Page 174 of Better When Shared
Hamish dug in, arms working with surprising strength. The wave lifted him, and I held my breath, waiting for the moment when he’d either catch it or miss it entirely.
He caught it.
His pop-up wasn’t pretty—more of a scramble than the smooth motion—but he made it to his feet and found his balance, arms outstretched like he was walking a tightrope. The board glided forward, picking up speed as the wave carried him toward shore.
“Yeah!” I pumped my fist in the air, even though he couldn’t see me. “Ride it, Hamish!”
And ride it he did. Ten seconds. Fifteen. Twenty. Far longer than yesterday’s brief stand-up before the wipeout. His form was still awkward, knees too straight, back too bent, but he was fucking doing it, and the sight of this uptight British guy surfing made something warm bloom in my chest.
When the wave finally petered out, leaving him coasting in the shallows, Hamish leaped off his board with a whoop that echoed across the beach.
I spotted a wave and paddled forward, catching another wave with ease, and riding it in, throwing in a smooth bottom turn before aiming my board towards him, hopping off as the wave petered out.
“Did you see that?” His face was lit up, eyes wide and bright, cheeks flushed with exertion and excitement. Gone was the stiff,proper Englishman who’d answered his hotel door, replaced by someone vibrant and alive. “How thrilling!”
“You killed it!” I was grinning so hard my face hurt. “That was at least twenty seconds, maybe thirty. Most beginners don’t—”
I didn’t get to finish. Hamish crashed into me, wrapping his arms around my waist and lifting me clear off my feet in a bear hug that knocked the breath from my lungs. His body was solid against mine, wetsuit to wetsuit, his face pressed briefly against my neck.
“That was marvellous!”
Then, as suddenly as he’d grabbed me, he released me and stepped back, horror washing over his features. The proper Englishman was back, probably mortified at his breach of decorum.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, running a hand through his wet hair. “I got carried away at the thrill. But the hug was entirely inappropriate.”
I laughed and reached for him, pulling him back against me in another hug. “Dude, chill. Hugs are okay. Nothing to apologize for.”
His body was stiff against mine for a moment before he relaxed, his arms coming up to return the hug with a tentative pat on my back. I held on a fraction longer than necessary, enjoying thefirm press of his chest against mine as he let out an undignified “oof.”
I slapped him on the back. “That was fucking amazing, and I’m so proud of you.”
“Right,” he said when we separated, still looking a bit flustered. “Well, thank you. For the lesson, I mean. And for convincing me to try this.”
“Day’s not over yet.” I nodded toward the horizon where another set was rolling in. “Ready to catch another one?”
He looked at the waves, then back at me, and his face broke into a grin that made my stomach flip. “Absolutely.”
We paddled back out together, and I watched as his confidence grew with each attempt. He wiped out more than he succeeded, but each time he got back on the board with renewed determination. By the fourth wave he caught, his pop-up was smoother, his stance more natural.
Between sets, we floated side by side, talking about nothing important—the island, the water, the seals we could see lounging on distant rocks. It was easy, comfortable in a way that surprised me. I was used to chatting up tourists, making them feel welcome and relaxed, but this felt different. I cared what this guy thought, wanted him to have a good time, to see what I loved about this place.
And yeah, I wanted him. The attraction had been immediate when I’d first seen him sleep-rumpled and shirtless in his hotel room, but now it was deeper, more complicated. Almost like a friendship. With a very hot married guy.
But then he’d laugh at something I said, or his fingers would brush mine as I adjusted his stance on the board, and I’d forget all the reasons this was a bad idea, rationalizing to myself that his wife couldn’t be that great if she couldn’t see the great man who was right in front of her.
“One more?” I asked as the afternoon light began to soften. We’d been in the water for over two hours, and while I could’ve stayed all day, I knew beginners got tired fast.
“If you think I can handle it.” He was breathing hard, hair plastered to his forehead, but his eyes were bright with the same stoke I’d felt the first time I’d connected with the ocean.
“I know you can.” I scanned the incoming waves, looking for the perfect finale. “There. The one coming behind the break. It’s got your name on it.”
He paddled hard, following my instructions with a trust that made my chest tight. His timing was perfection, the wave lifting his board right as he popped up to his feet in a much smoother motion than I’d seen from him all day. As he rode it in, balanced and confident, he looked back over his shoulder at me with a grin of pure joy.
Fuck. I was in trouble.
“Time to call it?” I asked when he waded back to me, board under his arm like he’d been doing this for years instead of days.
He nodded, out of breath but still grinning. “I suppose I should quit while I’m ahead.”
