Page 40 of Beached Wedding

The next morning, she’d been gently prying. I’d been trying to hurry her along, unable to explain even to myself why I was reluctant to start up with her again. She was funny, knew everyone in our circle, had her own goals and wasn’t looking for any man to complete her. We were both doing our own thing which kept us from gelling into anything serious, but we were comfortable with that and each other.

So comfortable, she’d been taking the piss with me, siding with Ashley if Ashley would only recall events correctly, but she seemed to have taken Jasmine’s remarks as ridicule.

Until that day, I had never seen Ashley get angry and, God help me, hadn’t taken her seriously because of that. And the fact it was over a damned hair clip. I’d been pretty fucking patronizing, not that I’d recognized it at the time. I hadn’t realized how genuinely furious she was until she’d refused to speak to me for days after.

She’d been right, too. They didn’t carry them in Oz. I’d searched four different shops without success. I might as well have been browsing the tampon aisle, I’d been so out of mydepth as I picked over scrunchies and pins and all the other doo-dads in the hairbrush section. I’d had to ask a mother with two little girls to advise me and still came home with the wrong kind. Ash had been gracious enough to accept it as a peace offering, but it had been another few days until she had fully thawed.

I crossed the cool sand and waded into the water with purpose, grunting when a swell rolled against my thighs and soaked my balls, sending a familiar jolt through me. I dropped onto the board and began to paddle.

I had never understood why Ashley had been so damned mad over a stupid two-dollar hairclip. I hadn’t dared bring it up again and ask for clarification, either. I wasn’t a masochist. Then, last night, for a minute there, she had sounded almost jealous.

My heart thunked in my chest, but I told myself it was my imagination. What kind of Freudian-ass self-delusion was it that I had manifested a thought like that?

It sure as hell hadn’t been my finest hour when I’d let Ashley’s temper nudge Jasmine out the door. I’d been embarrassed, sending Jasmine mixed signals by bringing her home then leaving her to sleep alone. On her way out, she had sent a speculative glance toward Shane’s closed bedroom door, the one Ashley had slammed.

I’d been relieved she was gone and tried to forget the whole thing, but Ashley’s wounded silence had nearly killed me.

A chop of water hit me in the face, reminding me to pay attention. As the next glassy swell approached, I dove through it and, like magic, my head cleared of all but what was immediately before me—ocean and sky glowing a predawn silver with streaks of purple and pink on the horizon. The world was no longer pressing down on me. I was inside it. Part of it.

My muscled tingled and warmed as I stretched into longer, more determined paddles. I arched my back, dug deep to pull myself up the face of the next swell and rode over the crest,sliding down its backside. I paddled again, licking salt spray from my lips.

Soon I was exchanging nods and “G’day,” with a handful of locals sitting on their boards. The sun cracked a sparkle across the water as my turn came up. I eyed the set coming in, dropped onto my stomach and began to paddle.

The wave pushed and lifted me. Still on my stomach, I clung to its peak as I angled left, leaning my weight on my inside rail while watching to make sure my line stayed clear. With nothing in my head but balance and timing and keeping that delicate pressure on one side, I popped up, bringing my feet under me. I lifted my hands, heels doing the work to carve into the wave as I picked up speed and swooped down.

Here was the ride. The wind rushed across my face and cut through my boardies and rashie. My body absorbed the energy of the ocean through my feet against the board. Every shade of green and blue and white-gold hit my retinas. The wave started to curl over me and I crouched into a tight stance to stay inside the barrel. As I trailed my fingers in the wall beside me, it was like punching into the space between time and reality. I was everything and nothing. Magnificent and vulnerable. I was jacked with adrenaline and basking in euphoria. I was completely in control, but purely a passenger on this board and this planet.

The wave began to collapse. I fishtailed out of it and my speed slowed. My board wobbled and I let himself fall.

As my ears filled with the growl of the sea, my vision turned to bubbles and foam. My lungs starved for air as the weight of the wave fell over me, chundering me into its belly.

ASHLEY

Iwoke and knew I was alone even though I couldn’t see over the back of the sofa to the pullout. Not that Fox had been snoring or anything. I had woken in the night and tried not to toss and turn too much, very aware of him sleeping in the room with me.

Now there was a distinct emptiness that made the room seem huge and hollow.

Dawn patrol, I guess. Most serious surfers preferred it, but Shane’s morning exit had always been announced by a loud whiz, the banging of cupboards, and the rattle of a board off the rack. The fact Fox had slipped away so quietly that I’d slept through it gave me a niggling sense he hadn’t wanted to talk to me.

I never should have brought up that stupid hair clip. It had been a joke that had gone off the rails and why had I even gone there? Why?

And why hadn’t he told me before that he had been trying to get Jasmine out of the house? I had subliminally sensed he was pitting us against one another. That had been part of my anger that day. It was a dick move. Fox was usually more forthright. If he didn’t want to do something, he said so up front.

I skimmed open the drapes to a glorious morning and stepped onto the lanai. A handful of surfers were sitting on their boards outside the small bay next to the resort, but I couldn’t tell if Fox was among them. I squinted at a man with a cap of black hair and wide shoulders in a neon green swim shirt, but his bearing wasn’t Fox’s and his skin looked too light.

The door mechanism hummed and I stepped into the room as Fox entered. He wore T&B boardshorts with a sunset pattern and one of their short-sleeved rashies in silver with a panel of blue down the sides. It was so tight, I could see his nipples along with every contour of his torso, right down to his washboard abs and the indent of his navel.

I jerked my gaze up to find him coming back from taking inventory of my ribbed tank and skin-tight yoga shorts. He could probably see my nipples, too. It wasn’t cold outside, but it was breezy. I crossed my arms.

“I was looking for you, wondering if you would be back in time for breakfast.” I tried to find a smile of greeting, but our altercation last night had left static in the line.

“I had to.” He showed me the ‘Relaxing Within’ tag he had left on the latch outside the door as he left to surf. “Otherwise, they might not have delivered it.” He moved the card to the inside.

Such thoughtfulness didn’t seem like the mark of a man holding a grudge over last night’s argument.

“You sleep okay?” he asked.

“I did,” I lied. “How was the water?”

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