Chapter 2
COLT
Istepped off the private jet and breathed in the briny sea air.
I hadn’t smelled that air in four years.
A flood of memories rolled over me. The same scent that had followed me through every summer of my childhood was carrying me back to a time of long summer days and even longer summer nights. Bonfires and cold beer.
The place felt like home more than Texas did until I figured out I couldn’t be in two places at once.
I told myself it was timing. Distance. Life. But none of those excuses erased the memory of coconut sunscreen and sea salt. I couldn’t make myself forget the way Summer’s smile used to knock the air out of me.
That smile and those sea-glass eyes still haunted me in the best way. No man would ever forget meeting a beautiful mermaid.
“You good, bro?” Cody asked.
I glanced to my left. My brother stood beside me, sunglasses on and looking far too casual. I was stressing out and he looked like he was ready to go tanning.
“Yeah,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “I’m good.”
Cody smirked and shook his head. “She’s probably long gone. Living out her surfer dreams somewhere in Hawaii.”
I would accept the lie. It was easier to believe she’d moved on. I hoped she was happy. Truly.
I wasn’t here to rekindle anything. Whatever had happened here before was in the past. This summer wasn’t about memories or romance.
It was about the project. I was in town to set up the beachfront headquarters.
It was all business. The summer was about expansion.
Legacy. And this time, I had every intention of staying focused.
No mermaids were going to distract me.
The hired driver waved at us from across the tarmac. The airport staff unloaded our bags and took them to the SUV.
Cody slapped me on the shoulder. “Let’s go. It’s humid as hell out here.”
We got into the back of the SUV, which felt weird.
I liked driving myself but I had zero interest in navigating the San Diego traffic.
Riding in back made me feel like a rich guy.
Yes, I was wealthy. The drive up the PCH was relaxing despite the traffic.
I caught glimpses of the ocean and felt my blood pressure dropping.
The Texas ranch was peaceful, but it was work. A lot of work.
The SUV pulled into the driveway of the beach house that used to be one of my favorite places in the world. It all looked the same. The house was stunning. It was in a Mediterranean style that made it stick out among some of the other older style homes up and down the coastline.
I climbed out of the SUV and stared up at the massive house that sprawled across the three-acre property. Two stories. Ten bedrooms and fourteen bathrooms. It had every amenity anyone could want. My parents bought it when I was young and had spent a lot of money renovating it.
“You going to stare at it or go inside?” Cody said, already halfway up the front steps.
“Just taking it in.”
“You’re sentimental. It’s embarrassing. It’s hot. I hope the staff has the AC blasting.”
Staff greeted us at the front door, taking our bags and quickly delivering them to our bedrooms. Cody headed straight for the kitchen. It was well after dinner and he’d been complaining about being hungry since we touched down.
White cabinets, butcher block counters, the row of sea-glass figurines along the window ledge catching the soft glow of the setting sun. The view was worth every penny my parents paid for the place.
I turned away from the window. Cody had the refrigerator open and was leaning into it like a man conducting a serious inventory. “Somebody stocked it. Bless whoever did that.” He straightened up with a Corona in each hand. “Beer?”
“No,” I said. “I’m going for a run.”
He lowered both bottles and looked at me like I’d just told him I was going to take up knitting. “We just got off a plane.”
“I know.”
“A long plane ride.”
“Private jet, Cody. It’s not exactly coach. And that’s exactly why I want to go for a run.”
He set one of the Coronas on the counter and twisted the cap off the other. “You always do this. We get somewhere, and instead of just being there, you go run it out.”
“It helps me think. I love running on the beach. You should join me.”
“I’d rather drive screwdrivers into my eyes. And ears.”
“Don’t knock it until you try it.”
“Sit down. Have a beer. We’ll go on the back patio and look at the beach. I think that’s far more relaxing.”
“Later.” I was already moving toward the stairs. “Don’t wait on me.”
“Not planning on it,” he called after me.
My room was at the end of the upstairs hall. I pushed the door open. My suitcase was sitting on the low bench. The queen-sized bed was in the same place it had been for probably twenty years.
The model sailboat that I’d built at eleven and never finished painting sat on the bookshelf along with my shell collection and the bits of sea glass I had found over the years.
I knew I should probably get rid of all of it, but I guessed I was a sentimental guy.
I could remember finding every single shell on that shelf. I had found a lot of them with Summer.
There were a few framed photos of me and my brothers over the years. All of them taken on the beach or sitting in the massive living room downstairs with the ocean visible behind us through the wall of windows that covered that side of the house.
I moved to the window and opened the blinds.
My brothers were jealous of my bedroom. I couldn’t count the number of times they tried to get me to trade with them.
Like hell. I had an amazing view. And my other window peered into the backyard of the house next door.
Not directly into her window or anything creepy but it was a connection.
I looked out at the water. The sun was low, painting everything in soft yellow and orange. I could see people on the beach. Older women powerwalking. There were a few joggers and a guy walking a Great Dane. That’s what I’d been missing.
I grabbed my suitcase and tossed it on the bed. I knew there were clothes here but it’d been years and I couldn’t even say what was in the drawers and the closet. I stripped out of my slacks and polo shirt, tossing them in the corner. I’d unpack later.
I sat down on the edge of my bed and put on the new running shoes I’d bought specifically for my time in Surfside. I quickly laced them up and went back downstairs.
Cody was on the patio, beer in hand and his feet propped up on one of the footstools. He raised his beer at me as I passed.
“Don’t forget to hydrate,” he said.
I walked toward the gate that protected our property from random beachgoers. It needed a quick code and then I was walking along the path through the tall seagrass. I hit the sand and turned south.
My muscles were begging to get moving, but I did a few stretches first. I planned on taking it easy until I got used to running on the sand again.
Starting the summer with a pulled muscle would put a serious damper on this vacation.
Once I felt sufficiently warmed up, I jogged toward the packed sand near the waterline and fell into my stride.
I ran to clear my head. Always had. There was something about the rhythm of it. It was the only time I could really think. If I was in the office, there was too much noise. At home, noise. My phone. The TV. Just too much.
I rarely ran with headphones on. If I wanted to listen to music, I could do that in the car or at home.
I jogged around a couple sitting on a blanket taking in the sunset.
A few old men were running metal detectors across the beach.
I glanced up to the houses, hearing music coming from one.
Someone was grilling. The smell of seasoned meat carried on the breeze.
That was a smell I was very familiar with.
I could feel the stress leaving my body even as my calves started to tense and my lungs burned. My eyes moved to the horizon and that’s when I spotted the surfer maybe fifty yards out.
One lone figure sitting on a board, watching the water and waiting for the right moment.
The light was low and the distance was enough that I couldn’t make out much.
I kept running. There was always someone in the water in a town like this.
Didn’t mean anything. Plenty of people surfed this stretch at dusk.
I spent many summer nights watching surfers take advantage of the empty water.
There weren’t any big waves, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy the ride.
I watched the surfer paddle into position.
The wave came and they were up in one fluid motion, arms out just slightly for balance.
I knew the stance, with the person’s weight back on the tail until just the right time and then shifting forward.
Damn, the person was good. I slowed down, watching the graceful movements on the water.
The surfer cut back toward the whitewater, rode the foam, and then stepped off the board in one clean motion, right into the shallows, without missing a beat. I stopped running and stared. That dismount seemed familiar.
The way someone moved on a board was as unique as a fingerprint.
I’d spent enough summers on the beach to know that.
You could put fifty surfers in the water, and after enough time, you could tell them apart by their style alone.
The way they read the wave, the way they positioned their weight, the way they committed.
You didn’t have to see their faces to know who was who. And I knew that surfer.
She hadn’t left.
I stood at the waterline and watched her paddle back out.
I tried to talk myself out of what my eyes were seeing.
People moved away. People moved on. Surfside wasn’t the kind of town that held everyone forever.
She could have gone to Hawaii, Florida, Australia.
But she was here. I would recognize that sleek style anywhere.
She sat up on the board again, looking out at the horizon, and even from here there was something about the way she held herself. She was so comfortable in the water. From the moment I first saw her, I noticed. She truly was half-mermaid. She’d been born to surf.
Summer Banks had never left Surfside.
She was so close and yet so far. She had no idea I was standing on the shore watching her like an idiot. Would she be happy to see me? Pissed? Did she even remember me?
I sure as hell have never forgotten her.