Cinderella in the Surf Read online

  "Thanks for walking me home," I say, turning around and smiling at him.

  "Sure," he replies, and when he doesn't say anything else, I try not to let my shoulders sag too much and turn to go inside.

  That's when he reaches out and grabs me by the arm. I feel the heat from his touch first, and it takes a second for me to realize what's happening -- and what's coming next.

  Walker closes the distance between us in a single stride. Even though I'm standing a step higher than him, he's still taller than me, and I have to tilt my head up to see his face.

  He's staring back down at me.

  "I'm glad you came back," he says quietly, and then, just like that, his lips are on mine.

  I don't react at first, and I'm pretty sure I feel like a fish out of water. Only one guy has ever bothered to kiss me before, and it didn't exactly go like this.

  Miles French in the sixth grade hadn't lived up to his last name, not by a long shot.

  My head's foggy, but the clouds part just enough for me to push aside stupid memories of Miles and start kissing Walker back. I soak it all in: from his thumb that's lightly stroking my right check to the big, strong hand that's pressed against my back, pulling me closer to him, to the slow bubble that's heating me up inside, to the faint taste of beer and midnight onion rings on his lips.

  It's not at all like I thought it'd be -- not that I spent a lot of time thinking about this moment or anything.

  Walker pulls away a fraction of an inch and lazily opens his eyes, his lids heavy, smiles, and kisses me again.

  It only lasts a second, and then he takes a step back, away from me.

  "Good night," he whispers, and then he's gone, walking down the beach in the opposite direction of the way we came.

  ***

  I'm laying on a bright pink beach towel a few yards away from the bungalow the next afternoon. I'm resting on my back, feet pointed toward the ocean, headphones plugged into my ears.

  I need a day to process everything that happened last night, and the beach, while it still reminds me of Alex and surfing and a life now lost, seems like the right place to be.

  As long as I don't have to listen to the roar of the waves, anyway.

  But it doesn't matter much. It's not like I can think about anything other than Walker.

  Ever since I've met him, it's been hard to get him off my mind, at first just as someone who was intriguing in a I-want-to-know-more-about-you-but-I'm-not-sure-what-I'll-think-of-you-when-I-figure-it-out kinda way.

  But now it's pretty much impossible to push any thoughts of him aside.

  Especially because I know exactly what I think of him.

  And how I want more of those kisses.

  The sand next to me shifts with the weight of someone sitting down, and for a second I suck in my breath, sure Walker's managed to find me once again -- and liking the way that kicks up my heart rate a notch or two.

  But when I pull the headphones out of my ears and look over, eager to feel his lips touch mine for the third time in the last twelve hours, I see it isn't Walker at all.

  "Hoaloha, you lookin' good," Ahe says. "Much better than the last time I saw you."

  I can't keep the smile off my face. "Well, good. That's good."

  "Yeah," he says, lifting his sunglasses and peering at me. "What's gotten into you?"

  I shrug. "I dunno," I lie. "Must be catching me on a good day."

  Ahe raises his eyebrows and I know he doesn't buy my story. "Uh-huh. And this wouldn't have somethin' to do with that southern boy we all see you hanging around? We're not blind, ya know."

  My heart beats faster again, but not for any reason I like. "Who knows?"

  Ahe chuckles. "Who doesn't?"

  "Whatever. It's not a big deal."

  "The heck it ain't!" he replies. "Anna saw you at the amusement park yesterday. I thought you don't go there."

  I shrug. "Walker asked. I said yes."

  "Did you tell him what happened last time?"

  "Oh come on, you know about that, too?"

  "You forget how long I've known your family, Rachel?"

  I blow out some air. "No. I was in sixth grade. It's not a big deal."

  Ahe raises an eyebrow like he's not buying what I'm selling. "Oh, yeah? You rode the coasters?"

  "Mhm. Went on the Python Pit and everything," I say smugly. "And I'll have you know, I didn't even throw up."

  "Baby steps."

  I hate that Ahe remembers what happened on my middle school field trip, and it might not sound like a huge problem to some, but for a twelve-year-old girl who already has people teasing her for every reason you can imagine, throwing up during the middle of a roller coaster ride with all your classmates around to see it is pretty much the end of the world.

  Nevermind that it happened before the picture they always take.

  Nevermind that most of it ended up in my hair.

  Nevermind that what didn't end up in my hair ended up on Joe Kemp's forehead.

  Yeah.

  Traumatic.

  Another reminder of a time when Alex was around to play my knight in shining armor.

  "Did you tell him?" Ahe wants to know.

  "Who, Walker?" I laugh. "Not a chance."

  He shakes his head but smiles. "I bet he woulda thought it was cute."

  "It was nice. He knew something was up but he let it go when it was obvious I didn't want to talk about it."

  "So this guy got you on roller coasters," Ahe says with a knowing grin. "How long's it gonna be 'till he gets you back on a surfboard?"

  "Not a chance. You heard what happened."

  "Sure did. And you can bet Piper Monaghan did, too."

  I roll my eyes. "I'm really starting to get tired of hearing about this chick."

  "You can end it, ya know," he tells me. "Surf in the Invitational."

  "Right. Perfect plan. Because it went so well last time I got on the board."

  "Practice," Ahe says. "Bring the southerner with ya. Teach him how to get his sea legs under him. You'll be out there shreddin' the waves in no time."

  I appreciate Ahe's enthusiasm but I know it's a lost cause. Surfing and I have broken up. The relationship is officially over.

  And everyone's just going to have to get used to that.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  "I don't know about this," I say as we walk down the pier toward Walker's waiting boat, except it sort of feels more like I'm walking the plank.

  Walker just rolls his eyes. "We've been over this," he says, amusement peppering his slow southern drawl. "Going out on the boat is perfectly safe."

  "It's not the boat I'm scared of," I mutter. "It's the driver."

  Now he only laughs. "Rachel, I've been piloting boats forever. I know what I'm doing."

  I stare at the small white motorboat bobbing along at the end of the dock. Sure it's tiny and probably wouldn't do so hot if we run into a storm, but the chances of that are pretty slim.

  Then again, I would've said the chances of Alex or me dying in the ocean while surfing were practically non-existent, too, and one of us is six feet under.

  Besides, this is going to be the first time I'm in really deep water again since the disastrous competition, and it's making me a little nervous.

  "We'll see," is all I say as Walker steps into the boat, tosses the big bag slung over his shoulder aside, and reaches out a hand to help me climb in.

  I take it, feeling little sparks shoot up my wrist when his skin meets mine for the first time all day.

  Once I'm in the boat, I look for a place to sit, but before I can claim my spot, Walker pulls me against him and takes my face in both hands.

  "Hi. I've been waiting all day for this," he says before catching my lips between his.

  I kiss him back, feeling relief flood through me that he still wants to kiss me, but that's quickly replaced by the tingles running from my scalp down to my toes, and hitting everywhere else in-between.

  When we break apart, he's smiling
and I'm flustered, and he walks over to the engine so he can take us out to sea.

  I take a seat on one of the benches lining the sides of the boat and notice a big pile of something hidden beneath a plastic tarp.

  Interesting, but I don't think much of it.

  "Ready?" Walker calls out, and I nod and flash him a thumbs up.

  And then we're off, the boat moving seamlessly through the calm water. We don't try to speak over the steady hum of the engine as Walker guides us across the ocean.

  It takes about ten, maybe fifteen minutes, of cruising across the Pacific before Walker cuts the engine and drops the anchor. I scan the horizon and can only pick out maybe two or three other boats nearby. I suck in some air and tell myself this isn't a big deal. I can still make out the shoreline we've just left. We're fine out here.

  It's a beautiful day.

  Nothing like the one six weeks ago.

  Walker picks up a giant pole and walks over to me with it, holding it out to me.

  "I've never held a fishing stick," I tell him.

  He raises his eyebrows and mashes his lips together like he's trying not to laugh, but he's pretty sure he's not going to last all that long. "A what?"

  "You know what I mean."

  "A fishing rod, maybe."

  I wave my hand casually. "Same difference. I told you last night, I have no idea how to fish."

  "Well, forgetting the term 'fishing stick' is probably a good place to start."

  "Do you have a fishing rod?" I ask, making sure to put extra emphasis on the last two words.

  He nods over to one corner, where I see two more laying next to some boxes. I notice he's brought two colored containers over by my feet. He bends down, opens the green one, and pulls out a gleaming hook so big it looks like it belongs on the hand of a pirate.

  "That thing is huge."

  Walker shoots me a look and I blush at my unintentional innuendo, quickly breaking eye contact. "It's a pretty normal size," he says.

  "We're not using worms, are we?" I ask, wrinkling my nose. I don't really have the desire to stick a giant hook through a wriggling little worm.

  "I was waiting for you to ask. Nope." He pauses and I feel a sense of relief wash over me.

  "Oh, good. Something about that just kinda grosses me out."

  "We're using squid," he goes on gleefully, as if I haven't said anything at all.

  I stop. "What?"

  Walker nudges the green box with his foot. "Squid. It's a pretty good option for saltwater fishing."

  "I'm not touching a squid."

  He rolls his eyes and laughs. "Where's the fun in that?"

  "It's disgusting."

  "I didn't peg you for the squeamish girly-girl type."

  My eyes narrow. "I'm not. But that doesn't mean I want to go around sticking squirming squids with hooks."

  "They're dead, Rach."

  Another pause. "I didn't know that."

  "Does it change anything?"

  "Nope."

  He laughs, then reaches into the green container and pulls out a solid package wrapped in white paper.

  "Usually I'll use the squid with something else, like a minnow or a shiner," he says as he begins to peel back the paper. "But this is all I had at my uncle's place and I figured it'll work since I'm just teaching you the basics."

  And then he goes ahead and lifts a frozen, dead chunk of white meat from the wrappings and it's all I can do not to gag. I instinctively turn away, but that doesn't keep me from hearing his chuckle behind me.

  "Toughen up, lady," he says. "I already cut it up so it doesn't even look like the friendly sea creature you're picturin'."

  I slowly turn my head back around and peek over my shoulder. He's right; several strips of shiny white meat are lying on the paper in front of him.

  "That's not as bad as I thought," I admit. "So now we hook them?"

  He nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "We?"

  "Well, you, I mean. You hook them."

  "You sure you don't wanna try?"

  "Positive."

  Walker shrugs as if to say suit yourself and busies himself sliding strips of squid onto two thick metal hooks, then handing the finished fishing rod over to me.

  "That's it? I'm ready to fish?"

  "Yep. C'mere."

  I follow him over to one side of the boat.

  "You're gonna cast your own line," he says, "after you watch me do mine."

  I do as he says and study him as he holds his rod, fiddles around with it and the next thing I know, the line is in the sea.

  I hope he doesn't ask me to copy what he just did because the truth is, I have no idea. I'm watching him, not the fishing rod, taking in the way the sun bounces off his tanned skin, his strong calves, the intense look of concentration on his gorgeous face.

  "Your turn," he says, startling me out of my trance.

  I blink at him. "What do you want me to do?"

  He raises his left eyebrow. "Weren't you paying attention just now?"

  "Um, yeah. But I didn't catch everything."

  Walker rests his rod in one of the holders along the edge of the boat. He picks up a blue plastic bucket, reaches over the side and fills it with water. Then, he hands a fishing pole to me.

  "Okay," he says, coming around to stand behind me. I suck in a breath, instantly aware of how close he suddenly is. "First, put your thumb here, on the reel, like this." He takes my hand and moves it where it needs to be. "Good. Now, turn your body this way, and shift your weight like I'm doing."

  I glance back over my shoulder to check out his positioning and try to copy him.

  "Like this?"

  He reaches out and adjusts my hips a fraction of an inch, and I'm sure I would've been fine even if he'd left my stance alone.

  "Now you've got it," he tells me. "We're gonna cast you out sidearm, the same way I did." He steps away from me and shows me the motion, and I nod. It looks simple enough. "Okay, Rach, go for it."

  I'm still thinking about the feeling of him so close to me when I bring my right arm back without much consideration and let the rod fly.

  The pole flies right out of my hand and hits the water with a splash.

  Neither one of us moves for a second until Walker looks down at himself and realizes the thick silver hook is attached neatly to his shirt.

  I clap my hand over my mouth. "Omigod! Walker, I'm -- "

  But he's laughing as he reaches down and calmly pulls the hook out of his shirt, leaving a decent-sized hole in its place.

  He pulls the shirt over his head, and, wearing nothing but his swimsuit, dives into the water to grab the fishing pole.

  Meanwhile, all I can think about is how his tan covers his whole body, and his solid chest, and whoa.

  It takes him less than two minutes to secure the rod and swim back over to the boat. I take the pole from him and he hoists himself up the ladder, shaking the water from his short hair.

  It does nothing to get rid of the droplets clinging to his chest.

  I swallow hard.

  "I'm so sorry," I blurt out. "I've never done that before. I didn't mean -- "

  He holds up his hand to stop me. "Rachel, relax. I got the rod back. I put a floater on yours just in case. And you didn't even put the hook through my skin so we're already doing better than I thought we would."

  I smile, relieved he's handling this so well.

  "You wanna try again?" he asks, getting the pole back in working order for me.

  "Only if you stand on the other side of the boat."

  He hands the rod over. "Deal."

  From maybe ten feet away, Walker coaches me one more time on how to cast the line, and I make sure not to look at him and get distracted and only focus on what he's telling me.

  Miraculously, I manage to get the line out to sea and rest the rod in the holder next to his.

  "There!" he says happily, walking back over to me. "Not so bad, right?"

  "How will we know if I got a fish?"
<
br />   "See how the line is loose out there?" he asks. "Keep an eye on it. It'll get tight if you hooked something."

  "Now what?"

  Walker shrugs and drops down on the bench near his rod. "Now we wait."

  And so we do.

  Fifteen minutes pass -- it feels like fifteen hours -- where we watch the water and I keep a sharp eye trained on my line, sure I'll catch a fish any second now.

  But I don't, and when I start to get fidgety, I glance over at Walker, who has his eyes closed and his head tilted back to soak in the sun, and it's hard to keep the smile off my face.

  "What's under the tarp?" I ask when my eyes land on the big covered pile in the corner for the second time.

  He sits up immediately. "Huh? What'd you say?"

  "That pile over there," I say, nodding in the direction of the mess. "What is it?"

  "Oh. Ah, not much. Nothing interesting."

  I raise my eyebrow, surprised at his quick, somewhat flustered reaction. I hadn't been expecting it.

  "Sorry I asked."

  He shakes his head. "No, no, it's not you. I meant to get that stuff off here last night, but didn't get to it." Walker sighs, then gets to his feet.

  "You really don't have to -- "

  "Rach. I want to."

  I shut up.

  He walks slowly over to the pile, and I realize I'm holding my breath after his strong response to my question.

  "So, you know how I work for my uncle's painting company, right?" he asks. "It's nice paying the bills and all, and yeah, I love painting, but it's not the right kind."

  I frown, but keep my mouth shut, waiting for him to continue.

  "I don't remember what I've told you about my parents, if I've even told you anything," he goes on. "But basically they sent me out here for the summer because they didn't like my choices."

  Now I sit forward on the bench, wondering exactly where this is going, and if it's going to change something for me and Walker.

  Suddenly, I regret bringing it up at all, sure he's about to tell me how he was messed up in high school, visions of him locked up behind bars floating in front of my eyes.

  I'm already telling myself it doesn't matter who he was before he met me when he explains.