Page 25 of Broken Hearts

Sage blinks rapidly, almost like she’s trying to blink away tears she doesn’t want me to see. “Is that…” She trails off, swallowing hard before continuing. “Is that how you learned? Did my dad teach you?”

Clearing my throat, I shake my head, my gaze dropping to the floor. “Nah, I mean yeah, Mitch taught me to surf, but I was…well, I wasn’t a kid, so…” I don’t finish my sentence, not sure I’m ready to go there with her yet.

We might have had a good day together, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to tell her all about my past. About how fucked up and broken I was and how her dad is the only one who ever gave a shit about me.

I look up to find Sage watching me, an unreadable expression on her face. She doesn’t say anything, just watches me, almost like she’s trying to decide if she should ask me about it. Eventually, though, she smiles, nodding as she says, “So like, how old are these kids then?”

Chuckling, I exhale in relief, grateful she isn’t pushing it as I say, “Yeah, so how do you feel about a bunch of seven-year-olds?”

I followNate around the back of the shop to where his house is, both of us hauling a couple of surfboards under our arms. He pulls open an old garage, and when I see my dad’s SUV inside, I feel this overwhelming sense of sadness come over me.

It’s something I remember, and I remember it well from when I would visit as a kid. It’s really the only thing that still looks exactly the same.

“Barney,” I mutter, and Nate whips around to look at me, his mouth hanging open, his eyes wide. “Right?” I now say, catching the way he’s looking at me, and I swallow back the lump in my throat, the threat of tears looming.

“Yeah, how’d you know that?” Nate asks, but then he shakes his head, smiling a little. His smile is simple yet sly, almost hinting at a secret or a joke. “Everyone knows Barney. Should have known you would too.”

We stand suspended in silence, the back end of my dad’s vintage SUV in front of us, still painted the deep rusty orange with the cream and blue stripes it was all those years ago. It was vintage back then, so I imagine now it’s an antique.

“It smelled like blueberry surf wax and cigarettes,” I reply. The words are hard to get out, choked back by the tears that seem to sit right near the surface.

“Yeah, still smells like that,” Nate says, chuckling a bit. “I can’t even imagine Mitch smoking. Did he?” It feels weird to have Nate asking me about my dad rather than him already knowing the answer to his question.

“Not that I ever remember,” I tell Nate as he opens the back of the SUV and begins loading the boards in. I wish I knew if my dad smoked. Not because I want to know something about my dad that Nate doesn’t but more for my own nostalgia.

“He always said it smelled like that when he bought it,” Nate tells me, again with that mischievous smile, and he helps ward off the sadness that has burrowed inside me since learning of my dad’s death. “I think he was a sneaky smoker.”

“That fits with my mom,” I joke, knowing the type of guys she was always attracted to. Glad she finally got over her bad boy phase by the time I was born.

“Your mom’s a smoker?” Nate asks, a curiousness to his tone, and this is the first time he’s asked about me. I guess it’s an indirect question about my life, but still.

“No, not at all. She just had this…” I trail off, not sure how to explain it without making my mom sound like a hot mess. “She liked guys who didn’t give a shit.”

“That was Mitch then.”

Nate disappears into the garage, coming out with a couple of smaller boards, which he adds to the back. Motioning with his head, he signals for me to get in the car, and I do, with him following suit.

It’s crazy how the car looks exactly the same with its rust-colored plaid interior, the smell permeating my nose and reminding me of the times I rode around in it with my dad.

“Still smells the same,” I say to Nate, and he nods, noticing the way he swallows hard at my words. He’s struggling with the memories too. We might not have the same experiences with my father, but we are grieving just the same.

A quietness falls over the car as Nate backs out of the driveway and onto the road. The windows are down, and the ocean breeze blows through the car, filling it with the smell of hibiscus and sea salt.

My dad always told me that hibiscus have no smell, but I always disagreed. I remember picking them and bringing them in the house, filling drinking glasses and old mason jars with their colorful blooms. I would tell my dad they smell like fresh air, something that was missing from my life in New York.

“So how does this work?” I ask, trying my best to do what my mom suggested and learn more about my dad’s life through the people he was closest to.

“What do you mean? Surfing?” Nate questions, a confused look on his face when he looks over at me with narrowed eyes.

“That, but how do you teach the kids to surf? Should I have worn a swimsuit? I could probably learn a thing or two, given I’m at the same level with these kids.” I laugh a little. The awkwardness between Nate and me is finally fading.

“I think you’ll be surprised by how good these kids are,” he replies back, hitting me with a wink that causes my heart to race. It’s hard not to see the dick who didn’t want me here when he looks at me, but suddenly that’s fading too.

He’s attractive in a way that is very different from guys I’ve been with in the past. He’s tanned and muscled, but lean with these rich, deep brown eyes that seem to look right into my soul. He makes my stomach flutter with just a look, and everything about that can’t be good.

Could we really go from hating each other to being friends? That seems to be what is happening now. Wonder if his mother gave him the same advice? Yelling at him to be nice to the new girl.

“What? Do you think I don’t know how to surf? Maybe I’ll surprise you,” I tease back. When he laughs, it fills the car with this beautiful sound, almost musical, and it makes my heart beat harder with each note of his laugh.

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