Page 50 of Holiday Love
“Into the living room?” Helen asks, sounding alarmed.
“Don’t worry, Martha Stewart, it’s clean. I won’t get sand on your pristine carpet.”
“I wasn’t thinking about that!” she protests, trailing along behind me.
“Really? Be honest.” I give her a knowing look, remembering how she sweeps her small kitchen floor every night before she goes to bed. Helen’s not a neat freak, but close to it.
“Okay,” she backpedals. “Maybe I was alittleworried.”
“Uh-huh. Thought so.” I’ve reached the board. Together we bring it inside, with Helen doing most of the heavy lifting.
“Put the back end on the couch and the front on the coffee table, so the middle’s in the air,” I tell her. It takes a little maneuvering, but we get it in place. I test the board with my palm, pressing down to make sure it’s steady. I don’t want Helen falling and getting hurt.
“Okay, let’s start with the basics.” I tap the front of the board. “That’s the nose. The back is the tail.” I smooth my hand over the flat surface of the board. “This part where you stand is called the deck. The edges? Rails.” I gesture to the thin wooden strip running down the center. “That’s the stringer. Makes the board stronger.” Finally, I bend and point to the plastic triangle that protrudes from the underside of the board near the tail. “That’s the fin. It’s like a boat rudder. It doesn’t move, but it keeps you stable in the water. Some boards have more than one.”
I glance up, checking her expression. She’s focused, likereallyfocused, her eyes bright, head tilted slightly, soaking it all in.
I keep going, feeling lighter, more grounded, than I have in weeks. “Longer boards are more stable but slower. Short ones go faster and are easier to turn, but harder to control. Mine’s a hybrid. A mix of both. Good for people like me who want to have fun without being fancy. The last thing is the rocker. That’s the curve of the board when you look at it from the side. It affects the flow of water. The more curve it has drags through the water, and the board goes slower. Less curve and it skims along the surface, so it goes faster.”
She doesn’t say anything right away, just keeps looking at me like I’ve said something important. For the first time in a long time, I feel...capable. Not just charming or fun or tagging along, but useful. Steady. Like I’m the one with the answers.
I clear my throat and finish. “There’s more to it, obviously, but that’s the quick version. Questions?”
She smiles softly. “I didn’t realize there was so much to it, so many parts. Thanks for explaining.”
My chest fills with a strange warmth, something unfamiliar. “Yeah, well. It’s no big deal.” I move to the end of the couch, one hand on the board to steady me. “Now climb onto the board and lay with your belly flat on it. That’s the position you’ll use to start out in the water. You lie on your stomach and paddle out past the waves.”
Helen glances from the board to me and back to the board. “This is supposed to teach me to surf? Laying on a board in my living room?”
“Ah, grasshopper. You have to learn to walk before you can fly,” I tease, which earns me a salty look.
I don’t care, though. Smiling. Frowning. Glaring. I just like it when she looks at me.
Begrudgingly, Helen climbs up on the board like I ask and promptly falls off it.
I stifle a laugh, which gets me another hard glance.
She tries two more times, the board wobbling under her, and each time slides across the slippery surface like a penguin on an iceberg. I shuffle to her side to help on the third try. Putting my hip against the board and using my hand to hold it, this time when she slips across she comes to a stop pressed against my thigh.
“Whoa!” One of her arms comes up to wrap around me, putting her hand smack dab on my butt.
“Jesus, Helen. Buy me dinner first,” I mutter, trying to ignore how much I like her hands on me.
She squeaks and yanks her hand back like I’ve burned her. The sudden shift sends the surfboard tipping.
“Wait—”
Too late. She topples forward. Right into me. My good leg buckles under our combined weight, and we both go down, landing sprawled out next to each other, the board clattering to the floor with a dramaticthunk. I wince as my cast bangs against the couch and my broken ribs scream out in protest.
“Are you okay!?” Helen yells, her voice ringing with alarm. She rolls toward me until her face hovers inches from mine.
I nod, gritting my teeth against the pain. “Totally fine. This is exactly how all my surfing lessons end, with full-body contact and someone grabbing my ass.”
Her eyes widen. Her cheeks go crimson. Surprising me, she bursts out laughing. “I think,” she says between giggles, “you were better as fake Lindsey.”
Ignoring the pain, I tilt my head and smirk. “Oh, sweetheart, Lindsey’s gotnothingon me, but now I’m also your surfing coach and this is just lesson number one.”
Chapter twenty-one
