Page 35 of Daddy Down Under

“Not this kind, but you’ll see.”

He wasn’t wrong. Within minutes, we wound our way through narrow alleys, the walls alive with bursts of color and intricate designs. Ocean’s eyes lit up as he pointed out some pieces that spoke to him.

“Check this out,” he said, gesturing to a massive mural of swirling blues and greens. “He’s a well-known artist, and he uses actual sand mixed in with the paint to give it texture. Makes you feel like you’re really underwater, doesn’t it?”

I nodded, captivated not so much by the art, though it was nice enough, but by Ocean’s enthusiasm. The way he brought the piece to life with his words made me see it very differently. “I’ve never seen street art quite like this.”

“That’s what I love about Melbourne. It’s always changing, always surprising you.”

As we rounded another corner, Ocean’s hand found mine and he laced our fingers together. Butterflies took flight in my stomach.

We paused in front of another mural, this one a riot of geometric shapes and bold primary colors. I was drawn to the intricate patterns, seeing new details emerge the longer I looked.

“What do you see?” Ocean asked softly.

I hesitated, unused to being asked for my opinion on art. In my world, decisiveness was key. But here, with Ocean, I felt safe to explore. “It’s chaotic, but there’s an underlying order to it. Like life, I suppose. Messy on the surface, but with hidden patterns if you look close enough.”

Ocean’s smile was warm. “I knew you had an artist’s soul hiding under that power suit.”

I was pleased and a little embarrassed by his praise. As we continued our walk, I found myself opening up more, sharing my thoughts on each piece we encountered. Ocean listened intently, his perceptive comments drawing me out further.

The aroma of freshly roasted coffee beans enveloped us as Ocean guided me into a quaint café tucked away in one of the smaller laneways. The space was cozy, with mismatched vintage furniture and local artwork adorning exposed brick walls. It felt worlds away from the sleek, modern establishments I usually frequented.

Ocean approached the counter with easy confidence. “Two flat whites, please. And let’s try that single-origin Ethiopian you’ve got on pour-over.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Ordering for both of us now, are you?”

He simply shrugged. “I know what you like.”

I found it hard to argue with that.

We settled into a corner table, our knees brushing beneath the small surface. When our coffees arrived, the rich, complex aroma hit me immediately.

“Go on,” Ocean urged. “Tell me what you think.”

I took a careful sip, letting the flavors dance across my tongue. “Oh, wow. It’s bold but with subtle fruity notes. I’ve never tasted anything quite like it.”

Ocean’s smile was triumphant. “See? It pays to try something new.”

“You’re saying that because you want me to try surfing,” I teased him.

“There’s nothing like that moment when you catch the perfect wave,” he said, his voice taking on a dreamy quality. “It’s like the whole world falls away, and it’s you and the ocean, moving as one.”

“It sounds freeing.”

Ocean’s eyes locked with mine. “It is. Total freedom.”

Something stirred within me—a longing I hadn’t even known existed. When was the last time I’d felt truly free?

“I’d love to see you surf sometime.”

Ocean’s smile widened. “I’d love to teach you, Cash. There’s nothing quite like sharing that rush with someone special.”

My heart skipped a beat at “someone special.” Was I becoming special to Ocean? The thought both thrilled and terrified me. “How did you get into surfing?” I asked. “It wasn’t something Preston did.”

“We went on a trip to Hawaii when I was ten, and as usual, they dumped me in some kids program at the all-inclusive resort we were staying at. One of the activities I could try was surfing, and since I was bored out of my mind, I figured, why not? As soon as I hit my first wave, I was hooked. When we got back, I took lessons—though learning to surf on the East Coast is not easy. But I begged my parents to send me to a surfing summer camp in California, and since they were usually glad to be rid of me, they agreed. I stayed for six weeks, and after that, I surfed every chance I got.”

As much as I wanted to focus on the excitement in his voice, I couldn’t ignore the casual references to his upbringing. “What do you mean they were glad to be rid of you?”

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