What happened to him is all my fault.
“What’s new up there?”I ask, running my fingers through my hair.The way this humidity makes it curl is driving me insane.
“I applied for a job yesterday.”
“That’s great.Which one?”
“Dispatch for a transport company.Not exactly my dream gig, but it’s something to do, right?”
Something to do because he can no longer do what he loves.I clear my throat.“If you need a reference or anything, let me know.”
“Will do, boss.”
Our conversation stalls there, and I can’t think of anything left to say, but the silence is just as uncomfortable.It never used to be like this, and I hate it.
“I should probably go,” I say.
“Oh.Okay.Try to have a little fun down there.You deserve it.”
I say I will, even though it’s a lie.
We end the call, and I let my head fall back against the chair.
What the hell is wrong with me?Why can’t I hold a normal conversation with my closest friend?
I drag my hands down my face, frustration pulsing through my veins.
A sudden flash of movement between the balusters distracts me from my inward spiral.
A woman is coming up the beach path between the dunes, carrying a surfboard.Her wild, wavy blonde hair cascades down her skin-tight wetsuit.
I sit higher in my seat, my boots hitting the deck.Is that…?
Yep.It’sChloe.
She doesn’t seem to notice me when she stops at the bottom of the yellow shack next door and rests her surfboard against the railing, shaking out her sun-kissed hair.
This woman may not be able to get to work on time or make a boiling-hot coffee, but she sure can wear a wetsuit.She turns to face the ocean and reaches behind her neck with both hands.
I tilt my chair sideways, unable to look away.An ear-splitting “crack” snaps through the humid air and my ass plummets to the deck, the chair sitting in two pieces beneath me.
CHAPTERFOUR
CHLOE
A vicious curseerupts from the Simpson house.I lift a hand to shade my eyes from the evening sun, hoping to catch a glimpse of my new neighbor.
Is that Mr.Punctuality sitting flat on his ass on the wrap-around deck?
It sure is.
He shoots to his feet and gives one of the grayed Adirondack chairs a swift kick.
Looks like Lola’s source was half-right.Someonedidbuy the house, but this guy doesn’t look old enough to be retired, and I haven’t seen him come into the coffee shop with a wife.
I give the guy a friendly wave so he knows that I totally saw him bust his butt on the deck, then reach for the towel hanging over the railing and head to my outdoor shower to rinse off.
Surfing might be my favorite pastime, but peeling off a wetsuit?Not so much.After a bit of a struggle, the black neoprene flops to the ground.I rinse off all the sand first, then throw it over the wooden panel to dry.Humming to myself, I strip out of my bikini and hang it up as well.
