Wrecked Read Free Page A

guiltily. Despite the independent vibe Genevieve projected, Miranda knew how much Gen wanted to be part of a couple, and she knew that in Genevieve’s mind, sharing a possibly-fictional kiss with a cute Columbia boy was nothing compared to the fact Miranda and Fletch were steadily dating. “I’m doing your tarot reading, in case you care,” Genevieve said, slapping the cards down on the piece of driftwood in front of her. The light from the fire flickered on the overturned card. It was a man and a woman, their arms intertwined in an embrace.
    Genevieve rolled her eyes. “Of course, this figures,” she said, scooping the cards back up and shuffling the deck.
    “Wait, what was that?” Miranda asked, genuinely curious. At least it hadn’t been the skeleton.
    “The lovers. It means that you’re about to find the love of your life. Or you’ve already found it.” Genevieve laughed, but the hurt look spreading across her face made it clear how much Genevieve wished she was the one in the relationship.
    “Lucky!” Darcy exhaled, smiling encouragingly at Miranda. Darcy loved the idea of being in love, and had already served as the bridesmaid at two of her sisters’ weddings. Her two older sisters had both met their now-husbands in high school, and Darcy was sure Miranda was on the same track.
    “Yeah, you’re lucky. The question is, would Fletch agree?” Gray smiled so it seemed like she was teasing, but Miranda could read the subtext. It wasn’t so much that Gray liked Fletch, as that Gray liked to always have the best of everything. In her mind, Fletch was the ideal boyfriend, and Miranda sensed from the chilly way Gray had greeted her for the past few months, that Gray felt she, not Miranda, deserved him.
    Miranda smiled, embarrassed for her relationship to be on display. Besides, it wasn’t exactly accurate. Sure, she liked Fletch a lot. Maybe she even loved him, a bit. She adored his sense of humor, the way he didn’t take himself too seriously, the way he’d always agree to split an enormous plate of disco fries at the Sand Witch Diner with her, even though she ended up eating most of them.
    But was he the love of her life? She glanced dubiously at the water, where Fletcher was holding the Frisbee aloft over his head like a trophy. As soon as he spotted her staring at him, his face broke into a smile and he bounded over, throwing his wet arms around her shoulders and dripping onto her.
    “Hey!” Miranda squealed as he leaned down and planted a kiss on the top of her dark hair. “Stop it!”
    At that, Fletcher hugged her again. “Maybe I will. What willyou give me if I stop?” He asked, wiggling his eyebrows manically.
    Miranda grinned despite herself. Despite his showdog-like name (full name: Fletcher Adamson King, the third) he was pure Whym royalty: A sixth-generation resident whose family owned half the island and whose dad was the former mayor. Fletch was also undeniably hot: At six feet with shaggy brown hair and a muscular swimmer’s build, he was the type of guy who’d cause women at the Harris Teeter supermarket to poke each other and giggle as he walked by. But something else also drew people to him. It was his attitude, how he was so comfortable in his own skin, and never seemed to be at a loss for things to say. His confidence was sometimes overwhelming to Miranda, who couldn’t quite understand why Fletch had chosen her instead of someone like Gray or Lydia—born and bred South Carolina girls who’d no doubt be spending evenings ten years from now at dinner parties with each other, swapping tricks for how to get their kids to sleep through the night. While on the surface, Miranda—with her tall, athletic frame, long brown hair, wideset green eyes, and walk-in closet full of pastel tanks, cashmere cardigans, and Lilly Pulitzer sundresses—looked every inch an island girl, she wasn’t one of them.
    Mostly, it was her legacy. She knew her parents’ death had cast an aura of tragedy