Page 2 of Whispers on the Water

“Creep?” His eyebrows knitting together in concern. I know he can’t stand any guy giving Tilly a hard time.

“Don’t worry. If he bugs her too much, she’ll probably kick him in the nuts then swim away with a pod of dolphins.” His smile attempts to reassure, but there’s a shadow in his eyes.

“Still, I’m going to go watch, just in case.” He rummages under the register, fishing out the store’s Canon camera we use for snapping pics for online promos. “Can’t hurt to get some pics for the website.” I nod, though part of me suspects he’s just looking for an excuse to capture Tilly on film as he dashes out the door.

Watching him leave, I can’t help but smile. The ocean breeze has picked up, making the strands of copper-colored hair escape the messy bun on top of my head, tickling my cheeks. It always drifts straight through the shop, laden with the scent of salt and sand. The feeling of fresh air on my sweating skin is one of the countless little things I love about this place, despite the toll it takes on the shop. Salt invades every nook, corroding any exposed metal, and the sun bleaches the wood of the bar to a ghost of its former self. Yet, somehow, I find beauty in the rust and the fade. Costa Rica, this surf shack, has become more of a home than I’ve ever had before. I close my eyes for a moment, letting the salty air fill my lungs, before turning back to restock the sunscreen.

Running away from home, from the life I had, wasn’t an easy decision. When I first arrived, most days, I would find myself missing my family or the friends I thought I could trust. But being in the surf shop, goofing around with Tommy or Tilly, and running the business side makes me remember this is my life now. Whatever I left behind, it’s getting closer to a forgotten memory. The kind of nightmare that should be replaced eventually with new experiences. With Tommy and Tilly by my side, it gets easier every day.

Chapter two

Sam

Twenty minutes later, Tilly and Tommy burst through the door, their laughter filling the room. Tilly, clutching Big Blue under her arm, is a sight of pure joy while Tommy eagerly shows her the pictures he’s taken. Dropping the board by the door, Tilly heads straight for the bar, leaning over to grab two beers from the top ice cooler. Tommy’s gaze locks onto her ass like he’s seeing color for the first time. She’s still in her wet bathing suit, dripping salt water all over the counter. It's not like she doesn't know what she's doing. Even now, she lingers a bit longer than necessary at the bar, giving Tommy just the view of her ass that he’s silently hoping for. It’s a game they play; Tommy drools, and Tilly likes being admired. Win-win.

Sitting down, Tilly passes a beer to Tommy, and they dive back into the photos, their time punctuated only by short bursts of laughter.

I leave them to it and head over to Big Blue with the shop hose in hand. Spraying it down, I revel in the cool mist that splashes back onto me. The feel of sand scrubbing away under my palm is as comforting and familiar as anything. Cleaned and sand-free, I return the board to its place on the rack.

After heading back behind the bar, I check on the lone customer nursing his whiskey. ‘Burly Bill,’ as he’s known to the locals, is a familiar sight at our counter, no matter the time of day. He’s nice enough and tips well, even if we all water down his drinks. Bill insists he’s fine, so I walk to a seat next to my friends. I snag Tilly’s beer for a quick sip. “How was it?”

Tommy’s laughter booms out. “You should’ve seen it. Tilly tries to help, then gives up to show him how it’s done. Even after Tilly pushed him into a wave, he immediately falls right, then hurries to catch the board only to chuck it into the white water and storm off!” He hands me the camera, and I flick through to the picture of the fuming man. Sure enough, the guy looks ready to snap the board in half in most of the photos.

But as I click through, Tilly leans over to look. “What’s this?” she asks, pausing on a zoomed-in shot of her surfing, the focus entirely on her ass. Cheek’s reddening, Tommy quickly reaches over and deletes it, mumbling about an accident. Tilly just smirks and takes her beer back.

“So, I hear you’re going out tonight?” Tommy looks hopeful, more so at the change in subject than going out. He’s a club rat if not a terrible dance partner. “Mind if I come?”

“Only if Tilly spills,” I say, leaning back. Both of us turn to her, waiting.

“Well…” Tilly starts a gleam in her eye. “He walked me back to his hotel…”

Tommy cuts her off, standing up abruptly. “Sounds like girl talk. I’ll go restock the sunscreen.” Even though I just did that exact task, I let him leave without a word. He’s quick to escape any time Tilly is talking about her dates, clearly not interested in the details.

Tilly doesn’t miss a beat. “The guy was all sweet and tender until my clothes came off. Then it was like one of those home remodel shows. “Extreme Sexual Makeover: Every Surface Edition.” She lifts her hair to show a small bruise on the back of her neck. “Got this when he dropped me in the shower,” she explains.

I laugh, looking at her so-called trophy. While I’m not one to dive into bed with strangers, Tilly’s stories always fascinate me. She’s utterly unapologetic about her sexuality, and honestly, I find that refreshing.

“Was it any good though?” I ask. Tilly often laments how men focus too much on their own pleasure, leaving her unsatisfied.

“Not great. Didn’t see stars, and I’m not sore where it counts, if you catch my drift.” I know exactly what she means; the guy clearly wasn’t well-endowed enough to meet her expectations. I like to think of Tilly as one of those guys waiting in front of a rollercoaster. ‘You gotta be at least this long (insert ridiculous length) to ride Tilly’. A total size queen.

“At least you had fun, right?” I say, nudging her playfully.

“Eh…” she’s tilting her head side to side. “Mostly, I guess. But part of me thinks I’m tired today for no reason. Maybe I’ll just go take a nap.”

The manager in me perks up. “No chance. Go get Ruby ready. You’ve got another lesson in fifteen.”

She folds her arms, trying her best to look annoyed by my demand. “At least I’m getting some. You’re one night away from full-on spinsterhood. I’m gonna change that tonight.”

I scoff. “Doubt it. I’m pretty content without any subpar encounters.” Tilly smacks my arm, and I hold up both of my hands. “What? I am!”

The truth is, I don’t share Tilly’s enthusiasm for one-night stands. Sure, I’ve been there, done that. But deep down, I crave something more meaningful. Yet, the fear of getting hurt keeps me from diving back into the dating pool, even though it’s been eight years since my last serious relationship.

Tilly gives me a stern look, one eyebrow raised. “If you get a cat, I’m staging an intervention. And not the fun kind with confetti and alcohol.”

I laugh. “Hey, cats are cute! And they don’t have the power to ruin my life.” Tilly heads back to the surfboard rack.

“Neither do men, if you don’t let them,” Tilly says. There’s something in her tone, not exactly accusatory, but probing. I’ve never really told Tilly why I’m in Costa Rica, but she knows enough to occasionally worry.

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