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God, he was hot! Tousled dark hair, sun-kissed skin, strong stubbled jaw, piercing blue eyes.
In the next microsecond, she registered that he was wearing baggy camouflage shorts, a worn T-shirt and old flip-flops.
Oh, crap! Chris was ludicrously and prissily overdressed.
“Hey, Chris.” He looked her up and down. “Whoa. You look amazing.”
“Thanks.” She held her head up. Not going to apologize. He hadn’t told her to dress casually. Though maybe “hang out” should have tipped her off. “You are very handsome yourself.”
“Yeah?” He seemed unsurprised by the compliment. “So, I thought we could go hang out at this sweet surf spot. I am really digging the waves today.”
“Oh.” Her face fell. Strike two. “But I don’t surf.”
“No problem.” He grinned, his teeth white and even. “I can surf enough for both of us.”
Uh... Chris stared at him, smile frozen on her face. He wanted her to sit on the beach and watch him surf?
No, no, he couldn’t mean the whole afternoon. Maybe a couple of runs, she’d tell him how great he was, then they’d hang out on the beach and talk, maybe get some dinner later on. Not what she expected, but that was fine. He was clearly anxious to impress her. Guys weren’t always subtle about that. “Why don’t I change into something more beachy?”
“That would be good. I’ll wait.” He strode into Eva’s kitchen and opened the battered stainless refrigerator, which Chris had spent an hour cleaning her first day here. “Got any organic juice?”
“Uh. Tropicana?”
“Dude, you gotta try Suja Juice. It’s awesome.”
“Really.” Did he just call her dude?
“Yeah, it’s cold pressed from organic fruit. No vitamins destroyed in heat processing. They call it ‘epically refreshing.’”
“Epically.” She nodded several times. The word epic made her think of Gone with the Wind or Lord of the Rings or The Iliad. Not so much juice. “Well, I’ll have to try those. Be right back.”
“Sure.” He was still inspecting her refrigerator. She hoped he didn’t notice her half-finished bottle of Yoo-hoo. Or find the cheddar cracker and peanut butter sandwiches in the cabinet. Good bet neither of those was organic.
In her bedroom, she replaced her pretty outfit with tiny denim shorts and a cropped blue-and-white top, leaving on the jewelry. The blue sandals she replaced with waterproof Tevas Eva had left behind. While Gus was surfing she could walk at the water’s edge, dip her toes in. That would actually be great. She’d been so busy at Slow Pour and touring nearby competitors, she hadn’t spent as many daylight hours at the beach as she’d wanted. And it wasn’t as if Gus was planning to surf for hours.
He surfed for hours.
Or at least it felt that way. Chris loved it at first, watching him paddle out to the spot he deemed best, his strong shoulders and arms propelling the board. She’d waited for him to start riding wave after wave in spectacular fashion.
Unfortunately, she figured out really quickly that surfing was about as exciting to watch as golf. For every wave Gus went for, there were about a hundred he let pass. Watching someone bob up and down sitting on a board was just not that absorbing.
She explored the beach for a while, walked along the water’s edge for a while doing the toe-dip thing, lay in the sun for a while, watched some kids playing in the sand with their mom for a while, and then...
Just sat there.
Every now and then Gus would wave cheerfully from his stupid bobbing board. Or he’d cup his hands over his mouth and yell something she couldn’t hear and she’d have to shrug and shake her head in pantomime. After the first few runs, she’d cheered enthusiastically, expecting each time that he’d come the rest of the way in, sit next to her and make plans for their next stop.
Yeah, that didn’t happen. Gus would end his run or fall, then he’d paddle right back out. And he’d sit there. And sit there. And sit there.
Chris was very tempted to get up and leave, but they’d driven in his car to an unfamiliar beach and she had no idea where she was or how to get home.
