The sun backlit him and blurred his features, but the broad span of his shoulders was clear. Suddenly unsure, I moved out of the way so he could enter. He took a step forward but then leaned against the doorway watching me, and I could see his face better. A small smile turned up the corner of his mouth, and he caught my gaze for several beats before I blinked.
“Hey,” he said softly.
“Hey,” I answered, and he reached for my hand, drawing me near. Taking enough time to make me scream, he reached down and wrapped his arms around my waist for a hug.
“Smells good,” he said, face buried in my hair.
Distracted, I muttered something about my shampoo. I felt like an idiot for not stringing a coherent sentence together, but my train of thought felt like it was chugging through jelly.
“That’s not what I meant,” he said and relaxed his embrace enough to sniff the air. “That smells good.”
I shook my head. “It’s onions.”
“You’re having onions for breakfast?”
I nodded stupidly.
“Interesting. Should I take that personally?”
I shook my head again but with a feeling of coming to my senses. “I’m having onions in my omelet. Do you want one?”
“An onion?” He grinned. “Sure. I love onions.”
“Great,” I said, recovering. “I’ll fry you up an onion while I eat an omelet.”
“Um, if I help, can I have an omelet too?”
I pretended to consider him, then sighed. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Always making me work for it, huh, Ashley?”
I shot him a sharp glance, but his face showed only his usual good humor.
“It tastes better that way,” I said.
“No, stuff tastes good however you make it. I’m doing fine if I cook something only slightly charred.”
“Oh, all right. I’ll make you an omelet while you sit and tell me all about your business trip.”
He grinned and followed me into the kitchen, claiming a chair while I fished the delinquent eggshell out of the bowl and then pushed the onions around so they didn’t burn.
“What do you want to know?” he asked. “It seems like I told you everything on the phone.”
I whipped my head around to see if he was serious. “Are you kidding? You told me nothing on the phone. Not one sorry detail.”
“Probably because you never answered your phone.”
“You’re here now. Quit whining and tell me about your trip.”
He laughed. “I looked at a lot of industrial warehouse space. Then I looked at boring retail spaces. Then I looked at more warehouses. Then I ate a bunch of fast food. Then I came home. You’re all caught up now.”
“When did you get in?” I asked. I forced a casual note into my voice. I’d been on edge since I got a text from him last night saying he was headed back. Nerves kept me tossing and turning all night and then reached a snapping point before his text came in this morning. I wanted to sound like I didn’t care how long he’d been home almost as much as I wanted to know how long he’d waited before coming to see me.
“About four this morning.”
And it was just after eight. Mr. Gibson had wasted no time getting over here. I wondered how I felt about that. Funny, I decided. It made me feel funny. “Did you even sleep?” I asked.
“A couple of hours. I really want to get out on the waves.”
Of course, I thought. He got up early to surf, not to come see you, you idiot.
“You don’t have to work today, do you?” he asked.
“You want me to go with you?” I asked, surprised. “Don’t you want to bond with your board or something?”
“I want to see where you’re at now. I only have another month to whip you into shape, right? I can’t let the Matt Gibson surf whisperer legacy end with you.”
“Right,” I said. The four weeks left until the new semester started seemed to shrink into a piddling collection of days and hours at his reminder of how soon the summer would end.
I slid a plate in front of him with a steaming omelet on it. “Bell pepper, onion, and lots of jack cheese. It’s my specialty.”
“I thought grilled cheese was your specialty.”
I shrugged. “Anything with melting cheese is my specialty.”
“My kind of specialist,” he said and dug in. I let him eat while I cooked up my own omelet. His was gone before I even sat down with mine.
“Sorry,” he said. “I haven’t had home cooking in forever.”
“Right. So you ate fast food, stared at empty buildings, and drove around a lot. Does that about cover your four weeks away?”
“Yeah. I’d have to lie to make it even halfway interesting.” He eyed my untouched omelet, so I pushed half of it onto his plate before taking a bite of the half left on mine.
“Well, what about now that you’re back?” I asked. “Are you going to have to work as much?”
He shrugged. “I’ll pick back up with my surf students and go in to work if my partner throws an absolute fit. But he should be off my back for a while,” he said. “He kind of owes me big, so I think I can get in all the surfing I want now.”
I nodded, and he waited until I finished another bite before asking, “What about you? Are you going to have crazy hours now that the Fourth is over?”
“No,” I said. “I never wanted full-time hours, anyway, so I told Trevor I’m just going to hand off any extra shifts he gives me. That should solve the problem.”
He studied me while I ate. “Can I throw something out there without you running away screaming again?” he asked.
“As long as I’m chewing. I would never abandon food.”
“How flexible is this no-strings-attached clause you built into us hanging out? Because strings seem pretty flexible. They’re all bendy and stuff.”
“Bendy?” I stalled while trying to process the question.
He waited.
“I think these strings are more like, uh . . .” I scrambled to think of a very, very rigid string. “They’re more like piano wire than yarn, I guess?” I trailed off, wondering if my analogy made any sense at all.
“Okay,” he said. “What if I happen to be around Utah now and then for some snowboarding in a few months? Are you open to keeping in touch?”
“Keeping in touch” sounded nonthreatening, but I knew better. I knew because of the way the idea warmed the cockles of my stone-cold heart. I didn’t really know what a cockle was, but I had every intention of finding mine and Matt-proofing it when I did.
“You promised not to run away screaming,” he reminded me. “Maybe you should take another bite so you don’t go anywhere.”
I scooped up some more omelet and chewed, staring at him. He sat unruffled while I ate, returning my stare with a slight crinkle around his eyes that suggested throwing me off track entertained him.
I swallowed and waved my fork at him. “You signed up for no strings attached.”
“Relax, Ashley. It was just a thought. I figured it might not be so hectic to squeeze stuff in with you if we had more time to hang out later, but it’s fine. I can see it’s stressing you out. I think there’s a specific HB city ordinance against stressing within two miles of the ocean, anyway. So stop.”
I narrowed my eyes and took another bite of egg.
He smiled. “You’re working how many days a week now?”
I swallowed and answered. “Three. Sometimes four.”
“Are your days off pretty open?” he asked.
“As of right now,” I said. “But I make no promises.”
“No kidding,” he said.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. Just an observation.” He glanced at my plate.
“I’m done,” I said. I started to get up, but he waved me down.
“I’ll take care of it so you can get dressed.” He collected both of our dishes and headed to the sink to rinse them.
“Hello? I am dressed. Did you think
this outfit is what I look like naked?”
He flushed, and I felt slightly evil and totally gratified that I’d managed to throw him off balance for once this morning. For the first time, I felt some of the comfort of being with him creep back in.
“I meant that if you want to go surfing, maybe you should change.”
“Who said I want to go surfing?”
He glanced over his shoulder and sighed. “Ashley, are you really telling me that after surfing almost daily for two months, you aren’t starting to crave it a little?”
I grinned. “No, I’m not telling you that at all. Give me five minutes.”
I raced down the hall to my bedroom and dug through the drawer where my swimsuits tangled with my tee shirts. One of the greatest days of my life was when Target started carrying a whole bunch of tankinis and I had something modest besides utilitarian one-pieces to choose from. I grabbed the top of a cute black one trimmed in a black and white hibiscus print and rummaged for the matching bottom. Celia watched wordlessly until I sent random pieces of clothing items flying behind me, and then she reached under the dresser and pulled out the missing bottom.
“Thanks,” I grumbled. I was back in the kitchen a few minutes later with a bright blue cover-up over my suit and my hair back in a braid to keep it from wrestling the seaweed.
“Ready,” I said, waving a rash guard at him. The water had warmed from brutal to bracing and I didn’t need a wetsuit anymore, but the protective neoprene of the shirt kept the wax on the board from chafing me.
“Cool,” he said. “Let’s go, then.”
He followed me out to the deck and grabbed my board for me, and I tried not to stare too openly at his rippling biceps because it was such a cliché. Once my board was strapped down next to his on top of his Toyota, it was a short trip to the beach with the radio blaring eighties rock. Even though I was too young to remember the eighties, I loved the music.
By the time I was standing next to the water with my board leashed to my ankle, I felt the first nervous twinge at surfing in front of Matt. He got a few feet out into the wavelets before he realized I hadn’t followed him. Turning and letting the water lap around his knees, he called, “What’s up, Ashley?”
I didn’t want to admit I was nervous. I wasn’t even sure why I was nervous. It’s not like he hadn’t seen me wipe out plenty of times already, and he knew better than anyone how long it took to be really good at surfing. Longer than a month, that was for sure. Rather than make it a bigger deal than it needed to be, I hiked up my board a little higher and splashed in after him, quickly passing him with a joking, “Slowpoke!” thrown over my shoulder.
He laughed and raced after me, his strong swim stroke pulling him ahead within seconds. When we paddled out far enough to catch the first break, we both perched on top of our boards and waited for the right set to come in. At least a dozen other surfers dotted the water around us, watching too. The quiet of so many people doing the same thing at once was one of my favorite parts of surfing. It always felt like a unity of thought, and the camaraderie that seemed to sprout organically between surfers made sense.
I felt my comfort with Matt wholly restored by the gentle bump of the ocean beneath my surfboard. The last knots of tension eased from between my shoulders and the pit of my stomach. I leaned my head back to soak up the muted sunlight filtering through the marine layer above us.
“Look,” Matt said, his voice low. Following the direction of his pointing finger I saw the smooth gray back of a dolphin finishing a dive. A huge smile cracked my face as another one surfaced in a playful jump.
“I think there’s a pod out there,” he said. “I usually see them a few times a summer, but this is the first time this year.”
We watched, and a little bubble of delight swelled in my chest. Nothing could ruin this perfect moment.
Nothing. Except—
“Hey, Matt! I heard you were back in town!”
Megan.
Chapter 22
Of all the rotten, ill-timed luck. I had no idea how she managed to find us, but there she was, paddling up on Matt’s other side in a hot pink rash guard on the surfboard he’d looked over for her.
I gritted my teeth and froze the corners of my smile to keep them from slipping. From Matt’s startled glance, I had a feeling I must have looked more like I was snarling than smiling. I dropped the pretense and settled down to wait her out.
“Hi, Megan,” Matt said politely. “What are you doing out here?”
“Oh, I surf here all the time,” she said.
“Really?” I asked. “I’ve been here pretty much every day this summer. I’m surprised I never noticed you.”
She cleared her throat. “Well, I guess I’m by the pier a lot and sometimes by the cliffs.” She shrugged. I tried not to growl. If she was surfing the pier then she had some skills. I wouldn’t dream of joining that crowd.
“Anyway, when did you get back?” she asked.
“This morning, actually,” he said. “How’d you know I was back already?”
“Oh, my sister-in-law Mandy mentioned it.”
He wrinkled his brow. “Mandy Jenkins?”
“Yeah,” Megan said. “She’s over there somewhere.” She waved vaguely in the direction of the entire Pacific. “I was on the phone with her deciding where I wanted to drop in today, and she mentioned that you were here so I thought I’d say hello.”
“Hello,” I said, before Matt could answer. I’d seen her at Institute once a week all month, but, unlike there, we couldn’t ignore each other when there were only the three of us sitting on the same patch of ocean. Not that Megan didn’t give it her best effort.
“So how was your trip?” she asked Matt, not returning my greeting. I hid my eye roll with a glance toward the incoming swells. Clearly, I wasn’t invited to their conversation, anyway.
“It was fine,” he said.
“Oh, good!” she said, like he’d told her he won the billion-dollar jackpot while he was gone. “You’re such a good businessman, Matt.”
I refrained from gagging. Barely.
“Uh, thanks,” he said. “Hey, look! I think that’s my wave,” he said, flipping his board around and paddling to take it.
I didn’t grumble while he escaped, due to me being an amazing human being. Instead I looked at Megan. “We’re dating,” I said.
She looked startled. “So?”
“I’m just letting you know. We’re dating now, we’ve been dating all summer, and we’ll be dating until I leave for school.”
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked.
“Wouldn’t want you to waste your time or anything,” I said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then you have less common sense than I’m giving you credit for,” I snapped, done playing games with her. “You’re smart enough to see that Laurel is a cool girl, so you get points for that. But I’ll be tying up all Matt’s free time for the rest of the month, and if you really are smart, you’ll find a new project.”
A dull red flush swept over her cheeks. “Laurel told me that you guys are calling it quits when you leave. You’ll just be another blip on his radar, and I’ll still be here.” She tensed and pulled her board around to take the next wave. “Long after you’re gone!” she called over her shoulder as she executed a strong front stroke to pick up speed.
In seconds she was on the face of the wave, riding it in with perfect balance.
Aargh.
Annoyed, I focused on finding my own wave. I don’t know what drew Megan to Matt. Granted, he was a good-looking guy. No, a really good-looking guy. But she just barely graduated from high school, and he was two years older than me. Didn’t she have some preemies waiting on mission calls she could harass? Whatever. It wasn’t my problem. If Matt wanted to date her when I was gone, fine. But the next four weeks were mine, and I planned to make the most of them.
* * *
An hour later, I collapsed on the beach in
a tired, happy heap. Lying back to soak up every last bit of sunshine, I relaxed my exhausted shoulders.
“That last ride was awesome, Ashley,” Matt said, sitting on the sand beside me.
“Thanks,” I said.
“I can’t believe how much you’ve improved in just a month. You don’t look like this is your first summer doing this.”
I smiled. “I was out a couple of hours almost every day while you were gone. I’m probably one of the few people stubborn enough to beat my head against a brick wall until it breaks.”
“Your head or the wall?”
“Whichever comes first.”
He laughed. “Why do you do it?”
I pushed myself up on my elbows. “I’m not kidding when I say I’m stubborn. That’s pretty much the reason.”
“I can believe it,” he said. “I guess I’m wondering, why surfing?”
I lay back down. “I don’t know.” I reveled in the warm sand and cool breeze before taking a stab at an answer. “I think maybe I hate regrets,” I said. “It would bug me to come here to learn to surf, be bad at it a couple of times, quit, and then have the rest of my life to be annoyed with myself for not at least trying every day.”
“Even if you never got good at it?”
“Yeah.”
It was quiet while he mulled that over. Or at least stared out at the waves when I cracked an eye open to see what he was doing.
“You’ll be pretty good at it,” he said after a while. “Probably even great, if you kept at it every summer.”
“Well, this is my one and only chance so I had to figure it out now. I won’t have next summer.” I felt a pang as I said the words.
“You could. Or do you have classes during the summer?”
“No, but I’m hoping for an internship.”
“You mean you would take indentured servitude over a summer of surfing?” he teased.
“I’d pick surfing if it built my resume, but somehow I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
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