I grabbed my suitcase and tossed it on the bed. I knew there were clothes here but it’d been years and I couldn’t even say what was in the drawers and the closet. I stripped out of my slacks and polo shirt, tossing them in the corner. I’d unpack later.
I sat down on the edge of my bed and put on the new running shoes I’d bought specifically for my time in Surfside. I quickly laced them up and went back downstairs.
Cody was on the patio, beer in hand and his feet propped up on one of the footstools. He raised his beer at me as I passed.
“Don’t forget to hydrate,” he said.
I walked toward the gate that protected our property from random beachgoers. It needed a quick code and then I was walking along the path through the tall seagrass. I hit the sand and turned south.
My muscles were begging to get moving, but I did a few stretches first. I planned on taking it easy until I got used to running on the sand again. Starting the summer with a pulled muscle would put a serious damper on this vacation. Once I felt sufficiently warmed up, I jogged toward the packed sand near the waterline and fell into my stride.
I ran to clear my head. Always had. There was something about the rhythm of it. It was the only time I could really think. If I was in the office, there was too much noise. At home, noise. My phone. The TV. Just too much.
I rarely ran with headphones on. If I wanted to listen to music, I could do that in the car or at home.
I jogged around a couple sitting on a blanket taking in the sunset. A few old men were running metal detectors across the beach. I glanced up to the houses, hearing music coming from one. Someone was grilling. The smell of seasoned meat carried on the breeze. That was a smell I was very familiar with.
I could feel the stress leaving my body even as my calves started to tense and my lungs burned. My eyes moved to the horizon and that’s when I spotted the surfer maybe fifty yards out.
One lone figure sitting on a board, watching the water and waiting for the right moment. The light was low and thedistance was enough that I couldn’t make out much. I kept running. There was always someone in the water in a town like this. Didn’t mean anything. Plenty of people surfed this stretch at dusk. I spent many summer nights watching surfers take advantage of the empty water. There weren’t any big waves, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy the ride.
I watched the surfer paddle into position. The wave came and they were up in one fluid motion, arms out just slightly for balance. I knew the stance, with the person’s weight back on the tail until just the right time and then shifting forward. Damn, the person was good. I slowed down, watching the graceful movements on the water.
The surfer cut back toward the whitewater, rode the foam, and then stepped off the board in one clean motion, right into the shallows, without missing a beat. I stopped running and stared. That dismount seemed familiar.
The way someone moved on a board was as unique as a fingerprint. I’d spent enough summers on the beach to know that. You could put fifty surfers in the water, and after enough time, you could tell them apart by their style alone. The way they read the wave, the way they positioned their weight, the way they committed. You didn’t have to see their faces to know who was who. And I knew that surfer.
She hadn’t left.
I stood at the waterline and watched her paddle back out. I tried to talk myself out of what my eyes were seeing. People moved away. People moved on. Surfside wasn’t the kind of town that held everyone forever. She could have gone to Hawaii, Florida, Australia. But she was here. I would recognize that sleek style anywhere.
She sat up on the board again, looking out at the horizon, and even from here there was something about the way she held herself. She was so comfortable in the water. From the moment Ifirst saw her, I noticed. She truly was half-mermaid. She’d been born to surf.
Summer Banks had never left Surfside.
She was so close and yet so far. She had no idea I was standing on the shore watching her like an idiot. Would she be happy to see me? Pissed? Did she even remember me?
I sure as hell have never forgotten her.
CHAPTER 3
SUMMER
The last wave of the evening carried me across the water like I was riding a chariot. I let it do the work, feeling the board glide beneath me as the water shallowed out and the last of the daylight bled from the sky. I couldn’t really see stars thanks to the light pollution, but the moon was putting on a show.
I loved that shine on the water. It made everything feel enchanted. When I was younger, I was certain moonlight held magical properties and there were truly mermaids that came out to play the second the silvery streaks touched the water.
I might have had a very active imagination. Once I’d seen dolphins gliding under the water, dancing and playing, and I had been convinced they were mermaids. To be fair, I was six and I was standing on the deck with no binoculars. Combine that with my youthful fantasies and I had a whole scene playing out in my head about sea castles and underwater cities.
I stepped off into the shallows without even thinking about it, the way you do a thing ten thousand times until your body just knows. The water was warm around my ankles. The beach ahead was quiet and golden and mine.
That was the best part about surfing at dusk. Everyone was somewhere else. Showering. Getting dressed. Deciding betweenthe fish-taco place and the burger place. Pouring the first drink of the evening. The twilight beach belonged to the people who loved it enough to still be standing here when the sun clocked out. Long past the pretty sunsets that our little neck of the woods was famous for.
I tucked my board under one arm and pushed my wet hair back from my face with my free hand. My muscles had that satisfying, wrung-out ache that only came from a truly good session. My shoulders, my core, my legs. All of it pleasantly used up. I felt loose and light and clean the way the ocean always managed to make me feel. The water took all my worries and washed them far, far away.
This was my church. My place to get right with the world. Zen. I honestly didn’t know what I would do if I couldn’t get in the water at least once a week. I would shrivel up liked a dried-out sponge.
Up the beach, a bonfire was flickering to life. It was summer and that meant there would be these fires almost every night. I recognized a handful of locals gathered around it. There would be drinks, music, and conversation. That was our thing. I wondered when it would stop. A few of our usual group had kind of faded away. Got married and had kids or simply moved on. One day, there would be a new generation taking over the tradition.