Page 2 of When There Was You
I quell my thrumming pulse and answer Mick’s question. “Sailing? Or hiking? I’m game for anything.”
“Want a surf lesson?”
With a gasp, I angle my face toward him. “For real?”
He gives me that heart-stopping, one-sided smile, and nods. “I’ve got an extra wetsuit and board. You mentioned wanting to learn. I already checked the forecast, and the waves should be small.”
“I can’t believe it. Yes!” I do a full one-eighty and pepper kisses across his face. Pulling back, I gaze into his eyes. “You never cease to amaze me.”
Two
The scent of fresh coffee coaxes me awake. Blinking, I spy a bare-chested, tousled-haired Mick holding a steaming cup near my face.
“Rise and surf, sleepyhead.”
A yawn emerges as I stretch my limbs then sit up.
Mick hands me the mug. “Here’s a splash of coffee to go with your milk and sugar.”
“Hilarious.” I blow on the liquid and carefully sip. “Not too shabby, Mr. Callahan. Then again, you know what I like.”
He grins, that dimple creasing his cheek. “Don’t I?”
“God, don’t look at me like that or we’ll never leave the bed.”
“Hmm…” He cocks his head, as if contemplating the merits of that statement.
I smile and flip aside the covers. Apparently, surfing trumps sex. Besides, I know I’ll be getting that in spades later…with mytwogorgeous men. This is going to be a day for the memory books.
After we inhale a quick breakfast of scrambled egg sandwiches, Mick outfits me in a navy neoprene wetsuit, which lays thick and heavy against my skin. He carries his OPshortboard—airbrushed with a sun-rising-over-the-ocean scene—as we navigate the windy, foggy path to the beach. The cool morning breeze blows across my exposed flesh and I’m grateful for the protective layer.
When we get to the bottom, our feet sink into the sand as we trudge toward the surf.
Mick places the board next to his longboard. “There’s a lot to learn, so we’ll take it at a slow pace and see how it goes. If you progress enough to get in the water, you’ll be on the big boy.”
Doubt twists in my gut about whether I’m equipped for this. That big-ass board and I won’t even register as a snack if the ocean swallows us whole. I’m forty-nine percent petrified and fifty-one percent stoked.
Now’s not the time for doomsday prophecies, quips my rational brain.
“Sounds good,” I lie.
He explains the benefits of the longboard before demonstrating pop-up form.
When it’s my turn, I stretch out on the fiberglass and attempt to rise, using my momentum. I try landing my feet close to the outer edges like he showed me, but one slides off and I fall straight into the sand. I go again. And again. And again. There’s so much to remember. Feet flat. Knees bent. Chest forward. Arms out. It takes several tries, but eventually, I get the hang of it, despite lacking grace.
We talk about surfing conditions, wind direction, wave breaks, and the channel, which is the ideal place to paddle out. There’s also a proper way to paddle—alternating arms vs. both at once.
It’s a lot of information to absorb, but Mick’s a good teacher, and a damn handsome one too. Our focus, after learning the pop-up, is paddling out. Then to try catching a wave—either prone, kneeling, or upright like a badass.
His gray eyes zero in on mine. “Most people don’t get upon their first day, or the second or third. It’s not about how fast it happens but mastering the different pieces of the puzzle and then practicing them. Eventually,” he promises, “it will all come together.”
There’s a twinge of wanting the glory of standing my first day, but my expectations stay low. It was hard enough getting it right on the sand. At the same time, Mick’s so gentle and clear with his explanations, I’m excited to try.
By midday, the fog has evaporated, and sunshine warms us from overhead against cloudless, azure skies. The small waves appear manageable for a rookie like me.
“Ready?” he asks.
“As I’ll ever be.”
