Page 3 of A Daddy for Christmas 3: Nova

Excitement surged through me when the plane finally touched down, and I deplaned with my earbuds in, Counting Crows finally playing uninterrupted by irritating squeals.Round HerefollowedMr. Jonesas I followed the signs to baggage claim, stomach rumbling. I couldn’t wait to soak up all the warmth I’d been missing on the snow-covered streets of Minnesota.

Knowing my hotel had a shuttle that arrived at the airport every thirty minutes allowed me to slow my steps and enjoy the moment. Recalling the meditation garden I discovered on my first trip here, I dragged my suitcases downstairs, where I could sit among the flowers and smell their lingering scent kissed by a hint of salty ocean breeze.

Delightful didn’t even begin to describe it.

Mentally I ran down the remaining steps left before I could kick back and relax. Making my way to the shuttle stop was right at the top; below it was checking in and unpacking once I reached my room. I was never much of a sleeper, so room snacks were a must, but I knew of a little corner market within walking distance of the hotel. I’d stocked up there on my last visit, filling my hotel fridge with coconut water and a variety of fruit, yogurt, and honey-drenched tropical cakes I’d never found anywhere else. I didn’t even know what they were called, justthat they were fruity, colorful, and packed with some of my favorite flavors.

A slight throbbing at the base of my neck bumped one task up much higher on the list, and I carefully took the heavy elastic out of my hair and undid the bun I used to keep my waves in check.

Yes, I wore it longish, longer than most of the people I worked with did. Did setting it free help give the illusion of a surfer boy on the way to catch a wave?

Not most days, when I was in business casual or a full-on suit, but in the jeans and Henley I’d pulled on this morning, you’re damned right it did. I knew I was going to regret leaving my heavy trench coat at home, but knowing where I was going, I opted for a thick sweatshirt instead, which I tucked into my backpack just as soon as I’d deplaned in California, happy to have it out of sight and out of mind for a while.

Time to find the shuttle and kick this vacation off properly, with drinks at the beachside bar just as soon as I’d ticked the last task off the list.

Then it was no more lists for me for three whole weeks.

Too bad it wouldn’t last a lifetime.

Chapter 2

(Robbie)

Forty-seven years old and still chasing the perfect wave, and why not when I’d given up on chasing everything else?

Perfect career.

Perfect family.

Perfect love.

Yeah, that last one had kicked my ass so many times that I’d stopped believing in its existence. Years ago, I’d decided that living up to thebeach bumlabel my extremely estranged family had slapped on me was the only thing I’d ever be moderately successful at.

I lived comfortably, woke to the ocean every morning, and occasionally entered a surf competition for nostalgia’s sake. I made my living, if one could even call it that, throughinstructional videos on surfing techniques and the private lessons I gave to tourists.

It helped that my name and the reputation I’d eked out on the professional surfing circuit still carried a lot of weight around here. I’d been gifted countless boards in the hope that I’d feature them, and drop a plug for their makers in one of my videos. Or be photographed shredding on one. I still did a few spreads a year for different magazines, which meant there was never a shortage of customers waiting to pay for my time. I was part of a three-person commentary crew for several of the local surfing competitions and occasionally took a mic down to the sands to speak with some of the competitors about their rides.

Basically, I was a bit of a local celebrity, which meant that I got to live my life immersed in the ocean I loved when I wasn’t looking for ways to ride it.

Adrenaline junkie.

I’d been called that many times. Thrill seeker, risk taker, I’d nearly lost my life twice. Once when a wave had rolled me into an underground cave and once when I’d gotten stung by a particularly nasty breed of jellyfish off the coast of Australia. That’s when I’d discovered that damn near everything over there really was trying to kill you. Or at least had the ability to.

I don’t know what made me look away from the horizon and onto the beach, but I did, shocked to discover a lone figure seated in the sand. From my vantage point, I couldn’t tell if they had a board with them that they were waxing, though it was kind of late to catch more than a handful of rideable waves. Still, I’d had days where I raced the sunset to catch as many as possible, so I wouldn’t begrudge them a few if they paddled out.

Movement out of the corner of my eye drew my attention back to the waves, and I saw one building in the distance. In a flash I started paddling, arms cutting through the water, eyes never leaving the swell of the wave. Raising up on the back of myboard was so fluid at this point in my life, I didn’t even have to think about it. It was like there was some mental link connecting my body to the water, so it instinctively knew what to do.

When I dropped in to catch a tube and the lip curled over my head, I followed the light to the end, fingertips cutting a swath across the crest before I slipped out the back end.

The figure on the shore was still there, and now that I was closer, I could see that they didn’t have a board with them. Just a toy shovel and car, a small plastic bucket, shoes they’d kicked off haphazardly and wild hair blowing in the breeze. It looked thick, with golden highlights that glittered whenever the waning sunrays hit it. I loved sinking my fingers into heavy strands perfumed with the essence of seawater, tugging, listening to my partner moan.

Look at me, still clinging to a hint of my poetic soul after all. Shocking with how many failed relationships I’d had. If there was one thing I seemed to have a true talent for, it was picking the wrong one.

There were several cases of “it’s not you, you’re awesome, just not who or what I’m looking for” moments, resulting in many close and treasured friendships once we came to the mutual understanding that our tastes didn’t quite line up. That was a plus at least. It was just hard to find someone who truly wanted the same dynamic I craved. Some said they did, but it had turned out that they only really wanted it in the bedroom. Others claimed to be interested, but just in dabbling from time to time, maybe with some soft handcuffs or a light spanking scene. That’s cool and all if that was their preference, but it hadn’t really worked for me.

I was looking for a boy that wanted to call me Daddy and would let me spoil him, one who wanted to spend his days on the sand with me and his nights in my arms. The problem was thatI was shit at the dating and romance part that was supposed to lead up to that point.

I’d be in real trouble if the exes of the past ever decided to band together and form a club and mockupI survived a ride on the Rogue Wavet-shirts.Enough of them knew one another that it was a very real possibility it could happen one day, especially if enough of them got upset about me refusing to take any of the dating advice they tried to give.