Page 1 of Not Just for Christmas

Chapter 1

Twenty years ago …

Dylan hoisted himself onto his surfboard and paddled out towards the horizon, his arms powering through the cold salt water against the tide. Adrenaline pulsed through him as he spotted the peak of a large wave heading into shore. He dipped his head, letting first one, then two smaller waves pass by. To his left, the only two other surfers on the water began to turn as the third wave drew closer. This was it. He was going for it. He turned the nose of the board towards the shore and prepared himself as the energy of the water began to lift him. Gathering all his strength he popped up onto the board, left leg forward, body crouched, arms out, every muscle tensed.

Focus, Dylan, don’t fall … He hardly dared breathe. He was doing it, he was riding the wave!

Then the surfboard went one way, his body the other and the surf crashed over his head. He rolled under the water, feeling the tug of the ankle strap which tethered him to his board. He surfaced again a second later, gasping for air.

He watched enviously as the other two surfers rode the wave, zigzagging like a couple of pros, letting the wave carry them in. He brushed the water from his eyes and heaved himself back on his board. If there was one thing anyone would say about Dylan Wilde it was that he wasn’t a quitter. He could do this. He turned and paddled out again.

He was sitting astride his board, waiting for the next wave when one of the other surfers appeared beside him.

‘Whoo-hoo! No feeling like it, is there?’ the guy shouted, a huge beaming smile on his face.

‘It sure beats working for a living,’ Dylan shouted back over the roar of the water. ‘It would be even better if I could stay on the board.’

The guy laughed. ‘Relax! The wipeouts don’t matter; surfing isn’t about being perfect. Falling off is an opportunity to try again. Just have fun, enjoy the ride.’

Dylan raised a hand. ‘Good tip, thanks.’

An hour later, exhausted and teeth chattering, Dylan hauled himself and his board out of the water. The sun had disappeared behind a cloud, and a cold wind whipped his dark curls into his face, but he didn’t care. He’d taken the guy’s advice and had chased every wave, some more successfully than others; he was exhilarated and proud of himself.

He’d heard that the surf in Craggy Bay was meant to be amazing and he’d been dying to get into the water and try out these waves since arriving in Devon a couple of days ago. So far on his travels, he’d done a week at a surf school in Sri Lanka and caught some waves on a beach in Australia, but nothing had prepared him for the power of the water on this tiny beach in North Devon. He loved it.

He jogged up the beach to where he’d left his rucksack and towel. He was buzzing with elation and loving the roar of the ocean, the crash of the waves on the rocks to his right. Who’d have thought that he could have had so much fun at the English coast in winter?

The beach, unsurprisingly, was almost deserted – it was too cold to hang around. But only a few metres from his stuff, there was a girl sitting on her own, sheltered by the rocks. She was wrapped in a blanket, a book in her hand, long auburn curls twirling in the breeze around her face. She looked up, caught his eye and smiled.

‘Did you enjoy that?’ She held her hair off her face; she had the most striking green eyes he’d ever seen, her cheeks rosy and the tip of her nose pink.

‘It was …’ He touched his forefinger to his thumb. ‘Awesome.’

‘You’re American? Wow!’ Her eyebrows flicked upwards. She put down her book. ‘We don’t get many Americans around here.’

‘American and a terrible surfer.’ He grinned at her.

He should really grab his towel and dry off. It was freezing. But that would mean ending their conversation. He did not want that to happen. She was gorgeous.

‘Don’t be too hard on yourself, the waves here are enormous,’ she said, hugging her knees. ‘And your feet even stayed on the board for three seconds at one point.’

He laughed out loud. ‘Thanks for pointing that out. Are you a surfer?’

She shook her head. ‘I love swimming, but I like to stay where my feet can touch solid ground.’

She reached into her bag, fetched a packet of Kleenex and handed them to him. ‘You’ve got …’ she gestured to his face.

‘Right. Thanks.’ Great. The cutest girl he’d met since leaving Brooklyn four months ago and he had a booger. He turned away and blew his nose. ‘So this is home for you?’

‘Technically my official home is in Adelaide since my parents emigrated there.’ A dreamy smile spread across her pretty face. ‘But Devon has my heart now.’

He felt a spot of rain on his face and then another. She noticed it too and shoved her book away in her bag.

‘Don’t blame you. I mean the weather here is amazing.’ He held out a hand to catch the raindrops with a teasing smile. ‘And the beach in winter is the perfect place to read.’

He was rewarded with a laugh.

‘When the sun’s out, Devon is heaven, but when it rains and the wind blows, being outside is … a challenge.’