Chapter 19
Chapter nineteen
Tom
Fuck, he’s beating me at my own game.
He’s pretty damn good at it too, not that I expected anything less by now. I guess spending the past week with me is rubbing off on him.
Now he’s flirting with me. That’s new.
I think he’s realized he has to adjust to handle little old me. So far, he’s done more than just that.
Old habit or chameleon soul? I’m not sure. But I’m dying to get to know every inch of who he really is.
We turn onto a narrow dirt road, gravel crunching under the tires and dust flying up behind us. This is definitely the backcountry of the island.
“We’re heading to my place now. It’s just down the road,” Yosh says.
Wait, what?
Plot twist. I definitely didn’t see that one coming. We’re going to his place?
I can’t help but wonder what sparked the change. Did something happen that made him feel more comfortable letting me in? Or is it just practical? We do need to pick up the boards, after all. Maybe it has nothing to do with trust.
That seems unlikely. He usually goes out of his way to protect his privacy. The way he answers personal questions, so carefully worded and precise, has been driving me insane.
I’ve never seen deflection handled with such grace, not even by seasoned politicians.
Part of me gets it. I’m the resort guest, he’s my ‘Arcadia mate’. Boundaries make sense, even if I’m clearly not following them.
Still, it feels like we’re getting closer. The rules are starting to blur and there are signs.
The way he just gave me that seductive look—the kind that makes me want to dig a hole in the ground and disappear—was one of them.
From where I’m standing, he’s trying to let me in.
I wonder what his place looks like. I’m guessing it’s minimalist and spotless, like his studio. A boring white space where everything has its place and there’s no room for clutter or stylish chaos.
That would be so him.
“Not what you were expecting, is it?” Yosh catches the shock on my face.
That’s a fucking understatement.
We’re standing in front of what can only be described as a ruin.
The paint is peeling off the walls, the fence is broken, and there’s an actual tree growing out of the roof.
But hey, at least the door is still intact, and only one window is broken.
The rusted gate groans like an iron bedframe at the brutal end of a fuck, the hinges barely holding on. A couple of lizards scurry off as we step through, disappearing into the dry, overgrown scrub by the front porch.
The house was once painted peach, but now the color’s faded, weathered by sun and salt air. It’s seen better days, much better. I finally understand why Yosh lives in Arcadia.
“I bought it six months ago,” he says, as if reading my mind. “Planning to renovate.”
I look up at the tree growing stubbornly out of the roofline.
I can’t help but grin.
“Figured you were the tree-hugging type, but you’re taking that kink to the next level.”
He gives me one of those sideways looks only he can pull off, quick and faux annoyed, a twitch at the corner of his mouth. A smile he doesn’t try too hard to hide.
He unlocks the front door and we step inside.
To my surprise, it’s not as bad as I expected. Sure, the place needs work— cracks spiderweb the walls, a leaky tap in the kitchen dripping in a lazy three quarter waltz—but the place isn’t collapsing. And the tree? It’s growing out of the shed behind the house, not the main structure.
I let out a breath of relief. A jungle in the living room might’ve been pushing it. For him, I mean. I would call it art.
Yosh takes the lead and disappears into the next room.
“You coming?” he calls back.
I follow him into what must’ve been a bedroom once, but is now more of a chaotic storage space.
There’s furniture, boxes, tools, paint cans.
Just stuff everywhere, stacked in loose clusters like he gave up halfway through organizing.
Two surfboards lean against the wall, half-covered by a few old blankets.
Definitely not the finesse he shows at the resort. This mess is unfiltered, and honestly, it’s the most real version of him I’ve seen so far.
He pulls the blankets one by one off the boards, tossing them aside. He doesn't even bother folding them.
The first board is bright turquoise, scratched and sun-worn, painted with purple waves and a candy-pink shark. Loud and flashy. Love it! I call dibs on that one.
The second one is more subtle. White, with a few thin black lines that form a pointed, snow-covered mountain. At the peak, there’s a soft red circle, like the sun rising behind.
It’s minimalistic, but amazingly beautiful; a piece of art.
Yosh reaches for the black-and-white board, tucks it under his arm, then nods at the turquoise one.
Yes, Yes. That one. Mine!
It’s bigger than I expected when I pick it up, but it feels familiar under my arm.
Me and Joan spent a couple of summers surfing the coastline of Biarritz. Not that I’m going to mention that. I’ve already decided to play the clueless beginner, just to see the look on his face when I casually blow him away with my so-called natural talent.
I bite back a grin. This is going to be fun.
I fumble with the board on purpose, adjusting my grip like I’ve got no clue what I’m doing as I follow him out to the car.
We lean the boards against the wall, then head back inside.
“Need to find wax...,” he mutters to himself. “And my wetsuit,”
He drops down beside a stack of boxes and shoves a few aside, sending a couple of dinosaur-era medical textbooks skittering across the floor. At the back, he pulls open a closet, its hinges creaking as loudly as the fence gate.
“Here.”
He turns and something comes flying at me. I catch it mid-air; it’s a bright blue, UV shirt, matching the board he gave me.
“To protect that sensitive skin of yours.”
“What, like I’m some kind of porcelain doll?” I shoot back from the doorway.
Not that he doesn’t have a point. I’m basically a vampire who somehow gets sunburned in the shade.
“Wear it, McKenna. Unless you’re hoping I’ll take care of you later.”
I shove the thing back into its box without hesitation.
He chuckles and disappears into the closet, coming back with a few more random items. They land in a cooler with a satisfying clatter, followed by my UV shirt.
I watch him trip over tools, dig through box after box like he’s been temporarily possessed.
Who is this person, and what has he done to Yosh?
This guy who tries so hard to be orderly, balanced, and neat is secretly an unhinged force of chaos. This is so. Fucking. Insane. I'm obsessed.
But I also think I understand now. He needs order in his life.
I decide to step in and start cleaning up after Mister Put-Together, placing things back where they belong.
Back outside, we fasten the boards to the rack of Yosh’s green Gremlin. With one final pull, I tighten the last tension strap until it feels secure.
Yosh takes a step back, tilting his head as he checks the setup.
He looks at me, eyes staying a little too long before offering a content smile.
Knowing him, his head is running a thousand miles an hour.
I rest a hand on his shoulder, just to say teamwork makes the dream work.
My other hand moves to my stomach, where something is definitely stirring. Whatever it is, it feels oddly pleasant. Like coming home to something I didn’t know I’d lost.
The ride to Starlight Beach is rough. We bounce over pothole after pothole, and the closer we get to the beach, the less it feels like something out of a travel brochure. No picture-perfect white sand here. It’s raw, a little wild.
I hop out of the Gremlin and walk around to the front.
The shoreline consists of sharp rocks sticking out of the water.
The bay itself is calm, an idyllic looking swimming spot.
Boats bob gently near a small pier, safe from the waves crashing against the rocks farther out.
That’s where the real action is. Kids, adults, all of them riding the waves like pros.
It’s nothing like the wide, sandy beach back in Biarritz where I first learned to surf.
And it’s not that it looks harder or anything. Just different.
When I glance over my shoulder, I spot the turquoise board leaning against the car. I jog back to help Yosh with the second one. It’s quick work.
Once everything’s loaded, we head for the shoreline, boards tucked under one arm, the cooler swinging between us.
“First things first,” he says, a tone that sounds like an order. “UV shirt, before the sun turns you into a pink flamingo.”
“I’d rather go with Pinot Noir or White Zinfandel. Merlot, if it gets really bad.”
He chuckles, reaching into the cooler.
“Of course, only you could make sunburn sound bougie.”
I nudge his shoulder, but I grab the shirt anyway and put it on. The fabric feels cool and surprisingly soft against my skin.
Then he hands me a bottle of sunscreen. His fingers brush mine in the process, a shiver shooting down my spine.
My eyes flick up to meet his, and it takes everything in me to keep the sun in my stomach from reaching my face.
“Reef-safe and for sensitive skin,” he says, noticing I’m still staring at him. “Figured your face couldn’t handle anything too harsh.”
“So you admit you’ve been looking at my face.” I smoothe the sunscreen into my palm before spreading it across my cheeks.
“Of course I have. As a medic, it’s second nature.”
Just as a medic, huh? Or is there something more to it? He emphasized that last part a bit too much, almost like it needed to sound convincing.
I think I’m getting tunnel vision. Seeing things just because I want there to be more.
I take a chunk of wax out of the cooler to prep my board, stroking even circles over its smooth surface. It’s a mindless task that lets my brain wander towards…dangerous territory. Especially with him this close.
I’ve been replaying the events from last night over and over again.