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“I was hoping I’d see you again,” I reply cheekily, figuring he’d show up here looking for a board. As much as it was just a hook up for me, I had a good time and wouldn’t mind doing it again.

He has this accent where every word rolls off his tongue in a way that makes my panties wet and my thighs clench together. It’s been a while since a guy has made me feel this way, and I’m enjoying it way too much for it to be a one-time thing.

He comes closer to me, my fingers nervously dragging over the slickness of the counter next to me. I need to keep my hands busy or I’m going to reach out to touch him instead.

“I’ve got a surprise for you, beautiful,” he murmurs, and my mouth goes dry, my body instantly responding to his closeness, his words, his smell. “I’m staying in the place right over there.” He indicates to the guest house where Nate used to live before moving into Mitch’s old apartment with Sage.

“Is that so?” I croon back, looking over my shoulder and wondering if we have time for a quickie before The Pipe Dream gets busy.

Twice a week we get a tour bus that comes through our little town from the main part of the island, and it’s scheduled to pull in here in about ten minutes. I can be quick, but I’m not sure I can be that quick.

My eyes fall to Flynn’s lips, his full and perfect and so damn kissable lips, and again, I find my thighs clenching, remembering all the things that mouth did to me.

I’m caught in a fucking trance with this guy, and I want to drown in him. And it has nothing to do with his ability to surf. The crazy thing is, he looks strangely familiar, but I can’t place it. Or maybe it’s just the tanned skin and the crystal blue eyes, and the way he surfs that reminds me of every guy on the island.

He opens his mouth, his gorgeous, talented mouth, but quickly closes it when we’re interrupted by the sound of someone coming through the back door.

“Alana, it’s going down out there,” Owen calls as he enters the shop. “You been out?” He walks straight to me, completely unaware of the serious sexual tension between Flynn and me. Dropping a kiss on the side of my head like he always does, he says, “The bus just pulled up.”

Snapping me out of my Flynn-induced trance, I quickly reply to Owen. “Yeah, I was out for a bit today, but didn’t really catch anything.”

Flynn winks at me, and I smile like a schoolgirl, giddy and reckless. I definitely did catch something today, just not the waves Owen’s talking about.

“Looks like you’re about to get busy,” Flynn says, and again, my teenage brain immediately wants to reply with wanting to get busy with him, but I hold back.

Quickly, I head back behind the counter, reaching under it for where we keep the business cards, knowing we only hand out this one to special people.

“Here,” I say, handing Flynn the card with Tanner’s name and address on it. “Tell him I sent you, and if that doesn’t work, show him the card.” We don’t give them out often, so Tanner should be more than willing to help Flynn out.

Tanner has always been pretty selective about who he makes boards for, mostly locals and some of the bigger names who have come through here for surf competitions. It’s not that he doesn’t want the money that he brings in from making boards; he’s just selective about it, making Olsen Custom Boards more exclusive and harder to come by. It’s a great marketing technique.

“Here they come,” Owen tells me, smiling. I swear he seems to enjoy all these tourists and their millions of questions. If I didn’t know he was completely hung up on my roommate Sloane, I’d swear he was looking to find a girl he could have a fling with. “And twenty-five days,” he now adds, grinning at me. “You ready? Daisy and Sloane said you’ve been slacking.”

I know he’s trying to motivate me, but nothing is working at this point. It’s been so damn hard since Mitch died, and while I haven’t officially withdrawn, it’s been on my mind. I can’t see myself competing without him as my coach. It feels wrong.

I don’t respond, but judging by the way Flynn is now looking at me, my feelings are written all over my face. I’m usually pretty easygoing, happy and fun, but Mitch’s death has really taken a toll on me.

I plaster on a smile, faking it the best I can until this feeling passes—and it will pass. It always does. But the competition is still looming over my head, reminders of it are now popping up everywhere.

“You okay?” Flynn asks, genuine concern in his voice.

“Yeah, all good,” I lie, my smile widening. “Good luck with that board. Hopefully my name is your in.”

“I’ll report back to you,” he says, hitting me with a hundred-watt smile. He’s fucking perfect.

Perfect in bed.

Perfect to look at.

Perfect in the water.

“Can I get your number?” he now asks, just as the crowds are starting to file in. I hesitate—my life is in fucking shambles right now. I need to get my head on straight, and if I plan to compete, I can’t be bogged down with some guy complaining I’m not spending enough time with him.

But wait a minute, he’s not staying. He’s not even semi-local, not even from the mainland. This should be easy. He leaves, and I go back to my life. He can’t even be here long enough to affect my training. I think all of this as if I’m going to compete.

But being out on the water today, even if I only caught a wave or two before being deliciously interrupted, reminds me of how much I miss it. And more than that, how much Mitch would have hated to see me give up.

Fuck, I’m a mess.

The Pipe Dream grows busier within seconds, and I’m lost in my thoughts. Flynn’s waiting for me to answer, and without thinking too much, I quickly jot my number down on a scrap of paper and hand it to him. I have no idea what I’m doing, but something about it feels right.

I watch him slip it in his pocket, his gorgeous smile on display, as he walks out, leaving me wondering what the hell I just got myself into.

The day goes quickly, and by the time the sun sets, I’m exhausted. The shop was busy nearly all day with two buses of tourists coming by and locals coming in to pick up new boards. Mitch was always so good to the locals, allowing interest-free payment plans and layaway orders, and Nate and Sage have continued this too.

When I pull into the driveway, I notice Sloane and Daisy aren’t home yet. Sloane is probably hunkered down somewhere on campus trying to get some studying done, and Daisy, who knows. She’s such a free spirit, comes and goes as she pleases.

The house is dark when I walk in, the air blowing through the open windows, the smell of the ocean permeating the space. I can hear the waves lapping at the shore, calling to me, reminding me I should be out there.

Today was the perfect morning for Pipe. Owen was out there, and I was on Tanner’s boat having some of the best orgasms of my life.

I missed the double overhead waves. I missed the feeling of my body sailing on the water so effortlessly. I missed the opportunity to train.

I’ve been missing the opportunity every single day since Mitch died. And I need to pull myself out of this, but I just can’t seem to do it.

It feels like my body isn’t my own, my head’s a mess, feeling numb and lost, but I’m starting to think it isn’t just because I lost Mitch. I need the ocean like I need air, and I’ve been suffocating ever since.

When I walk into my bedroom, I’m hit with the letter, just like I am every time I come in here. I tossed it onto the little table that sits beside my bed, and it hasn’t moved since. I haven’t even picked it up, too afraid to open it, afraid of what it might say.

I remember the day Nate handed it to me, my name scrawled across the front, recognizing the handwriting instantly. The tears started flowing before I could even try to stop them, and Nate pulled me in for a hug, letting me cry into his T-shirt.

We each got one. Nate and Sage read theirs together, and mine has just sat, unopened, unread, a sad reminder of what was lost.

I know Mitch didn’t write the letter to remind me of what it was like when he was still here. He would never want us mourning him, but it’s been so damn hard not to.

Yet, I still can’t bring myself to read it.

I run my fingers over my name. Next to it is a hand-drawn shaka with a little heart. It makes me smile, but there’s also an ache in my chest, painful and deep. He’d be so disappointed in me right now, and a tear spills down my cheek at the thought.

Picking it up for the first time since Nate gave it to me, the weight of it in my hands feels almost too heavy to hold.

Nate has offered to sit with me while I read it, just like he and Sage did, but I declined, too caught up in the idea of needing to read it alone. But I’m not even sure it’s that, more worried about what the letter might say, and how I’ll react to it.

It’s ridiculous, though, to tell Nate I didn’t want him there. We’ve been friends since we were kids, and we’ve seen each other through the worst times in our lives. Mitch’s passing being one of the hardest things we dealt with together.

I turn it over in my hand, looking at the seal on the back, wanting to slide my finger under it and just open it. I swallow hard, pushing back the sob I feel building in my throat. The last thing I need is for Sloane or Daisy to come home and find me a sobbing mess on the floor of my bedroom.

Nate was right. I should read it with him. He’s the only other person who will understand. But I still find myself wanting to open it, needing Mitch’s words today more than anything.

He’d never tell me what to do, but there was always something about the way he looked at life that put things into perspective. I need that perspective right now, and a part of me knows this letter will hold just that.

My finger slips under the slightly curled-up corner, ready to glide it underneath and open it, when a knock comes on the door.

No one here knocks. If the door is open, people just come in. We only lock it at night because it makes Sloane more comfortable. Before her, Daisy and I would even sleep with the front door open, letting the ocean breeze cool the house at night.

“It’s open!” I call out from my bedroom. It’s not like the house is so big that I can’t be heard from in here.

It’s a tiny little beach cottage, rundown and in need of maintenance, but it’s a rental and a cheap one at that. But it’s the location that can’t be beat, the ocean is literally steps out our back door, quiet, secluded and untouched by locals and tourists. It makes for some of the best surfing on the island.

I toss the letter onto the table where it once was, letting out a hard sigh, the interruption welcome but also not.

A knock comes again, and this time, instead of calling out, I roll my eyes, bothered, and realizing it must be someone who doesn’t know us.

“I said you could come in, but since you didn’t, it’s ob…” I trail off the second I see who is standing on the other side of the screen door.

Flynn

“How’d you figure out where I live?” I now ask, changing gears so fast I nearly forget that I was annoyed. “You stalking me, Flynn?” My thoughts are instantly back to the morning we spent together, wondering if we’re going to end up back there again.

“Some might call it that,” he jokes, and there’s that smile again. He is fucking hard to resist.

“Guessing you caught up with Tanner, huh?” I now ask, thinking that’s why he’s here, to thank me for giving him a connection to Olsen Custom Boards.

“I did, but I also learned something about you, Alana,” Flynn muses, and I feel my heartbeat kick up a few notches, and not just because of the way he says my name.

“And what’s that?”

I hold the door open, Flynn stepping inside, his smell filling the air around me. There’s something about a surf guy that sets my body on fire, but with Flynn, it’s like a fucking inferno.

“That you’re surfing Maui Pipe.”