Chapter 20
I won’t admit to Riley that I already feel soreness creeping up my legs. I’m afraid I’ll seem too amateur—which I am—or too off brand for a yoga instructor. But surfing is more of a full body workout than I expected.
Out of breath, I drag the board to the sand and lay down on it, stretching my arms above my head and pointing my toes, which are chilly under the sand caking my feet. It’s a stark contrast from the heat my wetsuit traps in my upper body, but its coziness rivals the sun drying the water from bare legs, leaving tiny clusters of salt on my skin.
So in tune with my body at the moment, I seem to feel every part of it so clearly, like a layer has been shed, like I’m something and someone new.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Riley plops down beside me.
“Is there a surfer’s’ high I was unaware of?”
Riley laughs. “And it’s only your first hit.”
Pressing up to my elbows, I wiggle my toes to free them from sand. I lift a hand, shading my eyes from the sun.
“When do I get to do that ?”
Riley looks out at the water where I now point at the surfer who has disappeared into the fold of a wave. He cocks his head back to me.
“You want to barrel ?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Barrel.”
Riley nods.
“What?”
“It’s”—he pauses, chewing on his lip—”a little advanced.”
“I got up on my first try,” I scoff, as if I’m insulted. But I know the only reason I stood was because I was riding the bunny slope of waves.
Riley is quick to remind me, “You fell on your first try.”
“Whatever. I think I can say I surf now.”
A chuckle flows from his mouth. “Yeah. You can say that. That’s probably because you’ve got balance. But I think you need a little more practice—”
I hop to my feet and Riley reaches out, grabbing my hand. Taken by surprise, I freeze but find I’m not filled with tension. Instead, I relax and loosen under his touch, which is gentle but firm. I let him tug me back closer and now stand between his legs.My eyes find his and I’m transfixed on the green orbs, so much so I can’t look down at where he touches me to see if it’s all in my head or if his thumb really is circling the top of my hand.
I swear, he is.
And I swear, my heart sort of skips a beat and its new rhythm takes off.
“I didn’t mean right now,” he says, “Your lips are blue.”
When Riley drops my arm I bring my hand up to where he now stares. And the look? It’s palpable, like I can feel the caress of his sight against the corner of my lips before he sweeps to the center, hovering. I press them together, watching him take a quick breath before he sighs when I relax my mouth.
I must be high from surfing because I swear I now know what it’s like to be kissed by imagination. With just a look I’ve felt a mouth on mine and inhaled another’s breath. I bring a hand to my face, searching for skin that’s been warmed and scraped by a rugged beard.
That kiss might have been all in my head. But, in reality, I’m struggling to catch the breath Riley has stolen from me.
I quickly turn away. I don’t think this is surfer’s high. I must’ve rattled my brain when I fell from the board. Because Harper of sound mind wouldn’t miss what I do right now—the softest intimacy that has me yearning for a moment that’s only been gone for a few seconds.
“I need to get Lucas.” I pick up the board and begin walking up to The Shack.
“I thought Claire was getting him today.”
Riley’s words are a wave that crashes into me, but it doesn’t knock me off my feet. It keeps me frozen in place.
Claire. Claire as in my mother-in-law , the woman who birthed and raised my husband .
It’s now, I realize for a minute, I forgot who we were—the widow and the dead husband’s best friend. How could I think we were anything other than exactly who we are? After all, Riley and I are on this beach at this exact moment because Nate died .
I’m hit again by another wave, a nauseous one, as if my body is determined to expel the betrayal I think I’ve swallowed down without realizing it.
“Harper?” Riley asks. “Is Claire picking him up?”
“Y-yes. She is.” I lurch forward when Riley pulls the board from me, but regain my balance and keep walking, fast. But leg length isn’t my greatest feature. It just happens to be Riley’s. For every two and a half strides I take, he only needs one. “I’ve got to run to the grocery store and then I’ve got some scheduling work to do for the studio.”
The sand scrapes against the board as he brushes it clean. “It’s your day off,” he reminds me. “Go relax. I’m here for a few hours but then I can pick up stuff on my way home.”
Great. Now Riley has decided to not only be handsome, but helpful as well .
“It’s okay.” I’m not sure at this point I could rid my head of this insanity enough to even formulate a fake grocery list. I point to the outdoor shower at the side of the small building. “Can I rinse off?”
Riley nods. “I’ll get you a towel.”
Flicking open the latch, I scramble inside before yanking the door shut behind me. I immediately turn on the water to mask the sound of my loud breathing, which isn’t from trudging up the beach. The high, tight neck of this wetsuit isn’t helping. I reach back frantically to grab the tie attached to the zipper.
Only I can’t reach it.
I twist and contort in a way only someone who learned to do the splits and a back walkover before riding a bike can.
Nothing.
I stretch my fingers and fan them out.
Nothing.
Leaning against the wooden wall, I do my best to listen over the water. I hear faint noises from the boardwalk, but no distinct, husky voice belonging to Riley.
“Finn?” I call out for the safer option.
“He went to get lunch,” Riley says, so clearly I wonder if he’s pressed his ear against the outside of the shower stall, listening to me panic. “What’s wrong?”
I turn my head, lifting my face into the stream of water. I want to scream.
“I…I can’t unzip my wetsuit.”
“Open the door.”
I rinse what wet sand still covers my feet and step over, unlocking the stall. But before I catch even a glimpse of Riley’s face, I turn around, focusing on the way the water and how many holes it flows from out of the shower head.
One.
Two.
Three.
Most of the time, I’m aware that four comes after three .
But right now the only thing I’m aware of is Riley lifting my heavy, wet hair and moving it to the side, how the tips of his fingers graze the back of my neck before adding pressure.
I’m praying he thinks its sand that’s texturized my skin and not goosebumps brought on by his touch.
“It’s folded up into the collar.” Riley’s breath teases my skin and I jump when he slips a finger beneath the fabric, freeing the tie. He tugs the zipper down just an inch. “There you go.”
Riley’s hands fall from my body, leaving me confused and slightly dizzy. I swear I can still feel the soft, innocent caress like some sort of phantom touch I’ve never been without.
The door closes behind me. In his wake, Riley leaves tingles dancing down my spine.
I change so quickly in Riley’s office I put my dress on backwards and then grow tangled in it while I try to right it.
“Ugh.” I bump the edge of Riley’s desk and then the futon. There’s barely enough space to stand here, and it’s only when I drop onto the cushioned fabric so I can put on my shoes that I remember this is where Riley slept.
For months.
The apartment above the garage isn’t a castle. But it certainly is a level up from a futon in an office you can’t do a 360 turn in without bumping into something.
My heart sinks thinking how Riley had to run from not just comfort, but from us especially when he was healing from surgery. I hate that he did, and worse, I hate myself I never looked for him even if I wasn’t in the right state of mind to do that.
I push through the thought because I want—I need—to get out of here. I always hear how people find clarity by the water, something about the power of fresh air and the sounds of the waves. But the beach has flooded my mind today with all sorts of wild thoughts, and I know the only way I’ll clear my head is if I drain it for a bit, somewhere inland, somewhere away from Riley for at least a few hours.
It's only when I grab my bag from Riley’s chair that I realize I don’t have my car.
I’ll walk , I decide. Walking will do the trick. It will be like a detox. I’ll sweat it all out, take another shower and reboot back to before when I never noticed the dimples beneath Riley’s beard, or how his dark, thick lashes only emphasize the beautiful color of his eyes.
I push open the office door.
“You out?”
“Yeah,” I tell Finn. “Have to get some stuff done before my kiddo gets home.”
Finn leans across the counter and he tips his head toward the open doors, out at the ocean across the boardwalk. “Did you get bit by the surfing bug?”
“Maybe.” I smile at Finn, but inside, I’m wondering if I got bit by the Riley bug and at what point he went from some oversized, immature teenager with no care in the world other than himself, to a responsible man who I look for to help me.
And yeah, I wonder when my type went from clean cut and regular haircuts to scruffy with a man bun.
I hope Finn thinks the reasons my cheeks are red is from the sun.
“Finn! We have any thumb tacks?” Riley’s voice sounds from outside.
Finn reaches down, producing a small, metal tin. “Give this to him on your way out, will you?”
“Sure.”
The contents of the box rattle as I walk outside. I follow the path around the side of the small building and tilt my gaze to the side, but obviously not enough because it’s impossible to ignore Riley standing there with the top of his wetsuit pulled down, hanging from his waist. It’s damn well hard to ignore the definition and shape of his lean arms when he has one pressed against the wall.
I clear my throat and open the tin filled with paperclips and thumb tacks and dump one into my hand. Riley reaches over, carefully taking it by the plastic, blue cap. “Here.”
“Thanks,” Riley offers, his voice muffled. He presses the metal pin into the corkboard, stepping back and taking the papers from his mouth, crumpling them into a ball.
I place the tin on the small table. “I have to get going.”
“Wait,” Riley says. “Take my car.”
“I can walk.”
“You’re not walking home. It’s hot today.”
Clearly not taking no for an answer, Riley moves past me and returns a moment later, tossing me his keys. “Finn will give me a lift home.”
The keys jingle in my hand. It’s not that I don’t want to put up a fight—it’s that I need to get out of here more than I need to stand my ground, especially over this.
I straighten my purse and lower my gaze as I continue along the path leading to the street.
“Harper?”
Raising my shoulders with a sigh, I turn around.
“I know you said you wanted to teach Lucas to surf, but…” Riley’s eyes trail off to the bulletin board he was just organizing.
I swallow. “But what?”
“You want to get him in the water? I think you need to show him how cool you really are.”
I move back down the path to where Riley stands. “What do you mean?”
He’s still looking at the bulletin board. “I have an idea.”
I scan the ads. Many of them are for selling boards. “What is it?”
“Let’s just say,” Riley begins, folding his arms across his chest. “I’ll need your help and your…expertise. ”
“My expertise?” I ask. I love my son, but he has the attention span of a fly and the amount of energy of a racehorse. While it would be my dream for him to try yoga, I know it would be more work for both of us than what Lucas will really get out of it.
“Your prior expertise. I need acrobatic Harper to pull through.”
I’m taken by surprise. “What? Why?”
Riley reaches out, tapping an ad pinned to the center of the board.
TANDEM SURF COMPETITION.
AMATEURS WELCOME
“You said it yourself,” he says, nudging me playfully with his arm. “There’s magic at the circus.”