Page 69 of Lowering His Guard

“Left the resort! Without me! Well, this sucks. I did all the research. I had everything planned out. I even made t-shirts.” I didn’t but you get me.

His brow wrinkles. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Jace agreed to help me steal Plank.”

His nostrils flare. “You are not corrupting my son.”

I flick a hand in dismissal. “It’s not illegal.”

“It’s not illegal to steal?”

“Not if the thing you’re stealing is a parrot.”

He growls. “Explain.”

I sigh. “Fine. You know there are three towns on Smuggler’s Hideaway? Smuggler’s Rest, Rogue’s Landing, and Pirate’s Perch?” I wait for him to nod before continuing. “Do you also know that each town has a live mascot?”

“Live? As in living?”

“That’s what live meant the last time I looked.”

“Smartass,” he mutters but that tiny smile I’m beginning to crave is peeking out.

“Smuggler’s Rest has an otter. His name is Viking, and he’s adorable. Rogue’s Landing has a raccoon named Rogue. He’s also adorable. Plus, he’s addicted to marshmallows. And then there’s Pirate’s Perch. They have a parrot named Plank.”

“Parrot? Plank? Are you planning to steal a parrot?”

“Hush.” I scan the area for possible eavesdroppers. “It’s a long-standing tradition for Smugglers to steal the mascots in the summer. Except no one ever manages to steal Plank.”

“Why not?”

“The Perchers, which is how the residents of Pirate’s Perch refer to themselves, have trained Plank to shout as if he’s the police whenever a non-resident opens his cage. All the smugglers know it, and yet, everyone flees whenever the parrot shouts.”

“And you want to steal this parrot that thinks it’s a police officer?”

“Wrong. I am going to steal Plank. One of the Perchers was on the beach today and let slip where Plank is staying. This is my chance to become a Smuggler’s Hideaway legend.”

Brock stares at me for a long moment before sighing. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“Yes!” I shout before whirling around to open my car door.

He grasps my elbow and leads me away. “I’m not riding in your toy car.”

I gasp. “Mer-Mini is not a toy. You’ve offended her!”

He lifts a brow. “I’ve offended a car? It’s an inanimate object.”

“Don’t get huffy with me when she refuses to start if you’re sitting in the passenger seat.”

“Good thing I won’t ever be sitting in the passenger seat,” he mutters before opening the door of his SUV and lifting me inside.

“You don’t have to carry me. I proved I can get in by myself.”

He shrugs. “Maybe I enjoy carrying you.”

A teensy tiny spark of hope ignites in my belly. “What did you say?”

“Nothing,” he grumbles before slamming the door shut.