Page 30

MILLIE

Sour snaps

Growing up minutes from the beach means I’ve watched people surf my whole life. But none have ever been as fluid as Noah on a surfboard.

He carves through waves like they’re butter, his flexibility allowing him to bend and whip ridiculously fast as he masters each surge of water beneath him.

Even from the shoreline, where the water laps at my shins, I see the concentration on his face, and the joy he experiences when he accomplishes something particularly challenging.

I’m not sure how many photos I take, my finger trigger-happy as I snap picture after picture of Noah and his friends hollering from their boards. My camera gives me close-ups of the smiles on their faces, and I mimic them as I watch through my lens.

“It’s impressive, huh?” Erin shields her face from the sun as she stares out at our friends.

I lower my camera, still smiling. “Very.”

Erin has been friends with Steph since they met at one of those silent retreats several years ago and bonded over the fact they couldn’t keep their mouths shut. They departed the retreat early and ended up at the pub, where their friendship blossomed.

Erin prods my side. “Steph tells me you stood up last week.”

A self-deprecating laugh leaves my throat. “Barely.”

“It’s a big deal,” she insists. “So many people are too scared to even try. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Thanks. What about you? You a surfer extraordinaire?”

She shakes her head. “God, no. Steph and I have an agreement we can be friends provided she never makes me surf. I can’t balance for shit.”

I chuckle, watching as Noah arrives at the breakers and hops off his board. He wades through the glistening water, tucking his board under his arm and whipping his hair out of his eyes. When he spots me, he flashes me a smile, and I curse myself for the rush of heat that pools between my legs.

“God, he’s hot,” Erin sighs, bumping her hip into mine. “You guys make a cute couple.”

I hide my flat smile behind my chunky camera, holding it up and snapping more photos of Noah as he approaches. These pictures could break the internet.

Erin heads straight into the water for a swim, high-fiving Noah as they pass each other.

When Noah stands in front of me, it’s the first time in almost a week we’re alone.

The sun might be bearing down on us, salt air filling my lungs and whoops and cheers cutting through the roar of the waves, but when Noah looms over me, it’s like it’s just the two of us.

He nods to my camera. “Get some good stuff?”

“I think so. I need to go through them without the sun glaring down on me.”

His water-speckled chest heaves as he catches his breath. “Come sit for a bit?”

Silently, we walk back to the safety of hot, dry sand, taking shelter under one of the cabanas we erected earlier.

“Not tempted to use my board?” Noah asks, slinging it onto the sand and joining me on the towels.

“As if I’d be able to use that thing,” I scoff. “I need something sturdy.”

I flick through the new shots on my camera, doing my best not to react when Noah leans over my shoulder, beads of seawater falling from his body onto mine. “These are sick ,” he gushes.

“I want to upload some of these to sour snaps,” I murmur.

Noah tilts his head to face me. “What’s sour snaps?”

Oh, shit.

“It’s nothing,” I stammer, flicking the camera off. “What are we doing for lunch?”

Noah shakes his head, a glint in his eye as he reaches for his phone in his pile of belongings. “I smell bullshit, Maelstrom.”

“Noah, don’t .”

Noah fishes out his phone, presumably to Google the term and I slap my hands to my face trying to disappear into myself.

“Millie.” I glance at him through my fingers, my heart hammering at the awe-struck look on his face. “These are incredible.”

He scrolls the page, clicking on different photos in silence. I’m frozen in place, my hot cheeks singeing the palms of my hands. When he finally looks back at me, his green eyes are swirling with bewilderment, and dare I think it, pride. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

I shrug, lowering my hands to wring them together. “Because it’s private.”

“This is not private.”

“No one knows who’s posting those,” I explain.

“I can be who I want to be and share my photos without worrying what friends and family think. If strangers don’t like it, they keep scrolling.

You can’t really offend people with photos of nature.

The Noah King fanbase goes for the jugular and I don’t want my safe space ruined by that. ”

Noah’s eyes crease as he surveys me. “I’m not saying we need to publicise this. I’m saying I wish you’d told me. This deserves to be celebrated and shared with friends.”

“Friends?” I ask, ignoring the waver in my voice. “Is that what we are?”

“I hope so.” His frown deepens. “At the very least.”

We stare at each other, allowing the distant squawk of seagulls and whipping of wind across the canopy to fill the silence.

Noah breaks first. “Do you regret it?”

My heart begins to race. “Regret what?”

“The kiss.” Noah captures my gaze with intense eyes. “The couch.”

“Do you?” I clench my hands into fists, pressing my nails hard into my palms.

Noah’s gaze darts to my hands, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Do you realise you do that when you’re stressed out?”

I glance down and let my fingers relax, marvelling at the markings made by my nails. “No.”

Noah takes my hands in his, running his thumbs over my palms. “I only regret what happened if it makes things weird between us.”

“It’s a little weird.” I fight to close my eyes as he traces over my skin.

Noah nods and squeezes my hands, pulling my gaze to his. He looks so earnest and hopeful, leaning in with a small smile.

“Let’s not let it be weird.” He rolls his shoulders back and holds a hand up, extending his pinky finger. “Swear to not let it be weird.”

One of my loud, snorty giggles bursts out of me. “What are you doing?”

“Duh, this is the ultimate way to make a promise between two people.”

“Couldn’t we have done this instead of the paperwork?”

Noah shakes his head, mock sincerity on his face. “This is the ultimate way to promise. This is sacred.”

I can’t hide my smile as I take in the hopeful look on his face. He’s right. We can’t let it get awkward again, and I’m sure that my urge to mount his thigh and kiss him last week resulted from crazy hormones. I hook my pinky finger with his, silently making a promise I desperately want to keep.

After that, tension leaks out of my body as we sit side by side, slipping back into our comfortable conversation.

Noah tells me about his family; his parents who are still madly in love and go dancing every Sunday evening.

His baby sister Gabby, who’s a pocket rocket of ferocious energy and has better surf skills than him, but isn’t interested in going pro.

His older brother Jared, who lives in Sydney and is married to his high school sweetheart, with a three-year-old daughter and another baby on the way.

He adores his niece, Willow, and has no qualms sharing what his family thinks of him making all the wrong headlines.

“I get plenty of grief from them all the time and it’s nothing I don’t deserve. We had a family meeting when I got home.”

“Ouch. How’d that go?”

Noah grimaces. “My poor mum. I ignored their calls for most of the year or kept them really short. Dan got me home after I got an official warning from the World Surfing Association and the minute I saw Mum’s face, I realised how much I’d fucked up.

Seeing people you love and respect absolutely heartbroken can change your outlook real quick.

” He clears his throat, shaking his curls out of his eyes.

“Speaking of my family, would you like to come to my parents place for Christmas?”

My chest constricts with something unfamiliar. “I forgot we discussed that in the contract.”

“Right. The contract. Exactly.” Noah blinks a few times. “What do you think? They would love to meet you.”

I scrunch my nose up. “You’re sure you want your fake girlfriend to come to Christmas celebrations?”

“Yes.” Noah nods adamantly. “Everyone’s welcome at Christmas time, fake or not fake. Dan will be there, and Ellis and Winston are welcome, too. I want to make my mum happy.”

“Won’t she be upset when this is over?” I wave my hand between the two of us.

“Maybe, but it’ll give her hope I’m not a lost cause. If I can date a woman like you? Pfft, I’m a golden boy.”

Our arrangement might be unorthodox, but it’s clearer than ever he’s doing everything he can to make up for his mistakes. It’s not only about his reputation and career, but he also wants to make things right with his family, even if that means bringing home a fake girlfriend.

Our friends finally make their way out of the water, disturbing our serenity, pushing each other to topple one another over.

“Sure,” I finally agree. “I’ll come over for Christmas.”

His dimples pop. “Thanks, Maelstrom.”