Page 3 of Taming Waves

Around mid-March until mid-September, we are booked from sunup to sundown six days a week every year.

The three of us have been as close as brothers since we were in grade school, and we even ventured away from our hometown for five years to work together on a private yacht on the West Coast after Sebastian and Anson graduated high school. It was a blast. We’d pilot the boat back and forth from California toHawaii every summer, and for the rest of the year, we’d share a tiny apartment in Santa Monica and pick up odd jobs around the beach. But Sebastian’s father had a medical episode that eventually brought us home to help out.

Anson and I begin mopping the boat floor while Sebastian aids the passengers in unloading their catch before taking photos of them and teaching them how to clean and fillet the ones they want to keep.

Once everything is in order, we disembark and find Sebastian hosing the cleaning station.

“All done?” I ask.

“Yep.”

He turns off the water, and the three of us walk to the office in a building nestled in the wharf, just a short distance from the dock.

We take turns showering in the back of the office while Sebastian’s mother, Milly, closes out the day. Once we’re dressed, we return to the front, and she hands each of us an envelope.

“You guys must have been entertaining today. That last group left you an extra-generous tip,” she says.

I open the top of the envelope and thumb through the bills. It’s an impressive sum.

“I was incredibly charming today,” Anson says as he does the same.

“Where are you three off to?” she asks.

“We’re having dinner at Brew’s tonight,” Sebastian answers.

“Oh, how nice. Tell him I said hello.”

“Will do,” Sebastian says before leaning down and kissing her cheek.

Then, the three of us pile into Sebastian’s Bronco.

We pull up to Brew’s place fifteen minutes later. It’s a beachfront mansion located on the exclusive eastern tip of the island. Sebastian taps a code into a box, and the wrought iron security gate slowly swings inward allowing us access.

The front door opens, and Brew steps out as Seb parks in the circular driveway. The three of us pile out, and Brew calls for us to come up. We climb the steps to the entry and follow him inside.

The house is incredible. The front foyer opens to a large kitchen and living room with floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over a private beach with a massive deck reaching out to the dunes. It has a pool, a changing room with a shower, an outdoor kitchen with a covered dining area, and a full bar. The decor is sleek, modern, and coastal, inside and out.

“Damn, Brew. I forget how filthy rich you are sometimes,” Anson quips as Brew leads us to where a private chef is preparing our meal on the large gas stovetop.

“That’s why I invited you guys over. To rub it in your face a bit,” Brew responds as he reaches into a walk-in cooler and hands us each an ice-cold beer.

He offers one to the chef, who informs us that dinner will be ready in about half an hour.

Taking our bottles, we settle into a few lounge chairs facing the ocean while we wait.

This is the life.

“So, how’s married life treating you?” Brew asks Sebastian.

“I can’t complain,” Seb answers.

“Not yet anyway,” Anson mutters.

Sebastian chucks the bottle cap he was turning in his hand at him. He married Avie last year. They’d met in Hawaii while we were working and she and her best friend, Amiya, were on vacation. The two of them shared one passionate night on the island. Then, as fate would have it, five years later, she and their daughter, Leia, showed up in Sandcastle Cove by pure happenstance, and he fell head over heels for both his girls.

“Ouch. I’m just saying, you guys are still in the honeymoon phase. Give it time.”

“Like you have a clue about relationships,” Seb quips, returning his attention to Brew. “What about you? Any special lady out there in the racing world?”

---