I shrug lightly. “She makes it easy.”
He smiles at that. I glance behind him, toward the house, and immediately start laughing. Mabel and Bailey are standing at the window. Trying to hide behind the curtains, but failing terribly.
Ryan follows my gaze and groans. “Unbelievable.”
“They’re watching us.”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “Subtle has never been their thing.”
I shake my head, still laughing.
“Well…” I say, a small smile tugging at my mouth, “…guess we should give them something.”
Before I can overthink it, I rise onto my toes and press a kiss to his cheek, my hands resting lightly against his chest. It’s just a small kiss, but when I pull back, his expression shifts, like I actually caught him off guard. A faint flush creeps up his neck. Is he seriously blushing?
I bite back a smile and glance past him again, and sure enough, his mom and Bailey are already giggling to each other like this just made their entire night.
“That worked,” I say.
He clears his throat, a quiet huff leaving him. “Good.”
And for the entire ride home, the stunned expression on his face keeps replaying in my head. Because you can’t fake blushing right?
20
MADDY
How the tables have turned
I turn the little cube of surf wax over in my hand and my eyes widen immediately.Ten dollars. Ten actual dollars… for surf wax?
“Since when?” I mutter under my breath.
I went surfing this morning—mostly because it’s ridiculously hot today—I realized I’d completely run out of wax. But Surf & Supply has officially lost its mind. I’ve been coming here since I was thirteen. I bought my first board here, my first wetsuit—and the one I bought for Bailey—and about a lifetime supply of sunscreen and surf magazines.
But I still need the stupid wax. So I drop it onto the counter with a softthunkwhile the woman behind the register starts scanning it.
“That will be ten dollars,” she says.
I fake a polite smile, sliding my card across the counter. She tucks the wax into a small paper bag and hands it over. “Have a great day.”
“You too.”
The bell above the door chimes as I push it open and the warmth hits me again; that thick, heavy summer air after the cool breeze from the shop’s fans.
But then I realize someone is already standing right in front of me. “Hey.”
Jacob.
“Oh. Hey.” I say. “What uh, are you doing here?”
“Needed wax,” he says, nodding toward the bag in my hand. “Looks like you beat me to it.”
I stare at him for a second. “…You don’t surf.”
He shrugs. “Thinking about getting into it.”
I raise an eyebrow. Jacob hates the ocean. He always has. He used to complain about the sand, the salt, and how everything feels damp afterward. One corner of his mouth lifts, like he knows I’m calling his bluff.
