Page 27 of Square Waves (Big Fan #2)

XXVI

It’s a gloriously clear and sunny day when I pull into the parking lot.

It seems like a shift of surfers is just coming off the water; they’re rinsing off boards and pulling off wetsuits, eyeing me with a look that says, This spot is locals only, babe .

It’s weird to remember that I am a local again, at least for the time being.

I make my way down to the sand. The ocean is in full force, rising high and crashing hard, much bigger than it was in Marin. Salt and spume give the wind extra bite.

I’m slightly early; a few minutes later, Leon arrives exactly on time. From where I’m sitting, I can see him making his way toward me, nodding hi to some of the guys he sees on his way. There’s no question that Leon is from around here.

He’s wearing baggy khaki pants and a thick wool sweater. A knit beanie pulled down over his shaggy waves. But I can see the shape of his body moving underneath his clothes, and the sight of it still makes my pulse pick up.

When he’s close enough for us to hear each other, he stops. Both hands are in his pockets. He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t look mad, exactly. Just curious. “What are we doing here?” he asks.

“You offered to teach me how to surf. When we were driving to Stinson. And I was wondering—I was wondering if the offer still stands.”

Leon’s face cycles through a dozen emotions, too quickly for me to capture any of them. He barks out a laugh. “You want to learn to surf?”

“I want a lot of things. I thought we could start there.”

Leon starts walking; I scramble to my feet and fall into step beside him.

“How long are you back for?” he asks.

“Indefinitely.”

He nods. Looks out at the waves. I wonder what he can read in them. What he’s gleaned from so many hours spent watching them come and go.

“Listen, I’m just going to say some things, and you can decide how you feel about them.

Last time we talked, you brought up Cooper.

And how—how I’m afraid that other people will hurt me.

And that’s true, obviously. But the thing is, Leon—” I force a deep breath.

“Even more than that, I’m afraid of hurting myself.

The last time I chose someone, it was such a catastrophic mistake.

For a long time, I would do anything not to open myself up to pain like that again.

But being with you, and then not being with you, made me realize that it’s holding me back in ways I don’t like.

It’s keeping me from trying things. From being willing to just.

..” I gesture to the expanse in front of us, hoping it will convey what I can’t.

“You can’t learn at Ocean Beach,” Leon says, keeping his face neutral. “The waves here are tough, and the culture—it’s never gonna happen.”

“We can go somewhere else.”

“And it’s fucking cold in there now. Colder than it was in August. Getting colder every day.”

“I’ll buy a wetsuit.”

“And I’m not—” Leon stops. Turns toward me. He’s standing between me and the shoreline, and his body blocks some of the wind, a perfect little shelter. “Are you serious, Cassidy?”

“I’m very serious.”

For a long moment, we just look at each other.

I can see Leon at fourteen: a kid, brash and charming, grabbing everyone’s attention in class.

How he mellowed into adolescence, withdrew into his own brand of perfectionism.

And then him at Willa’s: his hands shaping clay and sorting through cables and wires.

Wrapping fragile ceramics. Touching me with the same reverent care.

I hope he can see all of my past selves. And the present one too.

“Okay, you’re serious, about surfing. And what about us?”

“I’m serious about you too. If you’ll let me be.”

He considers this. “We’re still gonna argue,” he says. “I feel like that’s a guarantee.”

“Absolutely.”

“And I might disappoint you again. That seems likely, in fact.”

“Well, I’ll definitely freak out again. That’s my guarantee. I’m never not—I’m working on it. But I—I really, really want to try.”

I extend my hand toward his.

At last, one hand emerges from a pocket, and Leon slides his fingers through mine. Squeezes. The contact is a gentle hum of electricity: not a shock or a startle. Just the feeling that this is right .

“You’ve always made me want to try,” he says softly.

“Yeah. Me too. I think that, somehow, we’re good together.”

“One of the many annoying things about you,” he says, wearing that teasing smirk of his, “is how often you get things right.”

I’m smiling so hard it hurts. “Look who’s finally figuring that out.”

Leon lets go of my grip and ruffles a hand through my hair. I pretend to hate it, but my body gives me away, and I lean into the touch. His palm slips down, cups my cheek. I can feel every one of his calluses: evidence of his willingness to put in the work, his openness to change.

I tilt my head to press a kiss onto his jaw. I can feel the slight shiver that goes through him when I do.

“Cassidy.” His voice is rough, and I know we’re both feeling more than we can say. But it has always been like that between us. Bigger feelings than either of us was ready to contend with: Rivalry, irritation, lust, tenderness. Maybe love.

I take the last step forward so that we’re pressed together from head to toe.

“This, right here, feels perfect,” I say, inhaling the scent of him.

Leon holds my face with both hands.

“Fuck perfect, Cass. This is better. This is us.” And then he puts his mouth on mine and cracks me open, the way that only he can.