Page 33 of Below the Barrel

A few beats of silence pass between us before she speaks again.

“Does that mean you’re planning to leave the team, too?”

I watch as she places her fork down beside her plate and focuses on me entirely.

“I haven’t decided yet,” I admit, growing uncomfortable with the questions. “What about you, what’s your big plan once you win the money?”

She ponders the question for a moment before picking up her fork and playing with her food.

“I’ve been teetering with the idea of starting my own small business,” she says, pushing the vegetables around on her plate with her fork. “I just don’t know how that would work with our strict surfing schedule.”

“What kind of small business?” I ask, my brows jumping up in surprise.

I was positive her answer would be more along the lines of a closet refresh or an all-inclusive trip somewhere expensive. I never thought she’d want to stray away from surfing in any capacity, not with the amount of dedication she’s poured into it over the years.

“I was thinking of a bakery,” she says, her cheeks turning pink.

“That makes sense,” I say, trying to sound casual. “You’ve always loved to bake.”

Her head shoots up and her round eyes find mine. “You think it’s a good idea?”

I nod, smiling at her encouragingly. “I think any idea you have is a good idea,” I admit.

She scoffs. “Really? So what if I told you my plan was to buy that abandoned house and turn it into a bakery?”

I narrow my eyes at her, challengingly. “I guess we’ll just have to see who outbids who.”

“I guess so,” she says, narrowing her eyes back at me before returning her attention to her plate.

I can’t stop the small smile that tugs at my lips as I watch her, imagining how annoyed she’d get at actually being in a bidding war with me.

Something to look forward to.

When we both finish eating, I stand up and take our plates from the table before walking over to the sink and cleaning them, while Maliah wipes down the table. When we’re both done, I start to walk towards the couch that I’ll be calling my bed for the next two weeks.

“Wait,” I hear her quiet voice say from the kitchen table.

I stop and look at her over my shoulder, raising a questioning brow at her.

“You can’t sleep on the couch,” she says, sounding both embarrassed and annoyed.

“And why not?” I ask, turning to face her.

She hesitates, bumping her palm against the side of her thigh nervously. I slowly walk up to her, stopping when we’re just inches apart.

“Why not, Maliah?” I push.

“Well, because!”

I hold back my chuckle at her frown. “Because?”

“Because there isn’t a mosquito net for the couch, and you could get bitten and die from…from…whatever disease the mosquito has.”

I smirk as I watch her face turn crimson again.

“And we can’t have me dying, can we?” I ask in a teasing tone.

“Oh, shut up,” she says, smacking my chest gently as she rips her gaze away on a frown.

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