4 January
New South Wales, Australia
Surf lessons were Winston’s idea and something I complained about for months. Our daily morning plank sessions strengthened our cores so “I could stand up” on the board when catching my first wave. Taking the lesson and posting a picture of myself hanging ten on a surfboard will be my first act of revenge and prove to the world Francine Pastells is still around.
I wander to the beach in search of the Breakers Surf Shack. In my tired-to-the-bone-how-am-I-even-here state yesterday, I hardly glanced at the beach. It’s breathtaking. Smooth white sand stretches in either direction. Glistening blue water rolls with waves that crest and crash creating sea mist and frothing white foam. At both ends of the beach, the sand runs up against rocks that start at sea level and pile higher and higher like giant stepping stones until they become cliffs. Green shrubbery pops out in unexpected places, breaking up the sand-colored facade. The cliffs create such privacy that the resort feels like its own sanctuary tucked away from the rest of the world. I watch as the waves crash over the rocks and the morning sun fashions rainbows in the sea spray. Beyond those waves, the ocean extends for miles. And miles. It’s like I’m standing at the edge of the earth. I turn my face upward. I know my eyes are still puffy under my sunglasses, but the warmth of the sun is like a balm to my soul.
I almost plunk myself down in the sand right there, but then I remember my redemption plan. Francine Pastells is not washed up. I’m ready to ride a wave. I need to find the surf shack. I stroll along the beach in the direction of the rest of the resort. In the distance, a large building with an expansive patio faces the water. It must be the main area of the resort and I make a mental note that it will take a bit to walk to the spa tomorrow. I pass more bungalows that look like mine until I come upon a squat brick building with surfboards leaning against it. I seem to have found the right place.
I glimpse movement through the windows and as I’m about to head through the open door, a man in red board shorts steps out onto the beach.
“G’Day, Frannie.”
I swear the waves stop rolling in and the ocean freezes in place. What is he doing here? Shirtless and in board shorts that cling in all the right places. Cue the sparkling smile and the fact that his chest is indeed tanned—and sculpted—and I’m short of breath.
“Uh, hey,” is all I can manage.
“I was stoked to see your name on my schedule this morning. I thought to myself, ‘how many Francine’s can there be in Australia going for surf lessons today?’ I had a feeling it could only be you.”
“Uh, yeah.” I mumble like a middle school boy who can only mutter two words at a time. Snap out of it, Francine.
“Come on inside and we’ll get you suited up.” His eyes glide over my body, my hot pink bikini visible through my sheer cover up. “Wetsuits are optional this time of year as the surf is pretty warm, but they do offer protection from the sun.”
I find my voice. “I’ll go for the wetsuit. Living in California I’ve always protected my skin. Have to keep those wrinkles away for as long as possible.”
“I don’t see a single wrinkle. Anywhere.” Why does everything sound so sexy when he says it?
I slip out of my cover up and wiggle my way into the wetsuit. I stretch back over my shoulder to grasp the loop to pull the zipper up in the back, but I can’t quite find it. I must look like a mannequin with a backward, broken, flapping arm. Another great impression. But why do I care?
“I’ve got it, love.” Bruce rests a hand on my hip while his other hand slides the zipper up my back. His breath on my neck makes me shiver.
Thank goodness he doesn’t seem to notice my body tremble. He pats me on the back and heads toward the door. “Let’s get you up on a board, love.”
Bruce grabs a board from the side of the shack and throws it under his arm like it’s as light as a feather.
“Are you sure that’s the right sized board for me?” It’s taller than he is and nearly double my height.
He looks me up and down and nods his head. “This is the perfect size for a pocket size girl like yourself.”
Pocket size? Really? I can pack a lot into this frame.
We walk down the beach. He stops and sets the board in the sand yards away from the water.
“First thing I’m going to teach you is the pop-up.”
Bruce lies down on the board on his stomach. His back is golden and muscular. It’s an anatomy lesson I’d have no issue memorizing. I have a sudden urge to trace the freckle sitting above his right shoulder blade. He must do more than surf with a body like that.
He pushes up on his arms, lifting his chest through in a cobra pose. He pops one foot forward, and he’s in a warrior pose on the board.
“There’s no way I can do that on the sand and not a chance it’s happening out there.” I point to the crystal blue water.
Bruce smiles. “Do you trust me, Frannie?”
The only answer pulsing through my veins is yes. For some reason, I trust this man with my whole being. I nod my head and he steps off the board.
“I’ll be right next to you, helping you every step of the way.” I’m hypnotized by his dreamy accent and the apparent confidence he has in me.
“Your turn, darl.”
I lie stomach to the board like he did.
“Keep your elbows tucked near your ribs.”
He squats next to me, reaching one arm over my back tucking my arm in. His forearm grazes across my shoulder. He’s so close. I push up and try to pull my leg through, but topple over into the sand.
“Almost, Frannie!” My Australian cheerleader claps his hands. “Center yourself and keep your weight in your hands.”
I try it again and this time Bruce places his hands on either side of my waist. The heat from his fingers radiates through the wetsuit. He holds me steady and lifts me up.
“Fantastic! Now let’s do that on the water!”
I’ll take it even though I’ve cheated.
Bruce throws the board under his arm again and leads me to the water.
“Are there rip currents here? I’ve heard there can be strong rip currents.” Doubt washes over me as the waves lap over my toes.
“It’s just like California, love. Never swim against a rip current—always swim across it. But don’t worry. You’ll always be safe with me.”
Safe…I thought I was safe with Winston. Will this guy be any different?
You’ve got this, Francine. You can do hard things.
“Hop on,” he pats the board. “Start paddling and we’ll get out past these ankle biters, love.”
I pride myself on being in pretty good shape but paddling this enormous board isn’t easy. Bruce walks next to me giving me a little help every once in a while. Finally we’re out far enough and Bruce spins me around so I’m facing the shore.
“As soon as a beaut comes in, you’ll paddle and when I tell you, you’ll pop up.”
He makes it seem like it’s the easiest thing in the world and I can guarantee it’s not. Before I have time to think about it, he’s yelling, “Now, Frannie! Now!” and giving me a little push.
I paddle as fast as I can but the wave washes over me. Somehow I stay on the board—baby wave—but miss my opportunity to pop up.
“My fault,” says Bruce who pops out from under the wave. Water glistens on his perfect pecs like he’s a Roman deity. “That one was mushy. You had no chance.”
We do the same thing again and again—some attempts are slightly more successful than others—until my wave appears.
“This is it, Frannie!” He yells and I give it a go. I paddle. The wave propels me forward and I pop up like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Bruce swims behind me as I surf to the shore. I jump off the board as I get to the water’s edge. “I did it!” I squeal and wrap my arms around him.
“You sure did, mate! Beauty!”
“I wish I’d gotten a picture! I want to remember this forever.”
“It’s your lucky day,” he winks. “The resort has a photographer who takes pics during all our lessons. She’ll send them off to you later.”
It’s like Disney World where they snap your picture on the rides, but better.
Bruce carries my board back up to the shack.
“Thanks for helping me ride that wave. It was amazing!”
“Not a big thing. You did it all on your own,” he says, flashing his smile.
I reach up to undo my wetsuit but Bruce beats me to it. He pulls the zipper down and I swear I feel his fingers trail on my bare skin.
I slink out of the suit and he tosses it into a bin.
“Think you’ll make it out again?” Bruce asks with raised eyebrows and a sideways smile.
“I don’t know. My itinerary is pretty packed, but I might have to change a few things around.”
The adrenalin from catching my first wave was addictive. And yeah, his fingers on my skin weren’t too bad either. It feels good to be desired after the week I’ve had.
I’m lighter on the walk back to the bungalow and the cool water in the outdoor shower is exactly what the doctor ordered. It’s not like the showers I’m used to at the beach back home. This one has hot and cold water and there’s a dispenser filled with some kind of coconut goodness. I grab a robe—somehow they seem to be anywhere I need them—and sit on one of the lounge chairs at my pool.
I pull out my phone to check if the resort photographer has emailed the pictures from my lesson. Bingo. This resort is nothing if not efficient. There are only a couple but oh my gosh they are amazing. She somehow “missed” the dozen attempts and left me with my triumphant wave. And the hug I gave Bruce. I open that photo first and zoom in. His eyes are closed and his head’s pulled in close to mine. Like he wants to be next to me and wasn’t only there because he was getting paid. See, I’m not chopped liver to everyone! Take that, Winston.
I take a closer look at the photo of me standing up on the board. I wish I hadn’t been wearing the wetsuit. Nothing better than a triumphant bikini Instagram pic. But it’ll still work. Eat your heart out! I click post and close my eyes, sinking back on my comfy perch.
My phone dings with a notification waking me out of my sleepy reverie. It’s Winston. My heart beats in my throat and my palms get sweaty. Do I look? I’ve never had much self-control and it’s probably not going to start right now.
Winston: I know I’m the last person you want to hear from right now but I need to explain. For the last few months we’ve been disconnected. You had to have felt it too. I thought it was because we were busy but during our dance lessons I started to have other feelings. As soon as the instructor’s hands touched my back, I felt the electricity that had been missing in our relationship. I didn’t act on it but I knew I couldn’t go through with the wedding if another woman, other than you, gave me those feelings. I couldn’t figure out how to tell you. And there was nothing you could have said to convince me to get married. You did nothing wrong. It was me. I fell out of love with you.
I slam the phone on the chair. I’m drowning in a swell of disbelief followed quickly by a wave of anger. What in the actual hell? Fell out of love with me? He couldn’t have had one conversation with me? All he could do was watch me walk down the aisle, join him on the altar, and then whisper it in my ear? Any other time he said it would have been better. Easier for me to handle. But no. It’s like he had a secret vengeance against me and Operation Screw Over Francine was the only thing on his mind.
The damn dance instructor cha cha’d her way into his heart? One tango with her and our relationship, that was supposed to be forever, is over. What the fuck? She wasn’t even that good of a dancer.
I pick up the phone, ready to reply to the no good fucking coward. But I see three dots and hesitate.
Winston: I see from your Instagram photo you’re enjoying our honeymoon. I’m so glad something good has come from all of this.
I pull up my Instagram account and see my post has 152 likes and 47 comments. 46 of the comments are different variations of “You go, girl. You’re better off without him.” If 46 people think that, why didn’t one of them warn me beforehand. The other comment is from Winston letting me know he’s glad I’m enjoying the trip he planned. Mother fucker! I click on his name and block him. He will not steal the joy of riding that wave in. No way.
I’ve got to get out of this room. I need air. And a drink. And I’m starving, but there’s no way I’m sticking around for a “romantic” dinner for one on the bungalow patio. I throw on a strappy sundress, slip into my flip-flops, and head to the beach in search of the beachside bar. As I pass the main resort building, laughter and quiet music waft through the air and I glance over to see tables filled with happy couples dining on the large patio. That was supposed to be me. Tears prick at my eyes and I pick up the pace and scurry toward the bar. The bar sits at the end of the beach next to a pool nestled in the rocks. Party lights hang from the rafters above the wood topped bar and upbeat music fills the air. See, this is what I need. I find an open stool and order an espresso martini while I peruse the menu.
The bartender circles back for my order.
“I’ll have a prawn salad.” Wait, Winston isn’t here to comment on my food choices. “And I’ll have an extra large side of fries.”
My eyes sweep around the bar and halt as I take in a head of wavy sandy blond hair. Before I can glance away, brown eyes that I know include delicate gold flecks meet mine. His gaze could set the outback on fire. Bruce gives a little nod and his mouth turns up at the corners. I try to tear my eyes away, but I watch as he circles the bar and slides onto the stool next to me. Our knees brush.
“Hello, Frannie.” He signals the bartender. “Derek, I’ll have a cold one. Thanks, mate.”
As Derek sets off toward the taps, I take in my surroundings. “What’s up with the pool? It seems pretty close to the ocean? Almost in the ocean.”
“Ah, the rockpool. An Australian classic. We have them all along our beaches. With the surf so gnarly at times, rockpools were built so everyone can take a dip without the concern of dangerous currents. At high tide the surf crashes over the rocks and into the pool making it feel like the ocean. Since our beaches in these parts face east, swimming in the pool at sunrise is amazing. Especially for us early risers.”
Early riser. I glance at his shorts. Did I just look at his crotch? Please let him have missed that. Maybe one of those waves will make its way to the bar and sweep me out into the ocean depths before I die of embarrassment. I see his eyebrows go up and I try to direct the conversation back to a place of normalcy.
“But wouldn’t the waves at high tide bring fish and sea creatures into the pool?”
“Ah, sure. Even a shark or two has made their way into the pools. Makes it more fun.”
Derek arrives with the beer and Bruce turns toward me. “Cheers, Frannie.”
I smile and raise my glass which I realize is almost empty. These martinis go down too easy. Thankfully my food arrives at the same time as my second martini.
“Whoa! What are those?!” Beady black eyes stare up at me from atop the greens.
“Just some little prawns, love. Do they serve them up a wee bit different back in the States?” He grabs a few fries off the top of the towering pile of shoestring potatoes.
I laugh and wave off my heebie-jeebies.
“You were a natural out there today, love.”
“Thanks,” I say. Warmth creeps up my face.
“Tell me what brings you all the way to Australia on your own?”
I take a deep breath. It’s the first time I’ve had to explain it to anyone. I’m not good at playing the victim, even though my heart was broken publicly, and I hate to sugarcoat anything. “My fiancé left me at the altar.” The wave of shame washes over me again.
He puts his hand on my thigh. His fingers are strong pressing into my leg. “Love, that bloke’s a fool.” Sparkle. Gleam. His smile hypnotizes.
I catch Derek’s eye and ask for another.
“They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” I stab a prawn and wrestle it into my mouth and then share the sordid details of the last few days.
Bruce’s grip on my leg tightens and I can’t help but notice how long and warm his fingers feel. “And I hate roses and they’re everywhere I look. I love lilies. And he should have known that.” I take a gigantic gulp of my fresh drink. Bruce listens. Nods appropriately. I’m safe and seen next to him. We’re both quiet for a bit.
Bruce breaks the silence. “He fell for the fucking dance instructor? What a douchebag. Only thing more cliché would be if he had run off with your wedding coordinator.”
I laugh out loud and almost spit out my latest sip of espresso martini.
“Our wedding coordinator, Ned, the absolute best in Sunny Valley by the way, has been married to his partner Peter for twelve years. So Winston going for Ned would have been something.”
It feels good to laugh.
I reach across for a handful of fries accidentally knocking my glass over in the process. My drink spills all over the bar and Bruce.
“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!” I dab my napkin in water and start wiping the martini off his shorts. Shit. I look up as I realize how close I am to wiping his crotch.
He chuckles and says, “It’s ok, love. I’ve got more shorts.”
Setting my napkin on the bar, I hop off the barstool and everything spins. Bruce stands and steadies me with a hand on the small of my back.
“Let’s get you back to your room, darl,” he whispers into my ear.
I’m silent the whole way back. I fumble for the keycard in my bag. When I open the door, Bruce reaches down for a peck on the cheek.
“Sweet dreams, Frannie.”
“Thanks for making sure I made it back to my room.” Score another point for the handsome man who’s helping this damsel in distress. He gives me one of his trademarked smiles and disappears into the darkness.