chest.

A deep sense of calm settled through me, like when we floated in that cove in the mornings. The forest smelled so clean and my hair moved with the light breeze. At what point did I stop spending time out in nature like this? This was where I belonged.

Right. When my mom passed. My dad didn’t want to go camping anymore because that was her thing. It broke my heart, that he didn’t want to be out here anymore.

The wind whistled through the trees and I inhaled a lungful of fresh air. She’d love it here.

I glanced around the clearing. A charred pile of ash encircled by rocks laid a few feet from us. Wyatt noticed me studying it and wiggled his eyebrows in that playful way of his.

“Only Holden and I know about this spot.” His voice was low as he watched my reaction.

“It’s a secret?”

He nodded. “Super secret. We don’t want some social media influencer ruining it for us.”

I beamed and turned back to the water. I couldn’t wait to wake up to this tomorrow morning. “I wouldn’t dare.”

We spent the next half hour unloading the truck, hauling tents, sleeping bags, a stove, and cooler over to the clearing.

“Jesus, bookworm.” Wyatt hoisted my bag out of the back seat. “How many nights are we staying out here?”

A laugh bubbled out of me. “I brought a few books.”

He raised his eyebrows at me and I giggled more. “A few? How many do you think a few is?”