“Yep.” Grabbing the board, he jogged off the deck, down the boardwalk, toward the beach. He glanced over his shoulder, just to confirm that she’d followed him.
“Max?”
“Trust me!”
He headed down to the water, stopping where the waves creased the shore, the sand thick and swampy. Foam lapped at his feet, tugging at him, urging him into the cool mystery of the dark Pacific.
Grace caught up. He turned, grabbed her towel and his, and tossed them back onshore.
She was staring at him not unlike that first day, when she realized he meant it when he said he’d take her sightseeing. The words came easily. “I’m your swim buddy, remember?”
She nodded, not a hint of confidence in her face.
“It’s time for you to swim.”
He held out his hand and imagined it took everything inside her to grab it. But she did, and he walked her out into the surf. He reached waist level and stopped. “Get on the board.”
“Really?”
“I want you to feel the water under you, to catch the rhythm of the wave.”
She climbed aboard and he affixed the surf leash to her ankle.
“Stretch out on it, your chest in the middle, and start paddling. I’m right here with you.”
She began to dog-paddle, and he kept one hand on the board as they ventured out. The beach sloped slowly, shallow long into the ocean, so he touched bottom even as they paddled out past the break zone to deeper water. He finally started treading but kept the board in reach with Grace angled out toward the ocean.
“Sit up and balance. Feel the water move under you.”
She sat up, dangling her feet. The moon trailed an iridescent finger along the water, and she sat in a puddle of brilliance, her skin glistening. She had the power of a mermaid, the ability to bewitch him, pull him under.
He shook free and turned, one hand on the board, as he watched the waves. “Look for lumps on the horizon. Those are called sets, and in them are the waves that you might catch. If you ride over the swell, they’ll surge by you, then peak and break. Beginning surfers have to learn how to read a wave and find the right one. Sure, you’ll choose the wrong wave, but you just paddle back out and try again.”
She was watching the horizon, her hands circling in the water.
“Now, when you find the right wave, you’re going to turn around and paddle hard to get under it. You’ll have to start paddling before it gets to you, and if it goes past you, then you’ve lost it.”
“And I have to try again.”
“Right. But tonight I’ll get you in position.”
“You want me to actually surf?”
More challenge than panic in her voice, and that’s why he loved her.
No . . . liked. Enjoyed.
“Once I catch the wave, what do I do?”
“You have to get up. You get your knees under you, then push with your arms and pop up, balancing with one foot in front, the other in back. But tonight, I just want you to ride the wave in. We’ll work on getting up later—”
“I wanna try.”
He looked at her.
“I’m going to try.” She’d set her jaw, tight, almost angry.
Okay, then. Max stared out into the horizon. The night cast an eerie quietness over the dark waters, and for a second he feared what might be below, unseen. Strange because he’d always loved the bite of danger, the sense of skirting death, the adrenaline of living recklessly.
Now, the fear came quickly, settled in his gut, tingled through him. As if for the first time it might actually take root.
“Now?”
A set of swells came toward them, but he shook his head. “Not yet.”
They bobbed in the water, letting them ride by. Then another set. Finally, “Okay, I think these are the ones. Let’s get you turned around, and when I tell you to, paddle hard. When you feel the wave begin to take you, get your knees under you and pop up on the board. Or . . . you can just stay on your knees.”
“Just tell me when.”
He turned her around as she stretched out on the board. Read the sets and—“Now. Paddle hard.” He pushed her out at an angle, then paddled with her, just to get her going.
But she was windmilling hard in the water and he could see the wave lift her. “Stand up!”
Grace pushed up to her knees and stayed there for a second—so long that he thought she might just . . . Suddenly she popped to her feet. She balanced there, a perfect silhouette against the light of the moon, the sparkling water.
The wave carried her in. It wasn’t pretty, or even remotely correct, but she stayed on, almost all the way to shore before the board slowed. Then she paddled air, losing her balance, splashing into the water.
Max swam hard toward her.