Page 46 of For Butter or for Worse
For the next hour, King seems to do his best to pretend I’m just another student, though I notice he rarely looks at me as he goes through his process. When he does look, he tends to lose his train of thought, so I get it. He walks me through how to stand up and balance while still on the sand, and he describes the general mechanics of catching a wave’s momentum. He asks me multiple times if I’m sure about going out on the water. I’m not, but I also know that if he’s out there with me, I’ll be okay.
I want him to know that I care about the things he cares about, even if they scare me.
“Watch this one,” he says, pointing to a surfer who starts paddling to catch the wave. “She’s going to paddle until the wave starts moving her faster than she’s going on her own, andthen…”
The woman jumps to her feet and turns her board so it goes in the opposite direction of where the wave is curling over.
“I’m guessing I’ll need to pay attention to the way the wave breaks,” I say, gesturing vaguely at the wave as it crashes and dissipates. The movement brings me close enough to King that our arms touch, and a thrill runs through me when he doesn’t pull away. It’s not like I haven’t touched this man—we’ve kissed twice since getting married and shared plenty of hugs—but something about today is different.
I’m telling myself that it’s because we’re being watched by the sunscreen-soaked attorney under the giant umbrella, but I’m pretty sure that’s a lie.
No, Iknowit’s a lie. I desperately wanted to kiss King when we were at the bakery the other night, and not because I wanted to make a point. Because Iwantedto. Yesterday, when an adorable old couple came into the bakery and went on and on about how they have been coming to Kingston’s every summer for the last eight years since discovering it, I instantly wanted to tell King about them so we could smile about it together. When I woke up this morning, I found Prince Harry splashing in the pool. He isn’t likely to drown now that the water level is lower, but I figured it would be good to get him back in his pen. So I hunted down a rope and spent almost an hour guiding him to the stairs and tugging him up and out because I didn’t want to wake King. He’d gotten home later than normal and looked tired as he walked around the house without a shirt on before going to bed.
And yeah, I was spying on him from the pool house instead of going to sleep, but I couldn’t help it.
Basically, every moment of my day has started to include King in it, whether he’s present or not. I’m getting addicted to this man, and I’m not sure it’s a habit I want to kick. Standing on a beach in the last few hours of daylight, watching the crash of waves and listening to the sounds of happy vacationers, I’m starting to realize that I am still very much in love with the man next to me.
Not sure I ever really stopped loving him.
“Well, what do you think?” King says, looking at me for the first time in several minutes. “Want to try hitting a wave before it gets too late?”
“You’ll be with me?” I hate that my voice shakes on that question, but the ocean is still just as terrifying as it always has been.
King grabs hold of my hand and squeezes it. “Always, Shortcake.”
Oh goodness, he hasn’t called me that in years, and I can’t help but giggle. It’s a callback to when we first met and he came barreling into the bakery right as I was about to eat a strawberry cupcake. He thought it was hilarious and brought it up the next time we met, calling me Strawberry Shortcake even though that is a different dessert entirely. He quickly shortened it to Shortcake and claimed it was because I wasn’t very tall—I’m still not—but we both knew the day we met was an exceptionally good day that had impressed upon both of us. I always made sure to tell him I hated the nickname, knowing that would make him use it more often.
“I can’t believe you remember that,” I say, still grinning.
King chuckles. “I can’t believe you didn’t punch me for using it.”
“Ican’t believe you’ve been letting me call you Royal.”
He actually grins at that, his eyes dancing in the golden light of the afternoon. “I can’t believe you think I would hate anything you call me.”
We definitely need to get in the water because I am about to spontaneously combust from the way he’s looking at me right now. I don’t know what changed between our macaron adventure and now, but this man isn’t holding back.
I grab my surfboard, which is comfortably shorter than his and made of a hard foam instead of whatever his is made out of. “You really gave me the kiddie board, didn’t you?”
He laughs. “A beginner’s board, Georgie. This one is less likely to knock you out if you fall wrong.”
“Wait, there’s a wrong way to fall?”
“Come along, Shortcake. We don’t have all day.” With a light jog, he rushes into the water and hops onto his board, gliding effortlessly out into the deeper water.
I’m far less graceful but somehow manage to join him. Getting in the water is easy; paddling deeper is harder. But King lets me take my time, filling the space between us with more tips and tricks as if he knows that listening to him talk isthe best distraction from the rapidly dropping ocean floor beneath me. I keep my eyes on his face. On his kind eyes and warm smile. I tell myself over and over again that I trust this man more than I trust anyone, and I want to show him as much.
By the time he thinks I’m ready to actually try to catch a wave, I’m shaking in my metaphorical boots but doing everything I can to hide it. I like to think I’m tough and adventurous, but this is so far beyond my capabilities and know-how.
Still, being out here and seeing up close King in his element is helping me see another side to him, which is crazy considering I’ve always known he loves surfing. I’ve always loved watching him from the shore. But I didn’t know to what extent he loses all his inhibitions out here and looks entirely relaxed, and I want him to be this happy all the time.
He’s lost so much in his life, and I wish I had been brave enough to understand how much I hurt him when he lost me too. Will he survive when I leave again?
A pit forms in my belly at the thought of leaving this place. It feels a lot like the feeling I would get at the end of the summer when I was young, not yet ready to go back home.
“Watch me ride this next wave,” King says, oblivious to my fears. “Pay attention to the movement of the water now that you’re up close.”
It’s definitely different now that I’m in deeper water, and I watch not only King, who is exceptional, but the few other surfers who are out here with us as well. Theoretically I can mimic what they’re all doing, but I don’t have a lot of faith in my actual ability. Piping too-cold frosting isn’t the same level of skill as riding a wave that has the power to shove me deep under the water if I’m not careful. I can swim, but…the ocean is a beast unto itself.
