Surfs Up For Love – by ey Kassian
SURF'S UP FOR LOVE
BY SHELLEY KASSIAN
The family get-together marked a new beginning, but Bree still hadn’t come to terms with the change.
Mom, Dad, and her brother, Brody, hadn’t come here to swap stories, laugh over old memories, or tease Granny about her unbeatable bingo streak.
They were here to pack—to relocate Granny to a retirement home a few miles inland, away from the beach house that had been the heart of their family’s summers.
They weren’t saying goodbye—not yet—but knowing they’d never return to this place, never explore these sun-warmed floors or hear the distant crash of waves from the porch, made Bree’s chest tighten. This change of address amounted to leaving behind the happiest moments of her life.
Granny had sold her beachfront bungalow, and the packing had begun.
Bree sighed, taking in the chaos: cardboard boxes stacked in every corner, dinnerware scattered across the wooden table, knickknacks cluttering the coffee table.
The place looked as if a small tornado had passed through—tape dispensers tossed aside, packing paper spilled across the floor, and spare boxes leaning precariously against the old TV.
She grabbed a small seashell planter perched on a pile of bubble wrap.
She’d crafted it years ago. Granny claimed the sea pot had set off her artist career, but Bree wondered if it would end up in a thrift store with mismatched mugs and random glasses.
Not everything could go to the retirement home.
Her gaze shifted to a wall of family photos awaiting their next home.
Granny and Papa beamed in one picture, surfboards clutched in their youthful hands, their bodies tanned and trim.
Another captured her parents’ wedding day at Seal Beach.
There were childhood snapshots of her and Brody, most taken at the beach.
Her fingers lingered on one photo of herself as a tiny beach baby, clutching a seashell in her chubby fist. Family history in a twenty-one-photo salute.
Sighing, Bree slumped onto the old emerald sofa. Its faded fabric was threadbare and long past its prime. Granny was discarding it.
“You’re probably wondering why I asked you to come home,” her granny, Sunny, said, her suntanned face lifting into a mischievous smile.
Bree raised an eyebrow. “Pizza night?”
“We should have ordered burgers and fries.” Granny chuckled, clutching Bree’s hands. “There’s a lot to do—packing and relocating—but it’s okay. Life moves on. I can still beachcomb on this beach for you.” She pinched Bree’s cheek playfully, then tugged her toward the kitchen. “Come with me.”
Granny opened the fridge and retrieved a carton of chocolate milk. She poured it into a glass and handed it to Bree, who couldn’t help but smile. She didn’t drink milk anywhere else, and that made it special. “You knew I was thirsty?”
“You seem unhappy, dear. Are you worried?”
Bree sighed. “You figured that out?”
“I’m perceptive,” Granny teased. “Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.”
Brody’s towering figure appeared in the archway. “Pour one for me, Gran?”
Granny glanced at her six-foot-four grandson and smirked. “At this rate, you’ll need a gallon.”
“Can’t keep a good man down.” Brody winked as his grandmother poured him a glass.
Mom’s voice rang out. “It’s ready!” She pulled two pizzas from the oven, the aroma of melted cheese and pepperoni filling the room. Bree watched as her mom, dressed in jeans and a cotton shirt, grabbed a pizza cutter and began slicing.
“Come and get it,” she called briskly.
Brody was already diving in, stacking three slices on his plate. “What?” he said firmly when Bree glared at him. “Like Granny said, I’m a growing boy.”
“You’re twenty-four, Brody.”
“Who’s counting?”
Bree shook her head and grabbed a plate.
They gathered in the living room since the kitchen lacked space. “We need to talk,” Granny said, her tone calm yet firm.
Bree, Brody, and Mom settled on the sofa with their pizza, while Dad took the armchair. Granny perched in an armchair across from them, hands clasped in her lap.
“I’ve been sorting memorabilia,” Granny said, her voice tinged with emotion. “Deciding what to keep and give away. I can’t take everything to Leisure World.”
“Eat, Mom,” Dad said gently. “We can talk about this later.”
Granny’s brows rose. “I’ll eat when I’m ready.”
“Okay, but it’s stuff. Take what matters, leave the rest behind.”
Granny didn’t respond. Instead, she rose from the armchair and left the room. Bree worried her father had offended her grandmother, but when she returned lugging an old wooden surfboard, concern shifted to curiosity.
Dad offered to help, but Granny waved him off.
After getting in her crosshairs, he knew better than to argue.
Silence settled as Granny held her legacy, clasping the board as if she could still ride it. Sunny was painted in bold red letters across the upper lip. She traced the lettering, her expression softening.
“I won competitions with this board. Your grandfather caught countless waves beside me.” Her voice trembled, tears welled in her eyes. “Bree, I’ve thought about this. I want you to have it.”
Brody froze mid-bite. “Why Bree, Granny? She doesn’t surf. She’ll probably turn the board into a piece of modern art.”
Granny’s eyes twinkled. “It’s old, like everything else in this house. Maybe a fresh coat of paint would revive it.”
“No way,” Brody said. “Give it to me. I surf.”
“I would, but it’s too small. It’s meant for a woman.”
Brody smirked. “If Bree wants it so bad, she’ll have to earn it. How about a challenge, sis?”
“What now?” Bree asked warily.
Brody leaned forward, his grin widening. “Learn to surf. You know what? Let’s take it up a notch—enter a competition. See what you’ve got.”
Bree giggled, amused but hardly surprised by her brother’s scheming. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe. If you can’t do it, the board’s mine.”
Granny’s eyes lit. “This is better than bingo. I support this plan.”
Bree appealed to her grandmother. “Why? Brody always finds a way to get what he wants.”
Granny shrugged. “Not always, dear, but someone needs to shore up the legacy. I’d love to see you try.”
Brody crossed his arms smugly. “What do you say, Bree? Or does getting on the ocean frighten you?”
“Fine,” Bree snapped. “You want a challenge? I’ll do it. I’ll beat you, too.”
Brody raised an eyebrow. “I’ve already won. I’ve been surfing for years.”
“I’ll figure it out. And when I win, you’ll never touch that board again.”
“May the best rider win!” Granny exclaimed, clapping.
Bree tried to appear confident, but anxiety rose inside her. Why had she agreed to this? She asked sullenly, “Who can teach me?”
Granny looked directly at her. “There’s an instructor at Ryder’s Surf Shop. If I were younger, that’s where I’d go.”
The bet was ridiculous. It made Bree’s stomach churn like the waves crashing nearby. Brody knew how to push her buttons. They’d been playing games since they were kids, challenging each other with wagers, daring to take risks they had no business taking. No wonder they amused Granny.
But this bet felt different. This one could change everything—and not in a good way.
As Bree struggled while carrying the board along the paved beach path, she wondered not only why she wanted to own it, but how her grandmother had ever managed its weight.
It was cumbersome, taller than her five-foot-five frame, and awkward to transport.
She dragged it beside her, glancing nervously at the ocean, wondering how she’d ever learn to surf on it.
With a sigh, she stepped into the celebrity-owned general store and coffee shop known as Ryder’s Surf Shop .
Inside, the atmosphere hummed with tourists browsing racks of colored wetsuits, shelves of wax, surfboards, and display cases filled with sunglasses.
Bree hesitated, scanning the shop for help.
Maybe she should grab a coffee, call this sporting adventure off, and give this clunky board to Brody.
She didn’t need to prove anything to him—or so she told herself.
Then she saw him—an eye-catching hunk, standing near the cash register like he’d just stepped from a surf magazine. He took her breath away, and for a moment, she forgot how to think, let alone approach him.
He leaned against the counter. A tall, sun-kissed guy with an easy smile and a faint five o’clock shadow.
He wore beige leisure pants and a short-sleeved cotton shirt, and she swore it wasn’t his well-defined butt or muscled arms with an intriguing tattoo that held her attention.
He seemed out of place here, as if his portrait and attire belonged on a billboard or in her California dreams.
His blue eyes locked with hers, and for a moment, she forgot why she’d entered the shop. Her lips parted, and a wave of desire—not for surfing lessons—consumed her.
“Hey,” the guy said, his gaze shifting to the surfboard propped awkwardly against her side. “What ya got there? Looks like that board’s seen waves.”
Bree fumbled with the board, nearly dropping it. Before she could catch it, he stepped forward and steadied it. “Got it,” he said, grinning.
She sighed, wishing she’d left the board at home. “Thanks. It’s a family heirloom. I’m sorry—it would’ve smashed your display case. It’s heavier than it looks.”
“No problem.” He nodded at the board. “Mind if I take a closer look?”
“Sure.” Bree passed it to him, her fingers lingering on it for a second longer than necessary. “Careful, though. It belonged to my grandmother.”
He studied the board, running his long, tanned fingers across the surface. She edged to her left to get a better look at his tattoo—a vertical surfboard surrounded by swirling blue waves, and inked beneath it the quote: Ride the wave.
His expression sharpened as he traced the faded letters near the lip. “Wait a second...” He looked from the board to her. “This says... Sunny?”
Bree straightened, surprised by his tone. “Yeah. That’s my grandmother. Why?”