Page 74 of One Billion Reasons

When the first real wave comes, he hesitates, pops up a moment too late. He doesn’t catch more than the tail, and then he’s tumbling into the water, frustration clear on his face.

“Take it easy, Becker,” I shout. “Breathe into it.” It’s something Liam used to say. For all his skill, Miles is not a patient man, and he surfs like he’s possessed. But the ocean doesn’t play by his rules, something Liam always understood. He startles at my words and then smiles, a true blinding smile that I can see even from here.

“Get out here and show me then, princess.”

It’s what he used to call me on all those days I would sit on the beach and watch. I always thought he meant it disparagingly, but through the camera, I can see that his smile is real and his eyes are soft. My heart thuds.

“Maybe later,” I shout back.

“That’s what you always say.”

I roll my eyes and focus on getting a shot of him smiling before he pulls himself up onto his board. I ogle him, just a little, as he gracefully lands on his board. And then I see the perfect wave.

He tenses. He sees it too.

“Miles. That one is perfect.” My voice carries across the water.

“I know,” he calls back.

I’m nervous, though I don’t know why. Don’t fuck this up. If he fails now, he might never return to surfing. And it’s essential that he does. This man, who takes nothing for himself, needs these stolen moments of peace. He paddles faster, and I snap shots, capturing each moment like a flipbook. Here, he’s pulling up alongside the base of the wave, here he’s checking over his shoulder, here he’s using those strong arms to pull himself up, and then in one smooth motion he’s on his feet, carving, inside the barrel of the wave. And I snap pictures, shot after shot, until my breath seizes in my chest. I got one. I know it will turn out perfectly. The sun is hitting the crest of the wave and he’s filtered through the blue and green light of the Atlantic. He’s tan and lean and the picture of masculine beauty, at peace with the ocean and himself. He rides it, on and on and on, all the way nearly to shore, where he lands in the water and comes up grinning. He drags the board in and unhooks the leash, and before I realize it, I’m up and sprinting, my camera forgotten on the towel, my feet slapping against the cold sand.

“You fucking did it,” I gasp, breathless. He opens his arms, and I jump into them. He’s wet and cold and I’m immediately soaked, but I don’t care.

“I fucking did it,” he repeats, grinning, and then he kisses me.

It is, objectively, the best kiss I’ve ever received. He tastes salty and cool, but his lips heat as he kisses me, and his body does too. His arms are strong, and his damp shoulders are smooth under my fingers. I want to run my hands over him and feel every muscle flex under my hands. I part my lips, just a fraction, and he slips his tongue into my mouth. Just a tiny taste, then a gentle bite at my lower lip. He hums low in his throat and deepens the kiss. He finally lets me slide down his body, and when he raises his head, we’re both wet and panting and his eyes are as wide as mine feel.

“Hey, Laney.”

“Hey, yourself.” He looks like a man who’s woken up after a long sleep. “I’m going back in.” He grins, wide and happy, and my heart trips. He walks backward into the surf, still smiling.

“Why’d you come out then?”

“I had to kiss you,” he shouts back. “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

Oh. A stupid smile tugs at my lips. I sit back on my towel, a little stunned. Miles Becker is dangerous to my health.

* * *

We’re packing up when I see the tattoo. It’s a wave, inked in thin black lines, swooping from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. It takes up almost his entire back and ripples like the real thing as his muscles flex under his skin. Recognition tugs at me, like I’ve seen that wave before.

“That’s a beautiful tattoo. When did you get it?”

Miles freezes. “Thanks. I got it a few years ago. After my dad died.” His voice is rough.

“It feels familiar.” I shake my head and grab my bag. “Silly. I’m sure it’s just a wave the artist had in their book, right?”

“Yep.” He nods, but his face is tight as he grabs his board. “Just a random wave. No other meaning.”

He climbs behind me up the stairs to the path, and I’m struck by how nothing has really changed, even after all these years. Except for the new peace between us.

“Feels just like old times, right?” I smile back at Miles.

“I’m still ogling your ass if that’s what you’re asking,” he shoots back.

I laugh. “Yeah, except now you’re allowed to.”

We walk back through the afternoon sun, the light hazy and soft, the air scented with pine and ocean. A perfect day. One I’ll remember forever.

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