Page 111 of Summer Love

“Again,” Jace says.

Noah paddles again. This time the wave takes him, he tries to stand—one knee, then the other—and falls. The board gets away from him, the leash snaps it back with a loud slap on the water. Noah surfaces, out of breath, hair plastered to his forehead.

“Shit,” he breathes.

“Again,” Jace repeats.

He barely talks. He repeats the motions, fixes the same mistakes, starts over.

I’m better than Noah, by a long shot. Fifteen years of training, a dozen summers of surfing—my body knows what balance is. Noah, on the other hand, is smart—brilliant, even—but he’s never been an athlete.

Maya pushes me onto a second wave. I take it, I ride it, I feel my footing lock in. It’s getting better and better.

The third wave is longer. I stand up early, set my feet, and glide. The water rushes by under the board, the wind pushes my hair back, and for a few seconds there’s nothing else. No house to sell, no loan to pay off, no stupid bet. Just the ocean.

I can still do this.

When I come back to the lineup, Jace is repositioning Noah on his board. But his eyes aren’t on his brother—they’re on me.

He looks away the second our eyes meet. Thirty seconds later he’s correcting Noah’s posture again, but his gaze comes back to me.

I pretend not to notice.

Maya guides me onto another wave. I paddle, I pop up, and just as I set my feet, Jace’s voice rings out:

“Your back foot—slide it back on the pad! And open up your shoulders!”

I glance over at him. He’s a few yards away, one hand on Noah’s board.

“Hey! That’s my student!” Maya calls out. “Summer, ignore him. You’re doing fine.”

But on the next wave, he does it again.

“You’re staying too square! Open your hips, follow the wave, don’t just shoot straight ahead!”

I don’t get what he means. I turn to Maya, who sighs.

“He’s not wrong… It’s the rotation. You keep your hips facing forward. In surfing, you have to open them up.”

I try again… and miss. Jace lets go of Noah’s board.

“Don’t move,” he tells his brother.

He closes the distance between us and comes up beside me, the water waist-deep. Up close, his eyes are greener in the morning light.

“Stand up,” he says.

I do as he says. Standing on the board, knees bent, I try to find my balance.

Jace moves closer. His hand settles on my hip. He corrects the angle of my hips with a press of his palm.

“There. Feel the difference?”

Mostly I feel his warm fingers through the neoprene. The rotation. Sure. Way down the list.

“Yes,” I manage.

Jace takes his hand away. He steps back.