“That sounds like a plan.”
He leaned over and kissed me so I could feel the smile on his lips.
This kiss was different somehow: more relaxed, less desperate – just sweet and loving. I stroked his cheek and he sighed happily, leaning into my hand.
“I know,” he said, suddenly sitting up. “I’m going to take you surfing. You said you wanted to learn…”
“No, no! It was Donna who said I should...”
“Are you chicken?”
“Yes! The water’s too cold.”
He laughed. “They’ve invented wetsuits. You’ll be fine. I know a place just north of La Jolla where we can rent some gear. Come on! We’ve got a couple of hours. You can drop me off at work on the way back. We’ve got time.”
I really had no desire to immerse myself in chilly Pacific waters but his enthusiasm was contagious. Maybe it was his recklessness that was catching, his unbreachable zest for life. Maybe I was just no longer afraid to live.
“Okay, let’s go!”
We abandoned the car next to a shabby-looking surf shack that perched precariously above a small, secluded cove. The water was turquoise; I imagined it to be the color of the Mediterranean and wondered if that was something I’d ever see – the ocean my dear papa had lived by as a small child.
“Hey, man,” said the owner of the shack. “Long time no see.”
I immediately felt anxious: it hadn’t occurred to me that Sebastian would take me somewhere he was known. My eyes flickered to him nervously and he squeezed my hand reassuringly.
“Yeah, can we get a couple of shorties, rash vests and a spongey board?”
“Sure, man. Come on through.”
Sebastian let the owner go ahead then whispered in my ear.
“Don’t worry: he says that to everyone. He hasn’t got a clue who I am. It’s cool.”
I tried to relax but the shot of adrenaline was still working its way through my body: I smiled wanly.
The owner sized us up expertly and handed over a couple of cropped wetsuits, silky rash vests to wear under the neoprene and a large, heavy foam-covered surfboard. I was glad that Sebastian tucked it under his arm: it was too wide for me to be able to carry easily.
“That’ll be twenty bucks,” drawled the owner.
Before I could stop him, Sebastian pulled out his wallet and handed the man a couple of bills.
“And I’ll need a credit card for surety, dude.”
Sebastian’s eyes flickered uncertainly to me. I knew he didn’t have a credit card and I wasn’t really keen on the idea of handing one over that described me as ‘Mrs. Carolina M. Wilson’.
“How about we give you our car keys?” said Sebastian, thinking quickly. “We’re parked right over there.”
He pointed at my old Ford.
“Dude, that piece of shit isn’t gonna pay for anything!”
“Ah, come on! What are we going to do? Go running down the highway carrying a spongey?”
The owner held up his hands in defeat. “Okay, okay, but only because your girlfriend has such a cute smile, man!”
I thanked him quickly as I dragged a suddenly angry Sebastian out of the door.
“He was hitting on you,” he grumbled.
“Hardly!”
“He was.”
I shook my head. “Are you going to teach me to surf, or what?”
Sebastian grinned. It really didn’t take much to put him in a good mood – how very different from David.
Neither of us had swim gear. I just pulled on the wetsuit over my panties and unhooked my bra when I’d pulled on the rash vest, so I was half-dressed. Sebastian watched in fascination. I didn’t think it warranted that close a scrutiny. He caught my expression and winked, pulling his borrowed wetsuit over a pair of tight-fitting grey briefs that soon had my mind wandering.