Chapter Twenty-Three
It was official.
He’d never felt more ridiculous.
The heat hadn’t eased, lasering down, trying to bake his exposed skin to brown.
Locals drifted by in bikinis and board shorts, carrying surfboards that looked like extensions of their bodies.
Everett stood among them in brand-new trunks that still had a crease and a shirt that read Aloha State in ironic block letters.
His pale calves already looked like a dare.
He spotted Tino by the waterline, stacking boards in the sand. The man waved with a lazy arc, sunlight catching on the ink winding around his biceps.
“You’re on time,” Tino said when Everett approached. “Good sign. Ocean respects that.”
“I thought surfing was about going with the flow.”
Tino grinned. “Only people who are late say that.”
Everett huffed a laugh despite himself. “Fair enough.”
He looked at the board Tino had selected for him. It was long and wide, with the faint scars of previous victims. “This one looks seasoned.”
“This board is forgiving. You need it.”
Everett raised a brow. “Do I?”
“Yeah,” Tino said easily, waxing the board in slow, practiced strokes. “You’re the kind of man who plans everything. Ocean don’t like plans. You’ve got to listen to her, not manage her.”
He frowned, sensing Tino was talking about more than water. “Hmm. Ocean’s that complicated? Or are we talking about a woman?”
The man barked out a laugh. “Both.” Everett watched his expert handling with respect. “Your woman took Kelsey to practice at Threes so we have some privacy.”
His lip quirked at the term. He liked it, thinking of Rowan as his. “Surprised they didn’t want a front seat to my humiliation.”
Tino shook his head, serious. “There is no shame in falling. It’s an honor to learn, so let go of any idea you’re attached to.”
“Makes sense. Not sure I can do that, though. Not how I usually work.”
“That’s why we practice.” He cocked his head, studying him, then motioned for him to sit. “You work at the fancy hotel.”
“More like management.”
“Mmm.” Tino nodded. “So you like control. Telling people what to do.” His eyes danced with mischief. “You tell water what to do, she’ll laugh.”
Everett smirked. “You’re enjoying this.”
“A little bit.” Tino’s grin widened. “But I respect it. You’re here and that means something. Especially to your daughter.” He winked. “And Rowan.”
He handed over a sanding block and a small board with a hairline crack near the nose. “First, we sand, even and slow. You feel the surface.”
Everett knelt in the sand, the sun hot on his neck, and began sanding. The rasping sound of paper over fiberglass filled the quiet. He worked the way he did everything—precise, focused, determined to do it right.
“Stop,” Tino said. “You’re attacking her.”
Everett looked up. “I’m . . . what?”
“Gentle,” Tino said. “Board’s not your enemy. You listen and she’ll tell you when she’s ready.”
Everett tried again. His movements slowed. The rhythm shifted. The noise softened. The board began to hum under his hands instead of hiss.
Tino nodded, pleased. “Better. You teach your body to listen. That’s the first rule of surfing.”
Everett straightened, sand clinging to his knees. “I feel like you should write a book.”
“Too much work,” Tino said, picking up the board. “Okay, Suit. Time for the lesson.”
Everett groaned. “You, too?”
“She calls you that. I like it.” He cocked his head. “You surf before?”
Everett hesitated. “I’ve stood on a paddleboard once. On a lake.”
Tino winced. “Different animal. The lake is calm, but the ocean got attitude. We’ll start easy.” He patted the board. “Lie down.”
Everett froze. “On the sand?”
“On the board,” Tino corrected. “Pretend the sand is the ocean. We won’t kill you yet.”
Reluctantly, Everett knelt, then stretched out on the board, trying to ignore the way his knees and elbows protested.
Tino tapped his shoulder blade. “Back foot here. Hands under chest. Look at the horizon, not your feet. If you look down, you fall.”
Everett obeyed, focusing on a distant sailboat.
“Okay, now pop up.”
He knew the term and had watched Kelsey do it, but now his brain blanked. “Pop up?”
“Like this.” Tino demonstrated—a smooth, graceful transition from prone to standing, balanced as if he’d been born there. God, the guy was twenty years older than him and showing him up. “Your turn.”
Everett braced his arms and pushed up awkwardly. His knees caught. His back foot dragged. He toppled sideways into the sand.
Tino nodded solemnly. “Beautiful fall. Very artistic.”
Everett groaned and brushed grit off his arm. “How many times do I have to do that?”
“Until you stop looking like you’re doing yoga wrong.”
He laughed. “So never.”
They tried again. And again. Each attempt a little smoother. By the sixth pop-up, Everett landed on both feet—shaky but upright.
Tino crossed his arms. “See? Not terrible.”
“I’ll have that engraved,” Everett said dryly. Tino instructed him to repeat the same moves until it became more natural. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. He could do this.
“Now we take it to the water. You ready?”
“Define ‘ready.’”
Tino cackled like he knew an inside joke and handed him the board. The ocean was warm, the late sun skipping over the small breakers. Tino led the way out until the water hit their waists. The horizon stretched wide. Diamond Head shimmered beside them.
“Okay, Suit,” Tino said. “Paddle for me.”
Everett climbed onto the board, awkward as a newborn giraffe, and began paddling. His arms flailed, water splashing everywhere.
“Relax,” Tino said. “You fight her, she fights back.”
“I’m not fighting,” Everett protested between strokes.
“You fight everything. That’s why you’re tired all the time.”
Everett stopped mid-paddle, blinking. “You’ve been talking to Rowan, haven’t you.”
Tino chuckled. “I don’t need to. I see it. You’re a man with too many rules.”
“And you think surfing will fix that?”
“Not fix. Remind.”
He steadied the board. “Okay. When I say go, you paddle. When you feel the wave lift you, pop up just like you did on sand. No thinking. Thinking will get you hurt.”
“That advice applies to more than surfing,” Everett muttered.
Tino grinned. “You’re learning already.”
The first wave came. Everett paddled, popped up, and immediately face-planted. The next one sent him tumbling backward. By the fourth, he was coughing up seawater and laughing.
It was the first time in years he’d laughed that hard at himself.
He brushed water from his eyes and caught sight of something on the shore—two familiar figures.
Rowan stood barefoot in the sand, her short cover-up revealing the lines of her bare limbs, hands on her hips. Kelsey was beside her, clutching Bagel like a football and cheering loud enough for the entire beach to hear.
“Go, Dad! You can do it!”
Tino elbowed him lightly. “That next one is for her.”
Everett nodded, adjusted his stance, and paddled again. The wave rose under him—gentle but strong. He pushed up, knees bending, balance teetering—then steadied.
He was up.
For a few glorious seconds, he was riding.
Rowan clapped. Kelsey screamed his name.
He reached the shallows, stumbled off, and turned with a grin splitting his face.
Kelsey sprinted toward him, water splashing around her ankles. “You did it! You surfed!”
“I think I survived,” he said with a laugh. “There’s a difference.”
Rowan approached with Bagel firmly in her arms. Her green eyes sparkled with pride and amusement. “Not bad for your first lesson, Suit.”
He arched a brow. “You doubted me.”
“Constantly.”
He laughed, shaking his head, droplets flying. “You know, you’re terrible for my ego.”
She smirked. “You’re welcome.”
Tino carried the boards in, calling over his shoulder, “Next time, we’ll try real waves. Maybe he won’t cry.”
“I didn’t cry,” Everett said. Rowan and Kelsey shared a glance. “I didn’t!”
That broke them into giggles. He loved the unguarded, joyous sound, making it all worth it. Kelsey clapped her hands. “You looked so cool, Dad! You looked happy.”
Everett froze, throat tight. It was too much and he fumbled, reaching for humor. “You didn’t see my very painful face-plant. Definitely uncool.”
She shot Rowan a knowing look. “If you’re not falling, you’re not learning,” she recited.
Everett groaned. “Great. Now I’ve got you both and Tino giving life lessons. How do you manage, Bagel?”
The rabbit regarded him with his usual judgmental stare, refusing to blink or surrender first. But the nights spent with Rowan had softened him a bit. He didn’t growl when Everett reached out to rub his head with affection.
It was enough.