Page 149 of Surfer's Paradise

“I just have two bites left and we can rock out,” she said.

She walked ahead of him, gesturing to the tiny kitchen nook where she’d laid out inspirational cookbooks and her best attempt at clean aesthetic. Concrete floors, secondhand chairs, an old IKEA table she’d scrubbed down until the wood grain came back to life.

“You wanna just stay in? Talk here?” He asked.

Finishing her oatmeal, she sighed. “Fine.”

Now he was standing in the middle of her kitchen like he’d lived there for years. Like it wasn’t weird. Like they hadn’t done what they did.

Rosie moved around him, her bare feet quiet on the concrete floor. He smelled like sun and soap and whatever aftershave he used that should be illegal.

Get it together.

She pulled the coffee tin from the cupboard, scooped out two heaping spoons into the French press, then boiled the water on the stove. Isaac stood by the counter, arms crossed, watching her like she was the one on display now.

“I’m surprised you drove up yesterday. How are you feeling?” she asked without looking at him.

“Better now.”

“Easy tiger.” She rolled her eyes and poured the hot water over the grounds. She hated how easily he made her smile—hated it even more when he wasn’t trying.

When the coffee was ready, she poured two mugs. Added two creams to his without asking.

She knew how he took it.

He noticed. Of course he did.

“Still remember that.”

She slid the mug toward him. “Muscle memory.”

He leaned against the counter, sipping. “Good memory.”

She didn’t answer. Just sipped her own, standing on the other side of the kitchen like the six feet between them might save her from herself.

“How’s the new place?” he asked, eyes sweeping the tiny apartment. “Seems nice.”

“Yeah, it’s nice having somewhere to call home. My own space.”

“Fair.” He nodded, glancing around. “Echo Park suits you.”

She cracked a smile despite herself.

“How’s your mom?” she asked after a pause. “You stayed at home last night?”

He shot her a look. “Yes, home. Not out with any blonde models.”

“Isaac.”

He grinned, carrying on. “Mom’s good. Still trying to get me to move home and make grandkids.”

“San Diego isn’t too far.”

Isaac shrugged. “Signal Hill’s got better tacos.”

She snorted. “Lies.”

Another beat of quiet. Then—

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