Beach House Reunion (Beach House #5)(43)
Linnea sputtered to the surface and scrambled to stand in the sand. She caught sight of the two men poised atop their boards, coasting effortlessly, just as another wave slammed into her, knocking her over a second time. Gasping, she staggered to a stand, wiping the hair from her face since the elastic had sailed away. She looked around frantically, searching for her surfboard. She spotted it bobbing in the current, taking off down the shoreline farther away from her. Oh, no, Brett’s board! In a panic, she pushed through the thigh-deep water, swinging her arms to catch it.
A tall man rushed into the surf to grab her board. She waved in acknowledgment, so grateful that he held it for her while she pumped through the water toward him. He was tall, with the deep tan of a surfer. His longish hair was a deep auburn, but the sun had bleached the tips a golden red. The closer she got, she saw that he wasn’t a college kid but a man, maybe late twenties or early thirties, and very good-looking. She reached up to smooth her wet hair from her face.
A crooked grin eased across his face. “I think this belongs to you,” he said as she drew near.
His eyes were a piercing green with whites that contrasted sharply with his tan. She felt the power of them sweep her body and sucked in her stomach.
“Thanks,” she said, taking hold of the traitorous board.
“Major wipeout.”
“Yeah,” she said, and had to laugh. She looked up and wanted to tell him it was her first time out on the board, but he shook his head and laughed.
“See ya,” he said, and walked away with a backward wave.
He was laughing at her, she realized, feeling like a little girl just dismissed. Her blush deepened. Major wipeout. She closed her eyes, unable to imagine how ridiculous she must’ve looked getting knocked down before even making it to the breakers—twice!
She watched as he trotted back to his own board and picked it up from the sand as though it weighed nothing. He waved to the other surfers, then jogged into the sea and slid onto his board like an otter. His strong arms dug deep into the water and made short work of the journey out. She put her hand over her eyes to watch how he seemed to lift himself and the board over the oncoming wave to glide over it and just kept plowing out to where his friends sat on their boards beyond the breakers. It was beautiful to behold.
She looked at the long surfboard and felt again the sting of his laugh. Maybe there was a lot more to learn about surfing than she’d figured. But this morning’s embarrassment and the sting of the surfer’s laugh, rather than discouraging her, only fueled her fire to learn.
Chapter Eleven
Despite living in the ocean, turtles cannot breathe underwater. They are reptiles. Like the mammals dolphins and whales, they have to surface from time to time to breathe.
IT WAS A perfect night for a party. Long tables covered in blue-and-white-checked tablecloths stretched across the flagstone patio. Hurricane lanterns flickered in the dusk. Linnea stood at the gate and heard the low murmur of conversation broken by occasional laughter. Squinting, she scanned the yard to see who was there.
Flo walked around carrying red wine in one hand and white in the other, refreshing everyone’s glasses. Emmi manned the barbecue. The scent of pork ribs wafted in on the breeze. Linnea had been exhausted by parties, but this one promised to be a special evening with women she’d grown up among.
Linnea’s plan was to stop in and say hello to everyone, meet Emmi’s son, then quietly slip out in time to go to a gathering at Jessica’s family’s beach house on Sullivan’s Island. She was wearing the sage-green shirtwaist dress from Lovie’s collection, which showed off her tiny waist and long, slim legs. Her hair was loosely pulled back, and her sun-kissed skin was free of makeup except for her dewy pink lips and a swipe of mascara.
Her game plan set, she scanned the patio for Cara and spied her sitting at a table with Hope in her lap, beside a handsome man with dark gray hair sprinkled with white. Heather walked up to him and handed off Rory. He held the boy high in the air like an airplane before settling him in his lap. He must be Heather’s father, she realized. So he was the man Cara found attractive . . . Linnea looked closer at his dark, bushy brows over beautiful brown eyes, his ruddy tan and outdoorsman appeal, and readily understood Cara’s attraction. He didn’t look like Brett, but he was the same type. At least physically. And unless she was mistaken, there were sparks flying between him and Cara. Linnea walked into the party, her steps a bit wobbly in her strappy sandals as she made her way across the crooked flagstones directly to Cara. With a knowing smile, she was introduced to David Wyatt. He was both charming and handsome; and though fiercely loyal to Brett’s memory, a part of Linnea hoped that Cara might at last end her mourning and find happiness with someone like David.
AS LINNEA MADE her rounds at the party, she caught up with Heather and Bo, who still acted like newlyweds. From the moment she’d met Heather, they had instantly connected. They were almost the same age and she’d sensed a kindred spirit in Heather. They shared a love of nature and wildlife. As they chatted, Linnea was impressed once again by how much Heather knew about birds, both shorebirds and songbirds. When she invited Linnea to come along on a birding expedition at Bulls Bay, she jumped at the chance. They talked for a long time and could’ve talked for hours more, but Heather heard her son fussing across the patio.
“I’d better find Rory and pack up,” Heather said. “We have a ferry ride back to Dewees.”