Page 92 of Lime Tree Hill

Tayla nodded. She could do this—would do this—no matter how long it took to stand on that board.

When she first entered the water, those familiar feelings surfaced. But as they waded through the breakers, she reminded herself of everything he’d taught her so far.Chin up, one foot forward, ditch the head trash.

“Right, let’s go over what we did last time,” Mitch said.

Her first few attempts were a disaster. She spent more time off the board than on it. And as Mitch offered advice in his usual calm manner, displaying the patience of a saint, Tayla wished he’d step away for a while and leave herto it. She’d never been a team player, preferring to learn on her own terms and in her own time.

“You’re too far back, and the nose is lifting. Find your sweet spot on the board when you paddle out. Let’s try again. Once you hit white water, stay prone while you paddle in to get used to the feeling. Don’t try to stand yet, okay?”

Tayla lay on the board while Mitch held it for her. “Okay.”

“And remember to lose yourself in the landscape and ditch the head trash. You’ve got this.” He pushed her forward.

She followed his instructions. Found her sweet spot and made it to the shore several times without incident while Mitch stood waist-deep in the water, watching her.

“Okay. That’s good. You want to try to stand now?”

Standing up was all she’d thought about for the past half hour. She squinted against the sun. “I’ll try.”

Mitch waded beside her, staying close as she paddled out to find that perfect stretch of white water. He kept talking, his instructions precise, but often distracting.

Tayla stood on the board, barely finding her balance before the wave threw her off. She hadn’t even lasted a few seconds. As saltwater rushed up her nose and into her throat, strong arms grabbed her from behind and pulled her upright. Although the water was only chest deep, by the way her heart raced, it felt like a twenty-foot swell.

Mitch dipped his head to meet her gaze. “You okay?”

She nodded, trying to catch her breath, a sudden cool breeze biting at her face.

“You’re doing great, but you were looking down again,” Mitch said. “We’ve discussed that, and your front foot’s still too far back. Let’s go again.”

“There’s just so much to remember.”

“It’s all about muscle memory, you get that, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I get it.” She wanted to add, ‘It’s my field, remember?’ But it wasn’t his fault she couldn’t master the board. And it wasn’t fear messing with her head, more her desperation to succeed.

She tried a few more times, the results always the same. Mitch watched intently, pointing out where she was going wrong as any good coach would. Once, he raised his voice in frustration, and after that, her resolve increased.

I can do this. I can do this.“I’m going again.”

“No, you’re not. It’s time to get out.”

“I don’t want to get out. Just once more!”

Mitch stood tall, his arms folded over his chest, reinforcing his point. “No.” He stretched the word out. “You’re tired and cold, and if somethingdoeshappen, you won’t have the strength to fight it. Listen to your body and you’ll be fine. Ignore the warning signs and you’re screwed.”

“I’m fine. I’m going again.” She went to paddle away, but he grabbed hold of her board and pulled her back.

“You want to learn to surf, then know when to call it quits. Stop being so pigheaded and get your pretty butt out of the water.”

“Fine.” Tayla leaned forward on her board, turned, and paddled swiftly toward the shore. Smart people say you should never ask your husband to teach you to drive. It seemed surfing lessons fell into the same category.

Cold and upset, Tayla reached the truck before him. She’d tried her hardest but still couldn’t master the gentle white water, let alone something bigger. By the time Mitch joined her, she’d peeled her wetsuit half off and was towel drying her hair.

“What’s got up your nose?” he asked.

“What, besides saltwater, sand, and you? Nothing!”

He chuckled. “So, it’s my fault, is it, Princess?”

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