Page 42 of Resorting to Romance

He’s too much, this kid. And I love him.

We paddle further out. I send Noah into a few waves. He misses the first few, falling off the board, but he’s a champ about it. And he’s leashed to his board, so we don’t have to chase it down and start paddling out from shore. After a few fails, another sweet wave comes toward us. It’s the perfect size and shape for a beginner.

“This one’s all yours, buddy,” I tell Noah.

The look of determination on his face makes me wish I were wearing my GoPro. Mila would love to capture this moment on film from my angle.

Noah follows my directions step by step, and when it’s time to pop up, I shout, “Now!”

Noah jumps up, and he’s standing. I can’t count the number of people I’ve taught to surf over the years. Only a few of them mattered like Noah does. He’s like a nephew to me—calling me Unko before he could really make sense of who I was to him. As far as I’m concerned, Noah is my ohana, and today I’m the one who gets to teach him how to ride the waves.

“I’m up! I’m surfing! I’m surfing!” Noah shouts.

His grin nearly splits his face in half.

He starts waving his hands around in his excitement, which causes him to lose his balance and fall into the water. I’m right there to guide him back to his board.

Once he’s on the board and recovered from the fall, he turns to me and asks, “Did you see that?”

“I sure did. You rode your first wave!”

“Next time I’ll save the celebration for the beach.”

I chuckle. “Good plan.”

We paddle out again and Noah catches the next wave, following my prompts as to when to aim his nose in and when to stand. He rides that one a good distance toward shore. After that wave, he catches a bunch more, falling every so often, but riding a lot more than he misses.

When I finally tell Noah we need to take the last wave in, he pouts. “But I’m having so much fun!”

“And that’s a good time to call it quits. Believe me, you’ll be feeling this tomorrow as it is.”

We catch the next waves. Noah goes ahead of me, and I ride right behind him, landing in the shallow surf near the sand. I coach him as to how to lift his board to carry it onto shore. He’s got it going on until he hits the place where the water isn’t holding the board up for him, so I give him a hand and tote both boards. Noah runs to where Mila’s waiting for him on her beach blanket with a smile that takes my breath away for the briefest moment.

“Did you see all that?” Noah asks his mom.

“I sure did. I watched every minute of it. I’m so proud of you!”

“It was awesome. I did great, huh Unko? Didn’t I?”

“You sure did. You did just as great as the teenager I taught just before you.”

Noah beams at the compliment.

“When can we learn again?”

“How about I talk with your mom about that while you run over to the shack and give Jamison your wetsuit?”

“Okay. I think we can surf next Saturday too. Huh, Mom? Right?”

“We’ll see.” Mila smiles at Noah.

He doesn’t wait for either of us to say anything else before he’s off and running toward the shack.

Mila starts packing up her bag. I grab two corners of the blanket and we fold it as a team, meeting in the middle, her staring up at me while I hand my edge to her. Our fingers brush together in a touch so feather light I could almost miss it. The problem is, I don’t. I never used to catalog the small moments with Mila. I’m sure I’ll get back to some sort of neutrality with her in a few days or so. We simply need to adjust to this new arrangement.

I leave the boards for Jamison to retrieve and rinse. He’s the low man on our totem pole in the shack, and that means he gets the grunt work. We’ve all been there—recipients of the initiation weeks where we test the new guy with pranks. And then he’s brought into the unspoken hierarchy of workers. When I came on, the two guys who had been there longer than me put me through that same rite of passage even though I was ex-pro and came in at a management level. They couldn’t have cared less if I bought the Alicante. In the shack, we have our own culture, and if you want to be a part of that family of workers, you earn your way in and up.

We walk toward the dock. Mila smiles over at me and thanks me again.

---