Page 10 of Lennox

The surfboard strapped securely to the top of my SUV gives her a hint. "Thought we could catch the sunrise waves. I might not be able to surf, but I sure as hell can watch."

A slow smile breaks across her face, the corners of her eyes crinkling with delight. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

"I try," I admit with a smirk. "So, are you in?"

Gazing momentarily at the sky, now transitioning from its fiery dawn to softer, golden hues, she nods. "Let's chase those waves."

She climbs into the passenger seat of my truck. I've got two steaming cups of coffee in the holders, and I hand one to her.

"Figured you might need a warm-up," I say, nodding to the cup.

She takes a tentative sip, her lips closing around the rim of the cup, and suddenly, I'm transported back to that moment in the cafe, the taste of her lips lingering on mine.

“I’m glad to see you,” she says.

“Believe it or not, I’m glad to see you too,” I reply with a chuckle, shifting gears as we drive toward the beach.

The short trip is filled with easy banter about local news, and soon enough, the distinctive scent of saltwater fills the air, signaling our proximity to the shore. I pull into a parking spot, and we both step out, the sound of crashing waves setting a rhythmic backdrop.

The sun casts a warm glow on the sand as we unstrap the surfboard from the roof. As Charlene reaches up to help, her fingers brushing against mine, there's a brief pause, a shared look, and an electric current passes between us. We clear our throats and continue, the moment suspended in time.

Walking side by side, our feet sinking into the soft sand, she suddenly notices my brace. “You sure about this, Lennox? The last thing you need is an encounter with a rogue wave,” she cautions, genuine concern evident in her tone.

I wave her off. “Don’t worry. I’m just here to watch. You promised to show me some moves, after all."

We stand at the water's edge, Charlene scanning the horizon, gauging the perfect moment to dive in.

"Well, then it’s time to put on a show," she says, winking.

I settle down, resting my injured knee and bracing myself for the spectacle that's about to unfold.

Charlene wastes no time. Grabbing her board, she thrusts herself forward, cutting through the first line of waves. I can tell she's done this countless times, the way she maneuvers effortlessly through the water.

The sun's slowly climbing up, casting a bright trail across the ocean. In its light, Charlene's figure stands out, curvy and agile. She waits for the right moment and then jumps into action as a good wave approaches. Feet planted, she rides the wave with a practiced ease. Water sprays in every direction, but she's unyielding, masterfully choosing her path.

From my vantage point on the shore, I've got the best seat in the house. It's not just the skill that grabs my attention, but the sheer joy and focus she displays. When a wave bests her, tossing her into the foam, she doesn’t dwell. Instead, she laughs, resurfacing with that infectious grin, ready for the next challenge.

The rhythmic crashing of the waves, the distant calls of the seabirds, and there, right in the middle, is Charlene—doing her thing, making it look easy. And as I watch, every arc and move she makes with her board, the way her body confidently handles each challenge—especially with those curves—it's hard not to be drawn in even more.

This isn't just someone enjoying a morning surf; it's Charlene in her element, without the weight of the world on her shoulders, and it's a sight to behold.

She emerges from the waves, her blonde hair slicked back, salt water glistening on her skin. Approaching, she signals me to follow her into the shallows, her eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and determination.

"Ever tried aqua therapy?" she asks as the cool water laps around our legs.

I raise an eyebrow, amused. "Aqua what now?"

"It’s just a fancy term for using water resistance to help with therapy. Given your situation," she says, nodding toward my knee brace, "it might help."

Curious, I let her guide me deeper, the water now reaching our waists. Her hands are on my arm, fingers firm but gentle, guiding me through a series of movements. The ocean's buoyancy offers a strange comfort. There's resistance, but there's also support. Each time I shift my weight or rotate my leg, I can feel the pull and push of the water, challenging yet cushioning at the same time.

A few repetitions in, she corrects my posture, her hand on my hip. Our eyes meet, and there's a silent acknowledgment—an understanding and appreciation for this intimate yet innocuous touch.

"Good," she praises. "Now, try swinging the leg side to side, slowly."

Focused, I start the new motion, but an unexpected wave makes me lose my balance. In my flailing, I end up splashing water right into Charlene's face.

She stands there, shocked for a split second, before a devilish grin spreads on her face. "Oh, you're asking for it!"

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