“Thirsty,” he explains, smiling before taking a long swig, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He takes a couple more long sips and then drops the half-empty bottle into the shopping cart.
I raise an eyebrow, a small laugh escaping me. “You’re supposed to pay for thatbeforedrinking it, you know.”
He shrugs, and a couple of minutes later, he finishes the smoothie with a satisfying sigh. “It’s no big deal,” he says casually. “I do this all the time. I’ll just leave it somewhere.” Before I can respond, he sets the empty bottle behind a stack of soup cans, tucking it away like it’s a secret.
My smile falters. “Wait… you’re not actually going to pay for that?”
He smirks, apparently a little amused by my confusion. “Why would I? They charge way too much for those things, anyway. Corporate greed.” He winks, as if that justifies everything, and then pushes the jam-packed shopping cart toward the checkout.
I trail behind, a knot tightening in my stomach.
He glances at me over his shoulder, noticing my concerned expression.
“You’re overthinking it, babe,” he says. “Everybody does stuff like this. It’s really not a big deal.”
The way he says it—so offhandedly, like it’s an inside joke—makes me suddenly feel small, like I’m missing out on a secret rule everyone else knows.
My mind flashes back to the time my mother and I were in the grocery store when the power went out. Standing in the darkened produce department, I remember my mom urging me to eat as many grapes as I could. I still feel guilt at what we did, even though I know it likely didn’t matter in the scheme of things. And the way my grandmother had this self-entitled habit of helping herself to pick-n-mix candies and grapes every time we went grocery shopping. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m just too uptight.
We reach the checkout, and I watch as Timmy unloads our groceries with an easy smile, chatting with the cashier like nothing’s amiss. My skin prickles with discomfort, but I’m not sure whether it’s because of what he did, or how normal he’s making it seem.
As we leave the store, groceries in hand, the moment clings to me like a fog I can’t shake. My gut tells me something’s off—there’s a dishonesty in it, a selfishness and sense of entitlement that leaves me unsettled.
But then, once the groceries are loaded into the truck and we both hop in, Timmy leans over and wraps an arm around my shoulders. He pulls me to him, kissing me gently on my forehead. “Come on,” he says, grinning. “Don’t tell me you’ve never bent the rules a little. You’re so uptight sometimes.”
His words, light and teasing, poke at something inside of me. I feel a flicker of embarrassment—maybe he is right, maybe I’m way too rigid, making a big deal out of something so trivial. And he’s accurate, nobody even noticed, and it’s not as if the grocery store is going to go bankrupt over one smoothie.
Still, the knot in my stomach doesn’t loosen. Even as I laugh along with him, my nagging discomfort lingers, an unsettling ick I can’t quite brush off. And, for a moment, I wonder if I’m starting to see Timmy in a different light—one I’m not sure I like.
34
BOARD SHORTS OFF, WALLS DOWN
The Next Day
It’s officially been two weeks since I got my tattoo, and today is the day I’ve been waiting for—I can finally dive into the ocean. I’ve walked along the shore countless times, watching people splash in the turquoise waves, wishing I could join them. And now, I can. But what makes it even better is that this first swim will be with Timmy, my surfer boy.
The water sparkles under the sun, and as soon as it washes over my skin, it feels like pure heaven. Timmy is right beside me, grinning as I wrap my arms around his neck. The waves lift and cradle us, and he floats me around with ease, his body warm and solid under the water.
We kiss, laugh, and nuzzle each other as if we’re the only two people in the world. It’s impossible not to get lost in the love bubble surrounding us. Floating on our backs, we hold hands and let the ocean rock us gently. The sky stretches endlessly above, and the water below is as clear as glass. I’ve never felt so light, so free, or so perfectly content.
“Lift your lower back,” Timmy murmurs, his hand grazing my waist. “Stick your chest out a bit more.”
With a few tweaks, I feel myself relax even deeper, floating effortlessly.
“Once, I floated so long I fell asleep, and I was quite far out in the ocean,” Timmy says, his grin mischievous. “Some guy thought I was dead and ran into the water to save me. I woke up with him carrying me to shore like I was a giant damsel in distress. He was even trying to do CPR.” He pauses for effect, then adds, “It felt like Jason Momoa was rescuing me from the ocean.”
I burst out laughing at the ridiculous image. He’s always in the center of each outrageous story, usually involving him as the star of some absurd or mischievous adventure.
“I can’t wait to take you surfing,” he says, his voice full of promise as we watch surfers catch waves in the distance. “We’ll have you riding the Juggernaut in no time.”
I laugh again, knowing the Juggernaut is the stuff of legends—one of the island’s most notorious surf spots. In winter, the waves swell into monsters for world-class competitions.
He grins, all charm and confidence. “For real, I have it all planned out, how I’m going to teach you. We’ll go out together on one board at first. I’ll float while you catch the wave. Then you’ll paddle back out and get me, and we’ll set you up for the next one.”
I beam at him, my excitement growing. “I can’t wait! Thank you so much!”
When we eventually wade back to shore, a woman sitting in the sand waves us over, her phone in hand. “This might sound strange,” she says with a sheepish smile, “but I filmed you two in the water. Can I AirDrop you the videos?”