Page 69 of Better When Shared (Kristin Lance Anthologies #2)

Hamish

“So, are you always this chatty, or is it just me?”

Makai asked.

I cleared my throat, eyes fixed out his truck’s window.

“Sorry. Not much of a morning person.”

“I am. Best time to surf. And surfing is a great way to start the day. Good for the nerves.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“Trust me.”

He flashed a grin that made my stomach flip, which was weird. Maybe it was just because he seemed so much cooler than me..

“Nothing clears the head like the rush of catching a wave.”

“Or maybe it’s the frigid temperatures making brain function impossible?”

He burst out laughing, then shook his head.

“Nah, I grew up in Hawaii. These frigid waters are new to me.”

“Ah.”

He gestured towards a bakery bag.

“I’m guessing you didn’t have breakfast? There are some blueberry muffins in the bag. Made with fresh blueberries from a farm on the island. And I wasn’t sure what you drink, so I got you tea. Seemed properly British.”

I picked up the cup and frowned at the unfamiliar tea bag label.

“It’s not Yorkshire Gold. The only brand of tea I’ll drink.”

There was no way I’d be drinking what Americans thought passed for proper tea.

“It won’t hurt to try it,”

he coaxed.

“It’s a local blend. Organic. And the sexy bedhead thing you had going when you opened the door tells me you only just woke up.”

Sexy bedhead? I ran my fingers through my hair, my cheeks going hot.

“Eat,”

he ordered.

Sighing, I opened the bag and pulled out the sweet confection, taking a careful bite, balancing a napkin underneath so I wouldn’t make any crumbs. It was really good, and I was hungrier than I’d realized. And, of course, eating made me thirsty, so I broke down and drank a little of the tea, which was nothing like Yorkshire Gold, but not entirely unpleasant.

We turned onto a narrow road lined with towering evergreens that blocked most of the light, creating a tunnel of green shadow. The trees gave way to an open vista of shoreline, the water stretching endlessly toward a horizon punctuated by distant islands. A wooden sign welcomed us to Cannery Beach State Park.

“Here we are,”

Makai announced, pulling into a gravel lot near a weathered building.

“Best beginner spot on the island.”

I stared at the waves rolling toward shore. They were larger than I’d expected, each one a potential death trap. My throat tightened.

“Relax,”

he said, killing the engine and turning to face me.

“We’re getting a feel for the place. No pressure.”

I climbed out of the truck and took my tea with me, not because it was good, but because I needed something warm in my hands. And when I took a sip, that was also definitely for warmth.

“Come on,”

he said, heading toward a trail that wound down to the beach.

“I want to show you my favorite spot.”

I followed him, picking my way carefully down the rocky path while he moved with the easy grace of someone who’d walked it a thousand times. At the bottom, the trail opened onto a crescent of dark sand bordered by driftwood logs. The waves looked even more intimidating up close.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Makai had stopped beside me, his face turned toward the water with an expression of pure contentment.

“Terrifying,”

I corrected.

He laughed, the sound rich and warm.

“Nah, the waves are chill today.”

We walked along the water’s edge, me keeping a safe distance from the waves that rushed up the sand.

Makai bent to pick up a flat stone, looking thoughtful as he rolled it between his fingers, then threw it with a playful, sideways motion that sent it skipping across the water.

“So, I get that you aren’t all that interested in surfing, but maybe there’s something else we could do. What sports do you enjoy back home?”

I shoved my hands in my pockets.

“Mostly horseback riding. I rowed in school.”

His eyes widened.

“Horseback riding? And you think surfing is adventurous?”

“Riding isn’t adventurous.”

“You’re right. Balancing on a thousand-pound animal as it races through the forest doesn’t sound challenging at all.”

“I tend to race in fields. I play polo,”

I said.

“Though I do ride the trails as well.”

He burst out laughing.

“Jesus. You play polo? Why are you worried about a few little waves? A big field of horses sounds way more terrifying.”

“I grew up riding horses. They’re not terrifying.”

He paused, staring out at the ocean for a minute.

“What do you like about riding?”

I considered the question seriously, thinking about the way riding horses took my mind off the stresses of my daily life and my work.

“It’s hard to explain. The rhythm of it, I guess. The way my mind goes quiet when I’m focused on the movement of the horse. It’s the only time that I’m not calculating a million different possibilities. The only time I’m not stressed out and anxious.”

“Nice.”

He nodded.

“That’s how I feel about surfing. Finding that perfect sync with something bigger than you. Letting go of control while still guiding your path. It’s freedom.”

The way he described it made something shift inside me, curiosity overtaking the fear, just a little.

“I’ve never thought of it that way.”

“Most people see the waves and think about drowning, not flying.”

He spread his arms wide, gesturing at the water.

“But this? This is where I feel most alive.”

His passion was infectious, his eyes lighting up as he talked about surf breaks and offshore winds and the perfect wave. I watched his hands as he spoke, the way they carved through the air, strong and confident. I wondered what they’d feel like against my skin.

The thought jolted me back to reality. What the hell was I thinking about that for?

“So, what inspired your trip to our little island?”

Makai asked, dropping to sit on a massive driftwood log.

“Besides scaring yourself with surf lessons?”

I sat beside him, not too close.

“My wife. She’s here for work this summer, helping out some friends who own a hotel here.”

“She wasn’t in your hotel room. Did you scare her off?”

“I’m not staying with her. I haven’t seen her yet.”

He blinked.

“She doesn’t know you’re here?”

I picked at a splinter on the log. The more confused Makai sounded, the sillier I felt about my plan.

“The idea was to come here and prove myself first. Learn something new, show her I can be... I don’t know, spontaneous. Less predictable. She thinks I’m too set in my ways.”

He eyed the tea cup in my hand.

“You? Mr. Yorkshire Gold? Set in your ways?”

I laughed, raking my hand through my hair.

“Perhaps I am. But I... I don’t want to lose her. And I don’t want her to think I’m chasing after her, trying to get in her way while she’s following her dreams.”

The admission hung in the air between us, more honest than I’d intended. Makai’s expression softened.

“Hey, for what it’s worth, I think she’s a lucky woman.”

He grinned at me.

“I can see that you really care. Of course, you don’t have to change yourself for her, you’re sexy as you are.”

The word ‘sexy’ from his lips, the second time he’d said it this morning, made heat bloom in my core.

“I want to do something impressive. For her.”

“Like standing up on a surfboard?”

“Exactly.”

I blinked, remembering I’d been trying to cancel my lesson.

“Not necessarily that. Why do I have a feeling you’re manipulating me now?”

He grinned.

“I mean…you’re not going to impress her by backing out of your first lesson in being an adventurous guy, are you?”

“I haven’t backed out yet. But I’m… considering my options.”

“What if we take baby steps? Check out the surfboards. Try on a wetsuit. See what you think of that.”

He stood, offering me his hand, and pulled me to my feet.

“Why do you care so much if I surf or not, anyway? I already paid you.”

“Simple. Rich assholes who pay a fortune for a week of my time deserve a week of my time. Otherwise, they tend to find loopholes in my refund policy. So come on, let’s make this adventure loophole-free.”

There was no stopping him. He was already walking towards his truck. I tossed my empty tea cup in a trash can and jogged to catch up to him.

“I think you have a passion for teaching people to surf,” I said.

He turned, walking backwards for a moment. He winked.

“Maybe a little.”

“Takes a lot of passion to build a company like yours, I’d say.”

“That it does.”

There was something about Makai’s easy confidence and the way he spoke about surfing that made me forget all of my reasons for not trying. It wasn’t rational. Imogen wouldn’t care if I surfed or did something else, as long as I showed her I could get out of my comfort zone.

“So you’ll try it?”

Makai asked as we reached his truck.

“Not what I said.”

“Not with your words, but your face agrees with me.”

He grinned, moving to the roof rack where several surfboards were strapped down.

“Let me show you through the equipment. That’s harmless, right? You’ll just be looking.”

“This feels like another trick.”

He popped off the strap on the rack on the back of his truck, then slid one of the surfboards free. It was longer and wider than the others.

“This is what we call a foamie,”

he explained, patting the board affectionately.

“Soft top, extra volume, stable as hell. Perfect for beginners.”

I approached cautiously, running my hand over the surface. It felt nothing like I’d expected.

“It’s... not as intimidating as I thought.”

“That’s the idea.”

He pulled down another board, this one shorter and sleeker, with a glossy finish and hard surface.

“This is mine. But you don’t need to graduate to a shortboard until you’re ready.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. There will be no graduating.”

He laughed, the sound warm and rich.

“Fine, fine. But I’ve got a feeling about you, Hamish. You might surprise yourself.”

The way he said my name in his slow, relaxed American accent sent an odd little thrill through me. I stepped back, shaking it off.

“So what happens now?”

“Now we try on wetsuits. To see if you think it’ll keep you warm, not to surf in. Unless you’re scared of a little neoprene.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Prove it.”

He tossed the wetsuit at me, and I caught it reflexively, surprised at how heavy the fabric felt.

“Strip down to your swim trunks and we’ll see if this fits.”

I hesitated, looking around for a dressing room.

“I’ll go first,”

Makai offered, setting his own wetsuit on the truck’s tailgate. He pulled his t-shirt over his head, revealing the kind of torso that belonged on fitness magazine covers—lean but defined, with a clear six-pack tapering down to a narrow waist, leading my eyes lower, to the bulge beneath the fabric of his boardshorts.

I’d had a gay porn phase in my teen years, but never acted on those desires, writing them off as teenage hormones, not as a true attraction to men. Makai was the first person to make me wonder if I’d been wrong. Not that I’d act on any sort of attraction. I loved my wife.

“The trick is lubricant.”

He grabbed a small bottle from his truck.

“Makes it easier to slide in.”

I blinked, still staring at his dick for a moment before I realized he was still talking about wetsuits.

He stepped into the wetsuit, working it up his legs with a series of tugs and shimmies that looked ridiculous but effective. The neoprene clung to his body like a second skin, outlining every muscle.

“Your turn.”

He reached back, muscles flexing beneath the neoprene as he grabbed a string that tugged the zipper up.

“Need some help with the lube?”

Bloody hell, would he stop mentioning lube.

“I—I can manage.”

Taking a deep breath, I set the wetsuit down and pulled off my sweater, then, after a moment’s hesitation, my shirt and shorts, leaving my swim trunks. The cool air raised goosebumps on my skin. I wasn’t out of shape, but I felt pale and soft compared to Makai’s sun-kissed perfection.

I took the bottle he offered, applying the lubricant as I’d seen him do. The wetsuit looked way too small.

“Is this really my size?”

“Trust me. The tighter it is, the warmer you’ll be.”

He bent down and helped arrange the suit for me to step into.

“Pull it on like pants, but be prepared for a fight.”

I stepped into the leg openings, encountering resistance as I tried to pull the material up. It clung to my calves, refusing to budge past my knees.

“Jump a little,”

Makai suggested, lips twitching into a smile.

“And wiggle your hips.”

Feeling ridiculous, I did as instructed, hopping awkwardly while yanking at the stubborn neoprene. It inched upward, bunching around my thighs.

“Is it supposed to be this difficult?”

Makai laughed, circling around me.

“Every time. It’s the surfer’s dance.”

He reached out, grabbing the wetsuit at my hips and giving it a sharp pull upward.

“Lift your right leg a bit.”

His hands on the suit sent a jolt of wild awareness through me, making me wish I could do it without his help. I followed his instructions, and with his help, soon I was pushing my arms into the sleeves, immediately feeling like I was being vacuum-sealed.

“Almost there,”

Makai encouraged, stepping behind me to grab the zipper at the back.

“Deep breath in.”

I inhaled as much as the suit would allow, and he zipped it up with a single smooth motion. I stretched experimentally, surprised to find I could move.

“How does it feel?”

He stepped back, eyes assessing.

“Not as terrible as I expected.”

“You look good in it.”

His gaze was appreciative, with an edge of something that made my pulse quicken.

“Wetsuits are way more comfortable if you go naked underneath. The seams on swimsuits can chafe like hell. But I figured I’d spare you the full monty when you were already nervous.”

“Now you’ve experienced the worst part of surfing in cold weather. Everything else is a piece of cake.”

I laughed despite my embarrassment. There was something absurdly intimate about the whole experience; struggling into these second skins together, helping each other with zippers and adjustments. It felt like we’d bypassed several levels of acquaintanceship in the span of twenty minutes.

“Thanks for waiting on the nudity,”

I said, trying to sound casual.

“I appreciate the small mercy.”

“I’m nothing if not considerate.”

He winked and turned to retrieve the surfboards from against the truck.

“So, what do you think? Ready to at least try standing on this thing on dry land?”

My initial panic had subsided, replaced by a strange calm that I couldn’t quite explain. Perhaps it was the ridiculousness of the wetsuit struggle, or Makai’s infectious enthusiasm, but I decided to go for it.

“Sure. Why not? We won’t go in water?”

“Not unless you ask to.”

His smile was brilliant, and I grabbed the foamie and followed him down to the sand.

Makai laid the boards on the beach and began explaining proper foot positioning. The sun had emerged from the clouds, warming the beach and making the water sparkle. For the first time since arriving on the island, I felt something close to contentment, the ever-present knot of anxiety in my chest loosening enough to let me breathe freely.

Maybe there was something to this surfing thing after all.

Makai had me lie down on the board, belly flat, fingers curling around the rails, as he instructed me to “pop up”

in one smooth motion. It looked easy when he did it. He was all wiry, athletic grace. But when I tried, the result was somewhere between a dying seal and a toddler trying to do a cartwheel.

“It’s all in the core. Try again, but this time, keep your eyes up and focus on planting your feet.”

I tried again and again, each attempt a little less embarrassing than the one before. By the fifth time, I managed to find my feet and end up in the right position. Makai clapped, slapping my back with a palm that nearly knocked the wind out of me.

“See? You’re a natural.”

His easy confidence was infectious. For the first time in ages, I was so absorbed in the moment that my mind didn’t spin out into disaster scenarios or self-loathing. I wanted to keep trying, to get it right, to see Makai’s eyes light up in approval. A craving, sharp and new, formed in my chest: I wanted to impress him.

On the walk down to the water, I expected my nerves to return. They didn’t.

The sand was shockingly cold, clinging to my bare feet through the too-thin layer of neoprene, and the water was even worse. But perhaps it was a good thing, as it focused my attention on my discomfort rather than my fear. I carried the board under my arm the way he did, trying to follow as best I could.

When we reached the crashing waves, Makai gave me a quick demonstration of how to duck-dive beneath an oncoming wave, swinging his board into the whitewater and disappearing for a moment before emerging, dripping and triumphant. He made it look simple.

It didn’t go like that for me. The board didn’t go under, and the wave smacked me square in the face, knocked the board from my hands, and dumped me ass-first into the shallows. I surfaced, sputtering salt water, to find Makai grinning like a proud parent.

“Fuck,”

I laughed, half choking on a lungful of brine.

“People enjoy this?”

“They do,”

he said.

“Once they stop fighting the ocean and start flowing with it. Try again. You’ve got this.”

The second time, I made it through—barely. The water was freezing, but the suit did its job, insulating me enough to stave off hypothermia. We paddled out past the break together. My arm muscles started burning, but at least the exertion warmed me a bit. Makai kept talking, guiding me from one micro-correction to the next, and most of all, encouraging me to keep going.

When we were finally past the break, he sat up on his board and turned around to face the incoming waves, floating next to me.

“Let’s watch the waves for a moment. Don’t overthink it. Look at where they break.”

“I don’t know if I can tell.”

“Not to worry, I’ll help you with timing at first. When I say ‘go,’ paddle hard, then pop up like we practiced. It’s okay if you fall.”

“Can I watch you a few times?”

He grinned and nodded, eying a wave, talking as he went, showing me how he spotted the wave he wanted, then paddled, racing in front of it until it started to break. Watching him move on the water was beautiful in a way that was hard to describe. He made it look easy, like the most natural thing a person could be doing.

My first attempt made it clear that it was not natural at all. I wiped out before I even got to my knees. The second, I managed a crouch before tumbling into the water. It kept on like that, until every muscle in my body ached.

But Makai kept coaxing one more wave out of me, and finally, on my seventeent.

“one more wave,”

I actually stood.

For a glorious, full-bodied heartbeat, I stood on the board, riding the crest of a tiny wave toward the shore, wind in my ears, saltwater in my eyes, and a high-pitched, undignified shriek of triumph escaping my throat.

The crash was inevitable. But as I tumbled off the board and into the shallows, I surfaced with my arms raised, grinning like an idiot. Makai paddled in after me, giving a delighted whoop.

“Nice work!”

It was only then that I noticed the wind had picked up and the sky had darkened ominously, and as I considered paddling out, the first drops of rain splattered on the surface of the water. Makai called the lesson, and we staggered back up the beach, shivering and giddy, boards under our arms.

On the way to the truck, I found myself blurting.

“Can we do this again tomorrow?”

“Was hoping you’d ask.”