Page 39 of The Summer I First Saw You
I untie the boards from the car while trying very hard not to watch her shimmy into her wetsuit. In spite of the weather and the fact that it’s nearly lunchtime, the water is full of surfers, people who understand that it’s worth everything—blowing off work, risking a lightning strike—for the brief thrill of it.
The water’s cold, the sky is gray, and as we paddle to the lineup, her blue eyes are glowing as if she’s never been happier. “You love this.”
She turns those glowing eyes my way. “It’s an adventure. And I don’t have to worry about being flung into a cliff, which is surprisingly nice.”
I slow my paddle to remain by her side. “Someday, you should go down to southern Costa Rica. Really consistent surf. White, white sand. And the water never gets colder than eighty degrees.”
Her eyes fall closed. “God, wouldn’t that be amazing? No wetsuits, no shock when you jump in the water…”
If our lives were wildly different, I’d take her there. I’d rent us a cottage right on the beach, where she could surf to her heart’s content every day. If our lives were incredibly different, I’d pull that bikini off her the minute we were done.
Leave that thought alone, Harrison.
She’s up on the first decent wave that comes in, her focus intense as she carves up then cuts back beautifully.
“That’s goals, right there,” says a woman near me.
I blink. “Goals?”
“You and her,” she says. “My girlfriend and I get along, but she’d never come out here and surf. Like…you guys are clearly super-hot for each other, but you’re alsofriends.”
“We’re not together.” I say the words too fast, and there’s a hint of guilt in my voice. “She’s my friend’s daughter.”
She raises a brow as if she simultaneously doesn’t believe me and is now wondering if I’m a predator. I turn away to watch Daisy paddle back. A dim ray of light breaks through the clouds, highlighting the curves of her face, her long lashes wet and spiky. For a moment, it takes my breath away.
The woman near me was right. A relationship with someone like Daisy would be unbelievable, but it’s alsocompletely impossible. And daydreaming about it will only make me less satisfied with the life I end up with instead.
“You look troubled,” Daisy says when she reaches me. “Are you thinking I’m wasting my life in college and should join the world surf tour? Because if so, we’re on the same page.”
I laugh. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking. Is there a two-foot-wave category?”
She flips me off with a smile and then turns to face the shore, ready to go again.
Goals.
If only there was anyone in the world who was just like her, butnother. Not Bridget’s daughter and Liam’s niece, not more than a decade younger, not leaving for DC at the summer’s end.
We surf for about forty minutes more, until thunder rumbles. Daisy rolls her eyes at me— for all her supposed responsibility, she’d stay out here until lightning was setting people on fire. To be fair, though, no one else is heading in, so she wouldn’t be the only one.
We strip out of our wetsuits beside the car. I do my best to hand her a towel without looking at her, because she’s in a bikini that covers next to nothing, and just by the way she’s shivering, I bet her nipples are diamond hard.
I’ve got a long weekend of not noticing ahead. It’s in everyone’s best interest if I start trying now.
She wraps a towel around her waist then slips off her bikini bottoms and replaces them with sweatpants. “I’d blow anyone who could get me a cup of cocoa in the next five minutes,” she says.
Unwillingly, I laugh. I can do my level best to avoid looking at her, but Daisy is still going to be Daisy. “You might want to tryaskingif we can get cocoa before you resort to prostituting yourself for it.”
“And you might want to try not looking a gift horse in themouth,” she replies. “If a girl offers to blow you for cocoa, get her the fucking cocoa and hope she keeps promises.”
I’m so hard I have to spend two solid minutes pretending to repack the trunk before I can face her again.
We getlunch in Pacific Grove, where she manages to acquire cocoa without having to perform a sex act, and by the time we’ve gotten onto the stretch of highway leading to Big Sur, the clouds are gone and the sun is out and she’s got the windows down, singing along with Jack Harlow.
She opens the sunroof to take pictures of the Bixby Bridge. I play the Jack Harlow song a second time just to watch her dance in her seat, and she laughs when she realizes I know every word.
None of this would have been possible if I’d stayed with Audrey. I wouldn’t have surfed today. Audrey wouldneverhave gone on a road trip. She’d never have allowed the windows down, and she certainly wouldn’t be fucking with the sound system to blow up the bass the way Daisy is.
And that’s not to say that I wouldn’t have enjoyed the things Audrey and I did together. But I wouldn’t have enjoyed them likethis. I wouldn’t have loved them so much that there’d be no price worth giving them up.
