parking lot, and braked before exiting on Newport Avenue. Flicking on my blinker, I glanced left, then right, looking for traffic, and I saw her.
Lotus. Her hair long and loose, she was sitting on the low wall by the ocean, plants on either side of her.
Switching my blinker, I turned right and steered the Scout into the public parking lot near where she was, just across the street from the hotel. It was the weekend, so the lot was overflowing with cars, frequented by tourists and locals. Lucky for me, I found an empty spot in the back.
Keys in hand, I got out and strode straight to her.
A young guy was with her, the same one she’d surfed with the day before. It had been far away when I’d watched them from the cliffs, but I recognized that it was the same guy. He had a confident stance, and he was good-looking if you discounted the angry red scar that sliced downward from his hairline to just between his eyes.
My scars were badges of honor, visible evidence that I’d survived some serious shit. I got the idea his were the same. He was a Cali blond, and rocked the same easygoing surfer vibe that Ash and his cousin Linc did. However, Lotus didn’t seem to be drawn to standard.
The man-boy lifted his gaze to me. His blue-green eyes widened, which was to be expected. Non-standard, I was tatted to hell and disconcerting at first glance to some people.
“Can I help you, sir?” he asked politely.
“What do you have?” I asked.
I could see that plants were for sale—succulents, violets like the ones I’d smashed, and cut dahlias. The containers were unique. Driftwood. Woven grapevine. Shells. They had prices on them, but there were also cards displayed. The writing was clearly done by Lotus’s hand.
“I’ll be right with you,” Lotus said kindly, sensing my presence but not looking directly at me as she helped a customer.
Swiping a credit card through a scanner attachment on her phone, she handed it back to the woman and reached into a plastic bin on the wall beside her. As she withdrew a pretty gold-and-black-swirled gift bag, her gaze met mine.
Lotus’s eyes widened, and tension shot through her. Her previously sure fingers fumbled with the wrapping, and she stumbled on her words.
The man-boy shifted, putting himself in front of her. That kind of pissed me off, but I also admired the heck out of him for looking out for her, facing off with a dude like me. With my scary-ass tattoos, a couple inches taller than him, and quite a few pounds heavier with mess-you-up muscle weight, I was a force to be reckoned with.
“Journey.” Lotus turned to me as her customer walked away. She sounded breathless. “What are you doing here?”
“Saw you when I pulled out to head to LA. What are you doing here?” I gestured to her wares but kept my eye on the man-boy.
“I sell my plants and poems here on Sundays.”
“Just like you always . . . I mean, that’s cool.” I picked up one of the cards and read it out loud to redirect her from my major flub. “‘All I need is your love . . . and flip-flops.’ This is nice. Who drew the picture?” I asked, knowing whose poem it was.
“Cork did.” She gestured. “My brother.”
“This is your brother?” Holy shit. He’d been just a little kid when I left OB.
“Yeah.” She mistook the reason for my surprise. “We don’t look like siblings. Cork takes after my dad, and I look like my mom. She was Thai.”
I knew all this, but I nodded as if it were new information. Extending my hand to her brother, I said, “Nice to meet you, Cork. I’m Journey.”
“Heard her call you that.” He continued to study me, his gaze sharp, but there was something different about him. I just couldn’t identify what. “Nice to meet you too. You’re OB Hardy’s new guitarist.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Best band there is. Next to the Dirt Dogs.”
My lips curved. “Got good taste.”
“Cork loves music almost as much as surfing.” Her expression warm, Lotus threw her arm around her brother’s shoulders.
He accepted the public display of affection, but he went stiff like she had a moment before. He was embarrassed. Working out the math, I knew he was seventeen. Almost a man. She didn’t seem to get it, but then she was a girl, one far too young to be clued into the ways of a teenage boy.
“I’ll