The Holiday Swap(49)

On the bright side, it appeared that no matter what happened, her sister had a true fan—and trusted confidante—in Faye Christie, who had placed a slice of rhubarb cake in front of Charlie and was waiting expectantly for her to taste it.

Charlie took a bite of the moist cake, which was a perfect combination of sweet and tart, and reminded her of summers gone by. “It’s delicious, Faye. Truly it is.”

Faye beamed at her and Charlie smiled, grateful for the coffee, the cake, and Faye’s wise words.

“That’s better,” Faye said. “You were looking a little downtrodden when you came in, but this fixed you right up. It’s like I always say, ‘Time heals all things. If time fails, try cake.’?”

Charlie laughed and set another bite of the cake on her fork. “I’ll remember that one, Faye. I promise you.”





13


Cass


Sunday: 6 Days Until Christmas . . .

Los Angeles

Cass struggled to lift Charlie’s surfboard from the roof rack on the Prius and almost dropped it—she’d had a hard enough time getting it on the roof rack at all—just as Miguel pulled up alongside her. He jumped out of his car.

“Here, let me help with that.”

At the sight of him, she felt herself go weak at the knees—which did not help her grip on the surfboard. “Whoa . . .”

“Let me help you.” He smiled down at her as he supported the surfboard until she got what felt like a proper, if still slightly awkward, hold on the smooth fiberglass surface, then leaned it against the car without incident.

Cass smiled back, genuinely happy, no matter how embarrassing all her surfboard fumbling had been. Miguel had that effect on her, she was noticing.

Miguel inclined his head toward the sun rising over the ocean, holding up his phone. “I just checked the swell. It’s south/southeast today, so not as big as I like it, but it’ll do.” Cass felt relieved to hear this but tried not to show it because she didn’t want Miguel to know how utterly inexperienced she was.

“Apparently, the best waves are that way.” He gestured southwest down the beach. “You okay with walking for a bit?”

Cass tried not to grimace at the idea of carrying the board more than a few feet. “Oh, sure, of course. Wherever the best waves are, right?”

Her arms were shaking by the time they reached their destination. She put down her board and turned to the ocean. Those were what Miguel considered small swells? She watched a surfer catch and ride what looked to her like an enormous wave.

“Miguel,” she began, turning to him. “I have to admit something to you.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” He turned away from the water to look at her. His wet suit clung to his sculpted chest and she forced herself to meet his eyes and focus on the mortifying truth she could no longer hide from him.

“I . . . don’t actually know how to surf. Not very well, anyway.”

She hated how confused he looked—and for a terrible moment, imagined the expression on his face if she decided to tell him everything: that not only did she not know how to surf, but she also wasn’t Charlie Goodwin.

“Really? But you look so professional with your fancy board and wet suit,” he said, the smile returning to his handsome face.

“The truth is, it’s my sister who likes to surf.” This felt like it really was true, so she kept going. “I got this stuff when I moved here because I was hopeful I’d have time to learn. The problem is, I’m always working. When my sister visits, she’s the one who takes this stuff out. I keep it for her. And when you texted I was out with Priya and I may have had one too many cocktails.”

“Oh boy, so that’s why you agreed to a surf date with me?”

“No! Of course not! It’s just—”

“It’s okay, Charlie. No harm done at all. I had a feeling about the surfing. You seemed to be struggling with your board.”

She felt her cheeks grow warm. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” he said, stepping closer. He smelled like coconut sunscreen and saltwater. “To be honest, I was feeling a little concerned about you surfing so soon after your injury—but couldn’t resist the idea of spending time with you.” His dark eyes were intense, caring. “We’ll just take it slow, that’s all.” Momentarily confused if he was talking about their relationship or surfing, she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Okay, let’s do this,” she said. But he put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently.

“Here’s a secret about surfing, and it’s the reason surf bums have the rep they do.”

“What rep is that?”

“You know, the whole ‘relax dude’ mentality?” He grinned and held up his right hand in a “hang loose” sign. “It’s actually a thing. Surfing doesn’t work if you don’t relax.” For a moment he rubbed his thumb in circles around the knot at the base of her neck. Then he lowered his hand and said, “Okay, now breathe.”

“I am breathing,” she said, but realized that she had been holding her breath. She exhaled, then breathed in again. The air was tangy with the scent of the seawater.

“Excellent,” he said. “You’re a pro already. Now, come on, grab your board. Do it like this. It’s less awkward that way.” He demonstrated, and she followed suit with her own. It did feel easier. She followed him into the water.