Page 89 of Tides That Bind

“I…I can’t unzip my wetsuit.”

“Open the door.”

I rinse what wet sand still covers my feet and step over, unlocking the stall. But before I catch even a glimpse of Riley’s face, I turn around, focusing on the way the water and how many holes it flows from out of the shower head.

One.

Two.

Three.

Most of the time, I’m aware that four comes after three.

But right now the only thing I’m aware of is Riley lifting my heavy, wet hair and moving it to the side, how the tips of his fingers graze the back of my neck before adding pressure.

I’m praying he thinks its sand that’s texturized my skin and not goosebumps brought on by his touch.

“It’s folded up into the collar.” Riley’s breath teases my skin and I jump when he slips a finger beneath the fabric, freeing the tie. He tugs the zipper down just an inch. “There you go.”

Riley’s hands fall from my body, leaving me confused and slightly dizzy. I swear I can still feel the soft, innocent caress like some sort of phantom touch I’ve never been without.

The door closes behind me. In his wake, Riley leaves tingles dancing down my spine.

I change so quickly in Riley’s office I put my dress on backwards and then grow tangled in it while I try to right it.

“Ugh.” I bump the edge of Riley’s desk and then the futon. There’s barely enough space to stand here, and it’s only when I drop onto the cushioned fabric so I can put on my shoes that I remember this is where Riley slept.

For months.

The apartment above the garage isn’t a castle. But it certainly is a level up from a futon in an office you can’t do a 360 turn in without bumping into something.

My heart sinks thinking how Riley had to run from not just comfort, but from us especially when he was healing from surgery. Ihatethat he did, and worse, I hate myself I never looked for him even if I wasn’t in the right state of mind to do that.

I push through the thought because I want—I need—to get out of here. I always hear how people find clarity by the water, something about the power of fresh air and the sounds of thewaves. But the beach has flooded my mind today with all sorts of wild thoughts, and I know the only way I’ll clear my head is if I drain it for a bit, somewhere inland, somewhere away from Riley for at least a few hours.

It's only when I grab my bag from Riley’s chair that I realize I don’t have my car.

I’ll walk, I decide. Walking will do the trick. It will be like a detox. I’ll sweat it all out, take another shower and reboot back to before when I never noticed the dimples beneath Riley’s beard, or how his dark, thick lashes only emphasize the beautiful color of his eyes.

I push open the office door.

“You out?”

“Yeah,” I tell Finn. “Have to get some stuff done before my kiddo gets home.”

Finn leans across the counter and he tips his head toward the open doors, out at the ocean across the boardwalk. “Did you get bit by the surfing bug?”

“Maybe.” I smile at Finn, but inside, I’m wondering if I got bit by the Riley bug and at what point he went from some oversized, immature teenager with no care in the world other than himself, to a responsible man who I look for to help me.

And yeah, I wonder when my type went from clean cut and regular haircuts to scruffy with a man bun.

I hope Finn thinks the reasons my cheeks are red is from the sun.

“Finn! We have any thumb tacks?” Riley’s voice sounds from outside.

Finn reaches down, producing a small, metal tin. “Give this to him on your way out, will you?”

“Sure.”

---