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ETHAN
Madison’s wordsstick with me, replaying in my head long after she’s left the house. “I can’t wait until I can earn money with a real job.” It hits me harder than I expect. There’s this determination in her voice, this longing for something more, something better than what she’s got right now. I can hear the frustration beneath her laugh. I’ve seen it before.
I know I could just give her whatever money she needs, but it doesn’t feel right. It’s one thing to give her some gifts, but to hand over tens of thousands of dollars that she would need for a proper startup just doesn’t feel right.
The problem is that she’s not happy chasing dogs around all day.
I didn’t think much of it at the time when she first started having the dogs at her place, but now… She’s passionate about surfing and always has been. I can tell just by the way she talks about it.
The surf school, though. That’s her dream. She doesn’t talk about it as much as she should, but when she does,there’s this spark. I want to see that spark again. I want to see her doing something that makes her happy.
I’m sitting in my home office, staring at the computer screen in front of me. There has to be a way I can help. She won’t accept a bundle of money, and I don’t know if giving it to her would change our relationship too much.
I want to keep things the way they are. I like spending time with Madison, and I especially like making love to her. Although we may want to do that at my place instead of hers if we don’t want canine visitors.
Madison is proud and fiercely independent. It’s one of the things I respect about her. But maybe I can help in other ways. There’s got to be something I can do to give her the push she needs to start her surf school.
I crack my knuckles and open a new browser tab, searching for local beachfront properties. My fingers hover over the keys for a moment. I haven’t really spent much time looking at this sort of thing before, but how hard can it be? I type in “surf school spaces for rent” and hit enter, watching as a flood of listings pops up.
I scroll through them, my eyes scanning the details of each one. Some are way too expensive—commercial beachfront properties that would break the bank before Madison even got her first student. But a few…a few look as though they might be doable. There’s a spot just down the beach from us, a small shack that’s already zoned for business. The price isn’t outrageous either. It starts with a six-month lease that can be extended. I know that if she waits, though, someone else will snatch it up before the summer season hits.
I click on the listing and lean forward, studying the details. It’s not perfect. The building’s old, probably hasn’t seen a lick of paint in years, but it’s got potential. I can see italready—Madison standing outside the front door with her logo painted on a big sign, kids running up with surfboards tucked under their arms, ready for their lessons.
I grin to myself. This could work.
I jot down the address and price on a scrap of paper, then I keep searching. There’s another place a bit farther down the coast, but it’s more expensive. Brand new construction, a bit too polished for what I imagine Madison would want. She’d probably prefer something with character, something she can make her own.
After a good hour of searching, I’ve got a handful of options. None of them are perfect, but that’s not the point. What matters is that Madison sees what’s possible. She just needs to know that her dream isn’t as far out of reach as she thinks.
I sit back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. Now, how do I present this to her? I can’t just show up with a list of places and expect her to jump at the chance. Madison’s too practical for that. She’ll want to know the costs, the logistics, the risks. She’ll need to be convinced that this is something she can actually do, and I need to be careful not to overstep.
I pull out my phone and stare at her number for a second. Calling her now feels too soon—too eager. But waiting doesn’t sit right with me either. I want to see her succeed, to see her happy. I tap out a quick text instead:
Hey, I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier. Have you ever seriously looked into places to open your surf school?
I hit send before I can second-guess myself.
A few minutes later, my phone buzzes with her reply:
Lol, I wouldn’t even know where to start. Why? You got a place in mind?
I smile at her lighthearted response, but I can hear the doubt in her words. I type back:
Actually, yeah. I did a little searching. Found a couple of spots you might want to check out. Nothing crazy expensive, but decent places right by the beach.
Her reply comes almost instantly:
Ethan, are you serious? You really found something? They probably want a few months upfront, though.
Each place has different rules.
I don’t know if looking will help me. I don’t want to get my hopes up when I don’t know what my budget is.
I can hear the discouragement in her words. I don’t want to push her. Now isn’t the time. But just because she doesn’t want to take a look doesn’t mean that I can’t. I bundle up in a thick coat and walk down to the beach, following the directions to a shack about half a mile down the sandy coast. It’s smaller than it looked in the pictures, but it has a counter that faces the outside. From the looks of the building, it would be able to fit a few surfboards inside.
What else does she really need?
I know I’m acting crazy right now, but I really want to make this dream of Madison’s come true. Now, I just have to figure out how I can get the place for her.