the beach. “This is going to be fun,” William says, grinning with excitement. I hope it’s more fun than breakfast, or this is going to be one long week.
We’re the last to arrive at the beach. I see Randy talking to the bridesmaids and the honeymooners. The other surfer from this morning, the lean guy with the dreadlocks, walks up to us and shakes our hands warmly. “I’m Evan, one of your instructors,” he says. “And this is Anya, who works in the surf shop. She’ll be helping you out with equipment.”
Anya says hello and smiles, but only just. She has eyes like a cat. She’s also got a perfect body, which I can tell because she’s wearing a very tiny bikini. Can she really surf in that? Then again, she doesn’t look like the type who’d be too embarrassed by a nip slip.
Then I hear a rich, smooth voice behind me say, “Hi.” I turn around and . . .
Oh.
My.
God.
Standing in front of me is a sun-tanned, tight T-shirted, board shorts-wearing, in-the-flesh surf god. About six feet and two inches of lean muscle. Hair the color of milk chocolate, lighter on top where the sun kisses his head daily. Eyes so green they probably make the ocean jealous.
But it’s his smile that’s making me forget the mechanics of breathing. The smile is so easy, like he’s been looking forward all morning to making the person he’s beaming at feel really special. The surf god’s warm, sweet smile keeps me from getting nervous about how handsome he is. This guy doesn’t even seem to know he’s hot, which makes him even hotter. I feel like I just stepped on a live wire. And liked it.
The surf god extends his hand. “I’m Carson,” he says, still smiling away, like something really good is happening right now.
How long does it take for one hand to reach another in a shake of greeting, about two seconds? Well, two seconds in real time is much longer in mental time. In the space of those two seconds, I have a waking dream.
Carson the surf god teaches me how to ride the waves. Carson sits with me on a surfboard, and we kiss as the sun sets behind us. Carson looks on with approval as I send a postcard home with one sentence that reads I’m not coming back. Carson and I teach together in this paradise—he gives surfing lessons, and I lead sunrise yoga classes. The two of us make passionate love on the beach beneath a full moon as the waves wash over our naked bodies. We walk hand in hand along the shore, picking the perfect spot for our beach wedding. Me in a white gauzy dress, Carson in a white shirt and white pants, both of us barefoot as we say, “I do.” The two of us holding our child’s hands as we lift her up over waves and she shrieks with delight.
A lifetime of happiness, all in the space of two hellos and a handshake.
And for an equally quick blink of time, I’m thrown. Where did all of that come from? Wasn’t I just the broken girl, all broken up over her breakup? As Carson continues to smile at me, his green eyes holding mine, my new persona comes to my rescue. I give him what feels like a very confident grin. “I’m, ah, Kate,” I say. “Pleasure.” Pleasure? Whoa, that was silky. Who am I?
Carson takes Kate’s hand. I mean, my hand. His is big, warm, smooth, and apparently has some sort of electric current that hums from his body directly into mine. “Really good to meet you, Kate,” he says in that rich voice. “You ready to do some surfing?”
The response is quick and witty. “That responsibility’s going to fall on your shoulders.” Kate admires Carson’s shoulders and approves. Somewhere in the back of my mind, which has been hijacked both by hot Carson and this smooth Kate person, Katy is mute and wide-eyed.
Carson laughs and says, “Okay then, let’s get started.” And only then does he slowly let go of my hand, which he’s been holding since our initial shake. That’s only been for a few seconds, but hand time is even longer than mental time.
He starts walking
We’re the last to arrive at the beach. I see Randy talking to the bridesmaids and the honeymooners. The other surfer from this morning, the lean guy with the dreadlocks, walks up to us and shakes our hands warmly. “I’m Evan, one of your instructors,” he says. “And this is Anya, who works in the surf shop. She’ll be helping you out with equipment.”
Anya says hello and smiles, but only just. She has eyes like a cat. She’s also got a perfect body, which I can tell because she’s wearing a very tiny bikini. Can she really surf in that? Then again, she doesn’t look like the type who’d be too embarrassed by a nip slip.
Then I hear a rich, smooth voice behind me say, “Hi.” I turn around and . . .
Oh.
My.
God.
Standing in front of me is a sun-tanned, tight T-shirted, board shorts-wearing, in-the-flesh surf god. About six feet and two inches of lean muscle. Hair the color of milk chocolate, lighter on top where the sun kisses his head daily. Eyes so green they probably make the ocean jealous.
But it’s his smile that’s making me forget the mechanics of breathing. The smile is so easy, like he’s been looking forward all morning to making the person he’s beaming at feel really special. The surf god’s warm, sweet smile keeps me from getting nervous about how handsome he is. This guy doesn’t even seem to know he’s hot, which makes him even hotter. I feel like I just stepped on a live wire. And liked it.
The surf god extends his hand. “I’m Carson,” he says, still smiling away, like something really good is happening right now.
How long does it take for one hand to reach another in a shake of greeting, about two seconds? Well, two seconds in real time is much longer in mental time. In the space of those two seconds, I have a waking dream.
Carson the surf god teaches me how to ride the waves. Carson sits with me on a surfboard, and we kiss as the sun sets behind us. Carson looks on with approval as I send a postcard home with one sentence that reads I’m not coming back. Carson and I teach together in this paradise—he gives surfing lessons, and I lead sunrise yoga classes. The two of us make passionate love on the beach beneath a full moon as the waves wash over our naked bodies. We walk hand in hand along the shore, picking the perfect spot for our beach wedding. Me in a white gauzy dress, Carson in a white shirt and white pants, both of us barefoot as we say, “I do.” The two of us holding our child’s hands as we lift her up over waves and she shrieks with delight.
A lifetime of happiness, all in the space of two hellos and a handshake.
And for an equally quick blink of time, I’m thrown. Where did all of that come from? Wasn’t I just the broken girl, all broken up over her breakup? As Carson continues to smile at me, his green eyes holding mine, my new persona comes to my rescue. I give him what feels like a very confident grin. “I’m, ah, Kate,” I say. “Pleasure.” Pleasure? Whoa, that was silky. Who am I?
Carson takes Kate’s hand. I mean, my hand. His is big, warm, smooth, and apparently has some sort of electric current that hums from his body directly into mine. “Really good to meet you, Kate,” he says in that rich voice. “You ready to do some surfing?”
The response is quick and witty. “That responsibility’s going to fall on your shoulders.” Kate admires Carson’s shoulders and approves. Somewhere in the back of my mind, which has been hijacked both by hot Carson and this smooth Kate person, Katy is mute and wide-eyed.
Carson laughs and says, “Okay then, let’s get started.” And only then does he slowly let go of my hand, which he’s been holding since our initial shake. That’s only been for a few seconds, but hand time is even longer than mental time.
He starts walking
Similar Books
