Chapter Twenty
Rowan loved the way the North Shore greeted her like a dog-eared book she knew by heart.
Chun’s Reef was a favorite spot. The sets were fat and patient, with the water tipping from turquoise to deep blue where the reef dropped away and glittered.
The trade winds kicked up the smell of salt, reef at low tide, and grilled meat, drifting across the highway from the food trucks. A diesel tang rode underneath.
Rowan took it all in, excited to share her second home with the two people next to her.
She parked Tino’s battered van along a strip of dirt by the ironwood trees, like everyone else.
Towels fluttered from cracked windows to dry in the wind.
Surfboards sat strapped to roofs with frayed bungee cords, their wax melting a little in the late-morning heat.
The sun was bold and smug in a perfect blue sky, and the sand burned underfoot.
Rowan slid out and stretched. Knee felt tight, but not too bad.
She rubbed it, the old ache reminding her of that fateful day of loss.
She wondered if it was time to think of it like a familiar friend.
Her father always advised how the mind could speed up healing by a simple perspective shift. Maybe she was finally ready to try it.
“Whoa.” Kelsey’s voice was pure awe. Her ash-blond hair flew around her face, and her braces flashed bright blue when she smiled. She wore a yellow dress over her swimsuit and tan flip-flops. “It looks like a postcard.”
“It is,” Rowan said. “It’s just got sand in the corners.”
Everett stepped out of the van. The white T-shirt was Calvin Klein and stretched across his shoulders and chest. The board shorts were simple black, somehow making them look like business wear in the elegant way he wore them.
He looked wrong and right here at the same time.
His onyx hair had gotten wind-tousled, the short cut defying order in the breeze.
The ocean light turned his dark eyes nearly black.
He squinted, scanned the beach, and a corner of his mouth tipped up, like he was amused and trying not to show it.
He should’ve looked ridiculous—six two of designer suits and schedules dropped into a casual surf world—but he didn’t. He just looked like a man who was trying.
And sexy.
“It’s hot as Hades,” he said.
Rowan grinned. “That trip isn’t on my destination map, but the trade winds are doing their best.” Kelsey laughed and Everett shook his head. “Come on. I want to show her the inside break. Good day for it. She won’t get pummeled.”
He winced. Pummeled was not a word suits or fathers liked. He narrowed his gaze, and she widened her eyes with innocence. Rowan adored sparring with him, both in and out of the bedroom.
They crossed the sand. Rowan’s flip-flops squeaked and flung little bursts of heat against her soles.
A group of longboarders sat beyond the inside section, legs straddled over their boards, chatting and waiting.
The sets rolled in with a lazy slowness, but Rowan understood it was a ruse.
The North Shore was unforgiving, but she knew how to keep Kelsey safe and still give her a thrill.
Kelsey crouched to dig her hands into the sand. “It’s so soft. Like flour.”
“It’s coral ground down over a few million years,” Rowan said. “So technically, you’re playing in fish poop.”
Kelsey shrieked with laughter. “Rowan!”
Everett shot her a mock glare. “Great. I’m letting my daughter swim in excrement.”
“You’ll live, Suit.”
He gave her a look that landed somewhere between a glare and a smirk. “You keep calling me that, I’m putting it on my next business card.” The heat between them ebbed and rose like the waves. She was getting addicted.
Kelsey kicked off her sandals next to the bag, peeled off the dress, and bounced on her toes. “I’m ready!”
“Let me wax up the board,” Rowan said. She’d brought the blue soft-top from Tino’s, perfect for learning. She worked the wax in tight circles, felt the familiar drag under her palm, smelled coconut from someone’s sunscreen. The wax stuck to her fingers, and she wiped them on her shorts.
Everett watched with curiosity and the normal wariness of a non-surfer. “You’re good to take her?” he asked.
Rowan met his gaze with seriousness. “I’ve got her. Safety is my number one priority. Inside, small waves. We’ll stay far from the rocks, and you can watch from there.” She pointed to a spot near the palm shade and the picnic tables. “You’ll see everything.”
His mouth twitched. “I’ll try not to shout advice from the shore.”
“You can shout encouragement,” Kelsey piped, then linked her arm through Rowan’s. “He’s good at encouragement. He asks me questions after, though. Like three hundred questions.”
Rowan laughed. “We can ration him. Let’s go, surf girl.”
They waded in and the water wrapped their calves cool and slick.
Rowan felt the tug of the current threading over the sand, a reminder that even the inside at North Shore had its moods.
She guided the board and made sure Kelsey got her hands placed right.
“Prone first. Feel where your chest should be. Find your sweet spot. No sitting on the back end—you’ll stall it. ”
“I won’t,” Kelsey said solemnly. She lay flat, chin up, eyes big but steady. Her pop-ups were now second level because of her dedicated hours of practice and her hunger to master the move.
Rowan adjusted her foot. “There you go. Paddling is small and sharp. Fingers cupped, pull with your whole arm. Not just your hands.”
“What about shark—”
“Nope,” Rowan said, clipping the fear before it grew teeth. “Eyes on me. This is your wave. I’ll push you in. Pop to your feet, look where you want to go. Not down.”
“Got it.” She looked at the horizon with excitement.
Rowan glanced back to the beach. Everett stood with arms crossed, gaze focused. When he saw her looking, he lifted his hand in a half wave. Present. Holding space for his daughter. Warmth rushed through her veins and she turned back to Kelsey.
She pushed the board into position. “Ready?” she called.
Kelsey nodded. The wave hit. Rowan gave a smooth push, felt the board take, and shouted, “Now!”
Kelsey did it. Not perfectly. Her back foot landed a little too forward, and she wobbled, squeaked, almost ate it, then saved it by flinging her arms out and cutting her eyes to the right. She rode the foam straight until it thinned out over the sand.
She grinned, and Everett shook his hand in the air with triumph.
“Again,” Kelsey said, breathless. “Can we go again?”
“As many times as your arms can handle,” Rowan said.
“Grab your board’s nose. We’re heading back out.
” Rowan paddled beside Kelsey until they reached the pocket where the waves began to steepen.
“Okay, this is where you level up,” she said, tapping the rail of Kelsey’s board.
“A bottom turn isn’t about muscling it—it’s timing.
Let the wave do the work. Drop in, stay low, and as soon as you hit the base, shift your weight to your toes and look where you want to go. Your shoulders lead, not your board.”
Another swell rose, clean and patient. Rowan pointed with her chin.
“That one’s yours. Don’t force it. Feel it.
” Kelsey paddled hard, popped up smooth and sure, knees bent deep.
She hit the bottom, hesitated—then committed.
A small but perfect carve, the board responding instantly.
Rowan whooped, pride swelling hot and sharp in her chest as Kelsey cut down the line, finally starting to look less like a beginner and more like a surfer.
They worked the board back through the waist-deep water.
Wave two was better. Kelsey planted the front foot exactly where Rowan had tapped earlier.
She bent her knees deeper, low and strong.
She rode longer, face lit and mouth open in a squeal that made a couple of teenagers sitting on the inside laugh.
Not mean—the kind of laugh that said they remembered that feeling, too.
“Paddle wide on the way back out. Don’t go straight into the impact zone,” Rowan reminded her.
Kelsey paddled for the next wave with all the eagerness of someone who’d tasted her first real carve and wanted the next hit.
She popped up clean, rode the face a few seconds—then panicked.
Instead of dropping low into the turn, she locked her knees and leaned too far on her heels.
The board skittered out from under her like a frightened puppy.
She tumbled into the foam with a splash big enough to earn a few sympathetic hoots from the lineup.
Rowan winced and paddled toward her. Kelsey surfaced with a groan. “That was terrible. I forgot everything. My feet went stupid. My brain went stupid. My whole body betrayed me.”
Rowan bit back a smile. “Welcome to surfing. If you’re not falling, you’re not learning.”
Kelsey flopped onto her board, scowling at the horizon. “I had it. I had it. And then I just . . . freaked.”
“Yep,” Rowan said lightly. “That was a classic ‘my body panicked because the wave got real’ moment. Happens to everyone.”
Kelsey pushed wet hair off her face. “So what do I do? To be better?”
Rowan tapped the rail of her board with her knuckles. “Your instinct was to freeze, and freezing makes you fall. Next time, when you feel that drop and your stomach flips? Bend your knees deeper. Low is stable. Look where you want to go. Your shoulders steer the board—your fear doesn’t.”
Kelsey let out a shaky breath. “So, get lower. Look ahead. Turn off my mind.”
“Easier said than done. That’s why it’s called learning. Trust yourself. You know the mechanics now. Let your body remember them.”
Kelsey chewed her lip, then nodded. “Okay. Fine. One more.”
Rowan felt a surge of pride. Stubbornness was a surfer’s greatest asset. “Good. Because the next one? That wave already belongs to you. You just have to claim it.”