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Oh, plus being on the water paddling is actually fun.
When I was a kid, I was terrified of the ocean. Wouldn’t go near it, not even when Dad made enormous efforts to make me feel safe on tranquil beaches without a cloud in sight.
There are so many unknowns.
Like, sure, I was scared of sharks and jellyfish.
But the thing that haunted me most was what happened to my mother when her body washed up on a peaceful stretch of shore next to our family coffee farm in Hawaii.
My parents didn’t have a great marriage. It was stormy and toxic and ultimately, my mother smashed his heart.
Even so, Dad was devastated. He never had a chance to fix it, much less end it and move on.
He buried his feelings in chronic work and a defensive short fuse that didn’t go away until Eliza crash-landed in his life.
Thank God she did.
Besides being the catalyst for making him function like a human being again, she also saved me from a lifetime of ocean deprivation.
It wasn’t even the fact that she brought us closure with the past.
She encouraged me to explore my passion for animals at a time when I was a major brat, staring down the barrel of taking over a coffee empire I had zero interest in.
She reawakened Dad’s kindness, too, and together, they got me on boats with dolphins and turtles and then into the ocean with nothing but a paddleboard.
They showed me a lost love I’ve been absolutely smitten with ever since. I can’t imagine what my life would be if I’d let fear hold me back.
I also can’t believe I’ve never tried kayaking before today.
Once the ocean bug bit me, I went ham on outdoor sports—surfing, canoeing, parasailing, you name it—but somehow kayaking never made it onto my list.
Maybe because there’s still a hint of uncertainty with new things, and any water activities with live currents have the potential to go so wrong.
But it also has the potential to be incredibly satisfying.
Yes, even with an unrepentant grump for a teacher.
I steal a glance at him and try not to smile like a starry-eyed moron.
He’s doing his broody thing again.
Mouth pulled tight, eyes dark, staring into the distance like he’s contemplating the secrets of the mountains, his stern blue eyes narrowed and focused.
With him looking the other way, I can linger on that hard jawline, the way he’s made up of so many sharp lines and dips and walls of muscle.
That wet suit doesn’t hide much, either.
And because I’m a hot-blooded woman, yes, I checked him out back on the beach.
I hate to admit there was a hint between his legs that he has a reason for that mammoth ego.
And his abs—
Sweet Jesus.
I had to switch my brain off before the daydreams started. It’s already awkward enough with Foster without picturing him gloriously naked every time his lips move, okay?
The man works out.
