Page 10 of Whispers on the Water

“What’s that?” he asks, his expression turning concerned.

“Our surf instructors are both out today,” I admit, even though we both know I’m more than capable of teaching him.

“You’re not a surf instructor?”

“Erm, not yours, no.”

His shoulders droop and there’s a small shift in his grin. But as quick as the look of disappointment came, it’s gone again. In its place is a look of pure terror, his eyes focused right over my shoulder.

“Oh shit!” he yells out and runs around the surf shack counter to duck down. I turn to see why his face has drained of every red blood cell but see nothing. At his reaction, I was half expecting an incoming nuclear missile.

My brow furrows as I scowl and lean over the counter stocked with wax and sunscreen. “Dude, you can’t be back there,” I say.

He looks up and his head makes a figure eight as if tracking invisible assailants in the air. I’m so fucking confused, he might as well be spewing in tongues while a priest attempts an exorcism.

“The hell is wrong with you?” I ask right as he jumps to his feet and sprints behind me. Once there, his fingers dig into my shoulder.

“A bee!” he screams, like a twelve-year-old.

I look around the shop, seeing not even a fly. “Oh, okay. Um, are you allergic or something?” I ask.

He scoffs and shifts my entire body to the left, apparently okay with using it as a shield from the evils of nature. “Yeah, I’m fucking allergic. Everyone is. It’s a fucking bee!” he squeals.

I can’t help it I laugh. “Okay, okay. Gimme a second. Where is it?” He juts out a single finger like an accuser at a political hanging. “There!”

The tiny yellow bug has just landed on the surf counter. Prying his fingers off, I rush over to the bar and grab a clean glass. Nothing for the best for our tiny pollinating friends. Within seconds, I have it trapped and release it outside.

“There you go, little wingman,” I say as he flies away.

From inside the shack, Greg asks, “Is it gone?”

Holding in my laughter, I nod. “Coast is clear.”

When I walk back inside, my arms are crossed. His chin dips down when he sees what must be pure amusement splashed across my face.

“Now, I know that was—”

“Fucking priceless,” I finish for him, chuckling.

“Yes, okay. Just put me out of my misery I guess.” He clutches at the back of his neck and offers me an embarrassed smile. The man certainly knows how to work his best feature. That tiny dimple when his cheeks rise? Holy shit, it’s a panty melter. Pure and simple. The entire look is so endearing that I honest to God, feel my knees go weak. What the hell is it about vulnerable men?

He shifts on his feet before letting out a breath. “Look, I swear I had no idea you worked here. Can we please just go out? I really want to surf with you, Sam. Bee’s be damned.” Hearing my name on his lips again gives me that final nudge. Tilly’s been out all morning, and I know she’ll be in a foul mood if she gets back to another lesson. And deep down, I kind of—okay, really—enjoyed his freak out. Besides, being scared of a man that’s terrified of bee’s would be ridiculous.

“Fine.” The smile on his face stretches, flashing that adorable dimple again.

As my cheeks fill with warmth, I cover my own smile with a hand before clearing my throat. “Just need to change and grab our stuff.”

“Be my guest,” he says.

My swimsuit is already on under my clothes, but I still need a rash guard to protect my skin and some wax for the board. Without thinking too much about it, I pull off my tank top right there in front of him, conscious of keeping my stomach tight. Maybe it’s not entirely fair to tease him like this, but I can’t deny the thrill I get from his gaze roaming over me, hungry for every inch of my exposed skin.

As I step out of my cutoffs and stand back up, I catch that exact look I was hoping for in his eyes. With a mischievous smile, I grab a rash guard and quickly throw it on.

I grab my board, an eight-foot fiberglass beauty that I’ve kept in pristine condition, from the back of the rack. Without looking directly at him, I jerk my head towards Big Blue. “Grab that,” I say, a bit more sharply than I intend. I’m afraid I’ll do something foolish if I pause, even for a moment.

There’s this undeniable pull towards Greg, an unholy force that seems to draw me in. He’s a planet with his own insane masculine gravitational pull and here I am, trying not to crash into him like a clumsy meteor with commitment issues. And honestly, the fact that he’s here, in my shop, feels like more than a coincidence. He insisted he hadn’t been looking for me specifically, and for some reason, I believe him. Yet, somehow, it feels like fate intervened, throwing us together again.

I almost laugh at the thought. Fate? Since when have I started believing in that bullshit?

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