CHAPTER 8 #2
A faint wave of warmth washed over her. Even from the corner of her eye, she could tell how good he looked. Yeah, she had noticed earlier how good he looked in the wetsuit. Katrina had said something about a broad chest, long, strong legs and muscular biceps. Her sister wasn’t exaggerating at all.
Suddenly the air between them became so stifling she couldn’t take it any longer. She reached for the tote bag she’d left on the sand and pulled out two bottles of water. She handed one to Ryan and he thanked her.
She twisted the cap off hers and took a long drink, aware of his eyes, still on her. The water had lost its chill but was still cool and refreshing. She let out a satisfied sigh. “God, that’s nice.”
“Yeah,” Ryan said, his voice a little rough.
Marina glanced at him over the rim of her bottle. He had finally stopped sneaking glances at her, though he now seemed intensely interested in the horizon. She suspected he was trying to recover from his own embarrassment. The thought made her smile.
“Thanks for the coaching,” he said after a moment. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“You’re welcome. I actually wanted to.”
The words slipped out before she had a chance to examine them. She leaned back on her hands, stretching her legs out over the warm sand. “It’s been a while since I’ve done that.”
“Coached someone?”
“Surfed like that.” She looked toward the water. “I don’t usually go out in the mornings anymore because of the night shift. But then again, it was just an excuse.” She smiled faintly. “I needed a bit of a push. I need to thank Katrina.”
“Yes, you should.”
She heard the smile in his voice and turned to look at him.
“Why’d you stop surfing?”he asked next.
The question lingered between them. She watched another set of waves roll toward shore, considering how to answer him. “I still surf,” she said at last. “Just not as seriously.”
“Why not?”
God. He was asking some difficult questions.
She shrugged. “Life, I guess. Work. Other priorities.”
It wasn't a lie. It simply wasn't the whole truth.
She couldn’t tell him that every time she paddled out she expected to hear her father's voice somewhere beyond the break. She couldn’t tell him that surfing had once been the happiest part of her life, and now it hurt almost as much as it healed.
Thankfully, Ryan didn't press further.
“Well,” he said, “you’re still a champ. That stuff you were doing out there... I’ve never seen anything like it.”
She laughed softly. “Thanks.”
The silence that followed felt surprisingly comfortable. Neither of them seemed in any hurry to leave. She really should get going, but a moment longer wouldn’t hurt.
A gull drifted overhead. Waves folded lazily onto the beach before retreating again.
“Your dad must have been incredible,” Ryan said. “Katrina told me he taught you both.”
Marina's smile faded. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “He was. He won a lot of competitions when he was younger. Mom did too.”
“Does he still surf?”
The question landed with the innocence of someone who couldn't possibly know. She looked down at the bottle in her hands and struggled with the emotion for a second.
“He passed away,” she said. “Mom, too.”
The color drained from Ryan's face. “Oh.” He looked genuinely horrified. “God... I'm sorry.”
She met his eyes. “It’s okay. It’s been many years.”
It wasn't okay. It probably never would be. But she appreciated that he didn't ask how.
He simply sat beside her. The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was respectful. Somehow that meant more than any apology could have.
Eventually Marina brushed the sand from the backs of her legs and stood. “I should get going. I need to get to work a little early today.”
Ryan stood too, lifting his board. “I’m going to practice a little more. Then I’m meeting Katrina to talk about the website for her surf school.”
Katrina. The name settled over Marina like cool water. Of course. That was exactly where Ryan should be.
She forced herself to smile. “You know, you don’t have to do that. It’s your vacation.”
“I don’t mind,” he said. “I like building stuff like that. It’s really not a big deal.”
She nodded. “Okay.” She bent to gather her wetsuit. “Oh... and thank you.”
He blinked. “What for?”
“For keeping quiet. About the Beacon.”
“Of course.”
She smiled, tucked the wetsuit over her shoulder, and turned toward the path. The look on his face tugged at something inside her. She had the feeling he wasn't ready for her to leave. But she resisted the urge to look back. Keep going, she told herself. This was the right ending. It had to be.
“Marina.” His voice stopped her.
She turned back.
He had stepped closer without her noticing. “I really did love your dance,” he said. “I just wanted you to know that. I don't think less of you or anything like that.”
For a moment she forgot to breathe. He didn't think less of her. And he wasn't pretending because she could see it in his eyes. A warmth spread quietly through her chest, gentler than desire, deeper than relief.
“That's really sweet of you,” she said.
Neither of them moved. The breeze lifted a loose strand of hair across her cheek.
Ryan reached toward her, hesitating just a moment.
She didn’t step away. A flutter of panic filled her as she realized she wanted him to kiss her—more than she should.
His face moved closer, so close she could see the tiny flecks of green in his hazel eyes, and suddenly, her thoughts faded away.
Then Katrina's face flashed in her mind, and her voice.
Could you teach him? Please?
I've never felt this way before, sis.
The warmth inside her collapsed into guilt. She lifted her hand and rested it gently against his chest. “You’re a nice guy, Ryan,” she said softly. “And Katrina likes you.”
The confusion that crossed his face almost broke her heart. “Katrina?”
Marina nodded. “She hasn't stopped talking about you for the past couple of days.” A faint smile found its way to her lips despite everything. “She isn't easily impressed by guys.”
He looked away, trying to make sense of it. “I don't think...”
“You don't see it?”
He didn't answer. Neither of them seemed to know where to go from there.
Marina lowered her hand. Ryan's confusion caught her off guard—he hadn't known.
Every instinct she had screamed at her to take the words back. To tell him she'd been mistaken. That he should forget everything she'd just said.
Instead she lifted one small wave. “Take care, Cowboy.”
She turned before he could see how much it hurt. She didn't look back. If she had, she wasn't sure she would have kept walking.