AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You can’t come, Tommy.” She looks away from me, her brows back to furrowing. “As much as I wish you could.” The words are so soft, I almost don’t hear them.
“Then will you come see me in Costa Rica?" I'm practically begging, but I don’t give a shit. There’s no pride in the face of my need for her.
She nods, agreement lighting up her face, and I feel a surge of hope. My eyebrows shoot up as a wide smile stretches across my face. "Okay then. I’ll make sure to have gallo pinto waiting and you can borrow one of my longboards—"
“Tommy!” she interrupts, her cheeks lifting into a giant grin. “I don’t care what we eat or do. I’m coming to see you.”
Rising on her tiptoes, she presses a soft, lingering kiss to my cheek. For a moment, I don’t breathe, only fight the impulse to touch the spot she'd kissed, to somehow capture the warmth of the moment. I want nothing more than to pull her close and lose ourselves in a deep, meaningful kiss, the kind that says everything words can’t. But before I can act on that desire, she spins away, disappearing around the corner and leaving me in a mix of astonishment and longing.
Chapter nine
Tilly
Ihurry away from Tommy, my heart racing with a mix of fear and regret. Agreeing to see him in Costa Rica? What was I thinking? And that kiss on his cheek—such an impulsive mistake. Yet, seeing his searching eyes and that charming smile, how could I resist? His invitation had caught me off guard, and despite every instinct screaming at me to decline, I found myself nodding in agreement.
It felt foolish, considering I'd spent the better part of the last year trying to erase him from my memory. Escaping after that moment was as much about preventing further folly as it was about not reneging on my promise. The idea of visiting him—of days filled with food, the beach, and sun, all shared with Tommy—plays out in my mind like a dream. I can imagine it all too clearly: lazy afternoons, teasing, surfing together, the warmth of the sun on our skin, finding time to explore each other’s bodies after a long day.
Shaking my head to dispel these daydreams, I step into the surf shop. The familiar chime of the bell marks my entry, and I force myself to shove all the confusion away.
Rick barely looks up, absorbed in his phone. "Hey Tilly, your nine o'clock is here by the surfboards."
Sam, pregnant and radiant, emerges from the back, her movements slow and careful. Waddling like she has for the past month like some sort of adorable Santa Claus, though her cheeks are already flushed from the exertion of walking from the back to the front. "Tilly, you're late," she scolds gently. The bell rings again, and Tommy steps inside. I busy myself with finding some cold water wax as he moves toward Sam.
Her reaction is immediate, her complexion turning a shade paler as she greets him with a hug. I can tell they’re talking about the bandage on his forehead at first before their voices get even lower. Their brief, whispered conversation is lost on me, but it is clear there are a whole lot of questions about me in there.
He’s shaking his head and turns to me, gently pushing Sam back a little as if to prove a point.
"Hi Tilly," he says. Sam's curious eyes dart between us, adding to the tension.
Stepping between us, Sam raises one of her hands. "I didn’t know he was coming in, Til.”
I brush it off with a wave of my hand, trying to maintain an air of nonchalance. "No worries. How’s it going, Tommy?" My voice betrays none of the turmoil I feel, acting as though our alleyway kiss never happened. As if the last two days haven’t happened. It sucks, honestly. I hate it. Lying to Sam, ignoring things between Tommy and me. It's stupid and yet, wasn’t it my idea?
"Not bad. Surf's up?" His casual question sends a flush of warmth across my cheeks, his gaze lingering just a tad too long on my chest. Yeah, I remember how it felt to have my boobs mushed up against your chest, too.
"Yeah, heading out now. You wanna watch?" His nod is all the confirmation I need, despite Sam's growing curiosity. Even though I know we planned this out, there is still some trepidation that he would change his mind. That my tiny peck on his cheek would make him rethink the whole friendship thing we have going on.
Approaching the rack of boards, I meet my nine o'clock client who looks as lost as a puppy at a kitty litter conference.
“Hi, John, right?” I ask, putting on my best customer service face.
“Uh, yeah. You’re the teacher?” He sounds a bit surprised but that’s normal. Women surf instructors are rare, though they shouldn’t be.
“I am, and this is my assistant, Tommy. He’ll be helping us out. You ready?” I see Tommy flinch at the title of assistant. The corner of my lip twitches with the effort not to laugh at him. He's the type of guy that has a lot of pride and I just took a chunk out of it. Teasing him has been the highlight of my last two days, and I can't help but get in a few jabs when I can. I’m enjoying this tiny power trip.
“Sure. Are there uh, big waves today?” he asks. I nearly roll my eyes. No. There’s hardly ever big waves on Mission Beach. He should be more worried about the undertow and riptide that can happen. Telling him that now would be a mistake so I just shake my head.
But Tommy steps forward. “Naw, man. Nothing like that. We’ll stay close to shore, so no worries.” John swallows down some of his fear but there’s a hint of jitters that are still visible in his wide eyes, betraying his apprehension about the mild waves we'd be tackling.
With that settled, I focus on the rack of surfboards available to rent and pick something out for John. We have thirty boards, thanks to a small business loan last year. There’s a healthy combination of foam boards for kooks, some cheaper composite boards for the intermediate students and some expensive fiberglass boards. It cost a lot of money to stack the shack like this, but it was well worth it to see the less expensive Torq’s, and Thurso’s among the Channel Island and Pyzels. Locals can come rent them for a few days to try them out before making a purchase. That adds a new source of income that the Shack didn’t have before.
But my board, my beautiful Colby Jack that I bought off Ron when I left Costa Rica is off to the side. The yellow and white daisies were hand-painted by me and she's my first true love with Sam grabbing a very healthy second place position. I grab her—yes, Colby Jack is a girl cause girl surfers are superior and I don’t want to hear anything about it—and point out a nine-foot Liquid Shredder for Tommy to grab for John.
But Tommy shakes his head. “Guy has an athletic build. He can handle the seven-six Torq.” I roll my eyes because it’s pretty obvious I’m paying for the assistant comment. He wants to show off? Go for it, dude. Not my problem if John doesn’t catch anything because Tommy’s being a diva.
“Fine, but you’re pushing him into waves,” I say. That makes Tommy laugh, and I see Sam’s gaze snap to us again. Is that a smirk? Oh hell, she’s picking up on the vibes and we need to go, like now. “Let’s get to it!” I’m already jogging toward the door as Tommy grabs the board he picked out with John next to him. John is awkwardly adjusting the crotch of his ill-fitting wetsuit as they walk. Athletic build my ass. The guy has a beer belly that rivals any redneck at a NASCAR race. It doesn’t faze me though. Some of the best long boarders I’ve seen at Mission Beach have big bellies and even bigger personalities.
Holding the door open, the two men pass through and we set off, leaving the complexities of my personal life at the shack as we dive into the simpler challenges of the surf.
