Page 26 of Fake Dating the SEAL
“You need to find the sweet spot. Too far back and the nose pops up, you stall. Too far forward and you nosedive. You’ll feel it when you’re in the water.
“Hands flat, about where your chest is. When you feel the wave catch you, you’re going to push up and swing your feet under you in one motion.” Sara demonstrated the movement in slow motion. “It’s called a pop-up. Try it.”
Kenny pushed himself up and attempted to bring his feet forward. He managed to get upright, though his stance was awkward.
“Not bad for a first try. But you’re thinking too much. It needs to be one fluid movement.” Sara demonstrated again. “Military training probably helps with the upper body strength, but surfing is about flow, not force.”
They practiced the pop-up several more times until Kenny could execute it smoothly. Then Sara showed him proper stance—feet perpendicular to the board, knees bent, arms out for balance.
“Remember, the board goes where you look. Look toward shore, not down at the water.” Sara picked up her board. “Ready to get wet?”
The water was warm, warmer than Kenny had expected. They waded out to waist-deep water, boards in tow. Sarapositioned him carefully. And again, he did his best to ignore the feel of her hands on his skin.
She held his board steady as a small wave rolled under them. “Feel that?”
Swallowing hard, he nodded. What more could he do?
“That’s what you’re looking for. When you feel the wave lift the back of your board, start paddling hard. I’ll give you a push to help you catch it.”
He stretched out on the board, chest pressed to fiberglass, arms cutting the water. The smell of salt, the push and pull of the swell—it felt different from swimming, different from diving. Exposed. Upright. Like surrendering control instead of commanding it. Not since his first days of SEAL training had he been so awkward and off-balance and most of that had little to do with the water.
“Here it comes!” Sara’s voice cut sharp and bright. “Three…two…one—up!”
The wave approached, lifting the tail of his board. He started paddling as Sara had instructed, feeling her hands on the back of the board giving him a push. Suddenly the wave caught him and he was gliding forward, the board carrying him toward shore.
“Pop up!” she shouted from behind him.
Kenny moved. Palms planted, chest lifting, feet sliding under. The board wobbled but held as the wave shoved him forward. Spray stung his face. For three glorious seconds, he stood riding the water like he’d been born to it—until the nose dipped, momentum surged, and he toppled headfirst into the surf.
Salt water filled his mouth. He surfaced sputtering, slicking his hair back from his eyes.
Sara’s laugh rang out, clear as a bell. “Not bad for a first try!”
He pushed the board back toward her, grinning despite himself. “Again.”
Because now that he’d had a taste of it—three seconds of impossible flight—he wanted more.
For the next hour, Kenny threw himself into learning with the same intensity he’d brought to every other challenge in his life. He caught wave after wave, each ride lasting a little longer than the one before. Sara stayed beside him, offering encouragement and adjustments, her enthusiasm infectious.
By the time they finally took a break, Kenny had managed several rides all the way to shore. He was exhausted, exhilarated, and covered in sand, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much fun learning something completely new. Or maybe it wasn’t something new at all, but something new with Sara.
Digging her toes into the warm sand, Sara laughed out loud for the umpteenth time today. This time not just at Kenny’s awkward wipeout but at the way he came up, hair slicked back and grinning like a little boy experiencing his first Christmas morning.
Sara felt something flutter in her chest that had nothing to do with the ocean breeze. This was supposed to be part of their fake relationship, another performance for anyone who might see them together. But there was nothing fake about the way her pulse quickened when Kenny smiled at her like that.
When she’d adjusted his stance earlier, her hands had rested against the hard planes of muscle along his ribs, his hip. Just a touch, nothing more, but she’d felt the strength beneath his skin, steady and unyielding. The memory still tingled in her palms, the brief, practical contact had thrown her off balance more than any wave. Over the years she’d corrected plenty of new surfers, but none of them had made her heart trip over itself. And whatthe heck was she supposed to do with that? Kenny would only be here for a short while. The man was supposed to be nothing more than a pretend boyfriend to keep her mother happy and give her a relaxed, peaceful holiday season. And yet—standing there, surfboard planted in the sand beside him, looking at her with a boyish mix of triumph and mischief—she couldn’t deny it had been a long time since she’d had this much fun or felt such a strong connection. If she wasn’t more careful, falling off a surfboard would be the least of her problems. She needed to put some space between them, get back on the solid ground of their arrangement before she did something stupid, like stand toe to toe and kiss that impish grin off his face. Taking a step back, she brushed sand from hands as if that were all that was needed to brush away the attraction churning inside her. “We should probably rinse off and get these boards back to Kai.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Kenny nodded, grabbing one of the towels she’d brought. “I need to swing by the dive shop anyway. Have to check in with Nick about tagging along with some new clients of his.”
They loaded the boards back onto her cousin’s van, shouting their thanks to Kai, who gave them a lazy wave from where he stood with his own board at his side. The public rinse-off station was a simple outdoor shower head. As they took turns washing the salt and sand from their skin and hair, Sara tried very hard not to notice the way the water sluiced over Kenny’s broad shoulders and down his back. This charade was definitely getting more complicated than she’d expected.
Walking back to his car, toweling their hair dry, she searched for something safe to talk about. “For a guy who’s never surfed, you’re not half bad.”
“All credit goes to the teacher.” He opened the passenger door for her. The gentlemanly gesture felt so ingrained in him, so automatic, it made her appreciate him all the more.
The drive to the dive shop was quiet and comfortable. She found herself replaying his wipeouts in her head, not with smug satisfaction, but with a growing respect for his persistence. He hadn’t gotten frustrated or embarrassed. He’d simply assessed the failure, corrected, and tried again. A SEAL through and through.
Kenny pulled into the parking lot of the Big Island Dive Shop, the familiar sign a welcome sight. Inside, the faint hum of the air conditioners welcomed them.
