Chapter Eighteen
Threes was already waking up when Rowan arrived. Soft morning light brushed gold over the break; the familiar chorus of locals ribbing each other from the lineup; the steady hush-boom rhythm of waves that never failed to loosen something tight in her chest.
She should’ve been exhausted after last night. But her body still hummed, warm and restless under her skin, and she’d shoved that entire swirl of trouble into a mental box labeled Deal With Later.
Today was for Kelsey.
The girl paddled out beside her with a confidence that hadn’t been there a week ago. Her lanky limbs had found rhythm; her pop-up was smoother; even her falls had purpose now. Rowan watched her paddle and felt it again—that ache of pride that made her throat burn.
“You ready?” Rowan asked, tapping her board as they floated beyond the inside section.
Kelsey pushed up on her elbows, scanning the horizon with an earnest intensity Rowan adored. “They look . . . big.”
“They’re not big,” Rowan said gently. “They’re honest. They’ll tell you exactly what they’re going to do before they do it. But you have to watch. Not panic-watch. Real watch.”
Kelsey blew out a breath that wobbled. “Okay. Real watch.”
Rowan pointed with her chin. “See that crease out there? That’s a set starting to organize. Not yours. Too much power for today. But the one behind it? Look at how clean that face is. That’s a beginner’s dream.”
Kelsey nodded, shoulders squaring the way Everett’s did when he prepared for a battle.
God help her, Rowan had noticed too much about that man last night.
The way his voice went low and rough when he whispered her name.
The way his hands mapped her hips like he was learning something sacred.
The way he’d pushed inside her and owned every part.
Focus. She forced her attention back to the girl.
“Okay,” Rowan said. “Let’s practice reading the water. Tell me what you see.”
Kelsey peered out. “Um . . . that bump? Is that a wave starting?”
“That bump out there? That’s the peak starting to lift. Not yours. Too punchy. See the next one forming behind it? That’s the sweet spot—clean shoulder, easy drop. Start watching for that.”
Kelsey squinted. Then her eyes widened. “Oh! There—there’s the rise, right?”
Rowan’s grin split wide. “Hell yes, that’s the rise. That’s your wave. Turn your board. Slow—no jerking. Good.”
Kelsey turned, and Rowan felt pride spike sharp and bright inside her.
“Start paddling,” Rowan coached. “Not too soon. Wait . . . wait . . . now.”
Kelsey dug deep. Her stroke wasn’t perfect, but it was determined, and determination could make up for almost everything else.
The wave lifted. Rowan braced, ready to shout corrections, but Kelsey didn’t need them. She felt it. She paddled three clean strokes, pressed her hands to the deck, and popped up—
And stuck it.
A real clean ride at Threes.
Her stance was loose as a grom, her knees too stiff, but she rode the face for a solid, glorious five seconds before tumbling off in a spray of foam and limbs.
Rowan whooped so loud a couple of uncles in the lineup hollered approval. “Yes, Kelsey! That was gorgeous!”
Kelsey surfaced, sputtering, hair plastered across her face—but beaming. “I Did It! Did you see that?!”
“Hell yes, I saw!” Rowan yelled back, laughing. “You just rode Threes. Not the whole wave, but enough. Get your butt back out here for another.”
Kelsey paddled toward her with wild joy lighting her face. “Dad is going to freak out when I tell him.”
Rowan’s chest squeezed. She hoped he would.
Last night he’d claimed her like she was oxygen and he’d been underwater too long. And now her body had the nerve to remember every detail while she was trying to teach his daughter to surf.
Kelsey reached her and Rowan steadied the board. “Okay,” she said, clearing her throat. “Let’s do it again. I want to see that bottom turn today.”
Kelsey grinned. “A real one?”
“A real one,” Rowan confirmed. “Even if it’s tiny. Even if it’s barely a twitch. Today you earn your first real cutback.”
They paddled out together, water warm and green around them. Rowan watched the girl watch the ocean—really watch it—for the first time. Not with fear. Not with hesitation.
With hunger.
And something inside Rowan cracked open. The ocean had taken so much from her, left her wrecked and afraid for months. But seeing Kelsey fall in love with it—seeing this quiet, lonely girl transform out here where the world felt bigger and kinder?
It healed something Rowan hadn’t realized was still raw.
When another clean swell approached, Rowan touched Kelsey’s ankle in signal. “This one. Take it.”
And this time, Kelsey didn’t question. She paddled, rose, and turned.
Rowan allowed the rush of joy to hit, and realized how much she’d missed it.
Realized how both of them had already changed her life.
By Friday, the week had blurred into a swirl of walk-throughs, meetings, and the faint throb of exhaustion behind his eyes. The Purity project had moved from vision to countdown—every detail needing his signature, every department holding its breath until he gave the final word.
It should’ve felt like victory.
Instead, all he could think about was her.
Rowan.
He could still taste the salt of her skin.
The way she’d whispered his name against his neck.
The sweet, honeyed taste of her mouth and the spice between her thighs.
Everett hadn’t been able to stay away, so he’d visited twice more, not caring about sleep or work, just the next hit.
It was everything he wanted from a summer affair.
Reasonable rules. No promises. Just need.
And yet, here he was on Friday, checking his phone too often, hoping for a text that said something simple like see you soon.
Kelsey’s surf lessons had become the bright spots in his days.
When he’d shown up unannounced on the beach to watch, her face lit up like it was Christmas morning.
He’d stood off to the side with his phone tucked into his pocket, watching Rowan guide his daughter through the water with patience and easy confidence.
It hit him then, harder than expected: This was what he’d missed.
Not the water. Not the sun. The feeling of being present.
By late afternoon, Everett’s office felt like a pressure cooker—emails piling, approvals waiting, and the steady hum of deadlines tightening.
The opening countdown board glowed from the corner like a silent dare.
He should have felt triumphant. Instead, a dull ache lived behind his eyes, a constant reminder that he hadn’t slept more than four hours at a time since he’d met Rowan Delaney.
A knock tapped once. Before he answered, Matthew let himself in.
“Hope I’m not interrupting. Jessica wasn’t at her desk.”
Everett gestured to the chair across from his desk. “No problem, I sent her to put out a few fires. What do you need?”
Matthew sat, folding his long frame with the elegance of someone born into expensive furniture.
Up close, the man looked even more like the archetype of a corporate general manager—silver hair perfectly combed; linen shirt immaculate; a confidence that came from decades of being the smartest man in the room, or believing he was.
“I wanted to speak to you about the community-integration procedures you’ve put in place,” Matthew said, sliding a tablet forward. “Specifically, the operations memo on scheduling and guest-facing hours.”
Everett leaned back. “Go on.”
Matthew tapped the tablet with practiced precision.
“You’ve approved an additional thirty-six volunteer hours this week.
Beach cleanup, reef-restoration staffing, even that youth program orientation.
Important initiatives, yes, but they’re pulling housekeepers and front desk staff from their shifts. ”
“They volunteered,” Everett said. “On their own time.”
Matthew’s smile was the kind a man used when he humored a child. “Yes. And on their own time, they become tired. Fatigue leads to slower response times and decreased guest satisfaction. And Purity is, first and foremost, a luxury brand.”
Everett kept his expression neutral. “Luxury and community aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“Well,” Matthew said mildly, “not for now. But once you return to New York, I’ll be expected to keep this property running with the same standards the other Purity hotels maintain. I have to think ahead. Nostalgia makes lovely marketing copy, but it rarely pays the bills.”
Everett bristled. “This isn’t nostalgia. It’s identity. Guests come here because we’re part of the island, not in spite of it.”
Matthew chuckled. “With all due respect, guests come for thread count and ocean views. Everything else is a bonus.”
Everett exhaled slowly, Rowan’s voice threaded through his memory.
You don’t have to fix everything, Suit. Let someone else carry the damn load.
He wanted to push back, but Purity was only a temporary assignment. He needed to keep his focus on his real goal: the promotion waiting for him back home. “Okay,” Everett said, surprising even himself. “What do you suggest?”
Matthew blinked. He clearly hadn’t expected cooperation.
It threw him off his script. “Well,” he recovered, smoothing his shirt cuff, “I’d like to streamline volunteer approvals.
No more last-minute requests. And I’d prefer tighter oversight on vendor relations.
Some of these local suppliers are . . . inconsistent. ”
There it was. The real angle.
Everett resisted the urge to rub his temples. “We’re not cutting partnerships. They’re part of the foundation of this property.”
Matthew’s smile thinned. “We’ll see what the numbers say.”
Everett leaned forward, making his tone deliberate. “Here’s what we’ll do. Draft a full proposal outlining the operational changes you want. Staff impact, cost savings, guest experience projections. Bring it to me Monday.”
Matthew paused. Then lowered his chin in a slow, cool nod. “As you wish.”