Chris would check with Eva before she made any changes, of course, though she wouldn’t do that until her ideas had coalesced and she had a more concrete idea of what changes to suggest. She’d call Eva soon anyway to find out how her plans to catch Ames—Ames, of all people!—were going. But not right now, even though a chat would kill off the last fifteen minutes until Gus picked her up. She didn’t want to hear from her sister what a loser Gus was. Not right before she’d be seeing him.
A frisson of excitement went through her. She flopped onto Eva’s bed, landing in the middle of her assortment of fish-shaped pillows. Where would Gus take her tonight? A romantic restaurant for an intimate dinner? Then out dancing? Finishing with a drink by candlelight and a stunning view of the ocean? Then maybe...back here? His place? Only if it felt right.
Giggling, she flung herself up to sitting, then bounced off the bed, smoothing her top. She’d worked hard to pick an outfit that would fit in anywhere. Royal-blue linen shorts and a close-fitting sleeveless white tunic that hit her figure in all the right places without being obvious. Simple jewelry—earrings with lapis lazuli stones to match her shorts, necklace a glittering zigzag snake with blue eyes and a thin bracelet in plain gold. On her feet, heeled blue sandals with straps crisscrossing up her ankle.
On the radio, one of her favorite Fall Out Boy songs blared, “This Ain’t a Scene, It’s an Arms Race.”
She looked great, she felt great. This would be a good night. And if going crazy didn’t appeal, nothing said she had to. But she was ready. Too many nights spent here being mellow, taking walks, exercising.... She was used to having too many choices of activity, not too few.
Her doorbell rang. She grabbed a tiny white purse and slung its gold chain strap over her shoulder, hurrying to the front door, where she took a moment to make sure she looked relaxed and as if she went out with incredible hunks every night.
Sure she did.
Okay, go. She opened the door, big smile in place.
God, he was hot! Tousled dark hair, sun-kissed skin, strong stubbled jaw, piercing blue eyes.
In the next microsecond, she registered that he was wearing baggy camouflage shorts, a worn T-shirt and old flip-flops.
Oh, crap! Chris was ludicrously and prissily overdressed.
“Hey, Chris.” He looked her up and down. “Whoa. You look amazing.”
“Thanks.” She held her head up. Not going to apologize. He hadn’t told her to dress casually. Though maybe “hang out” should have tipped her off. “You are very handsome yourself.”
“Yeah?” He seemed unsurprised by the compliment. “So, I thought we could go hang out at this sweet surf spot. I am really digging the waves today.”
“Oh.” Her face fell. Strike two. “But I don’t surf.”
“No problem.” He grinned, his teeth white and even. “I can surf enough for both of us.”
Uh... Chris stared at him, smile frozen on her face. He wanted her to sit on the beach and watch him surf?
No, no, he couldn’t mean the whole afternoon. Maybe a couple of runs, she’d tell him how great he was, then they’d hang out on the beach and talk, maybe get some dinner later on. Not what she expected, but that was fine. He was clearly anxious to impress her. Guys weren’t always subtle about that. “Why don’t I change into something more beachy?”
“That would be good. I’ll wait.” He strode into Eva’s kitchen and opened the battered stainless refrigerator, which Chris had spent an hour cleaning her first day here. “Got any organic juice?”
“Uh. Tropicana?”
“Dude, you gotta try Suja Juice. It’s awesome.”
“Really.” Did he just call her dude?
“Yeah, it’s cold pressed from organic fruit. No vitamins destroyed in heat processing. They call it ‘epically refreshing.’”
“Epically.” She nodded several times. The word epic made her think of Gone with the Wind or Lord of the Rings or The Iliad. Not so much juice. “Well, I’ll have to try those. Be right back.”
“Sure.” He was still inspecting her refrigerator. She hoped he didn’t notice her half-finished bottle of Yoo-hoo. Or find the cheddar cracker and peanut butter sandwiches in the cabinet. Good bet neither of those was organic.
In her bedroom, she replaced her pretty outfit with tiny denim shorts and a cropped blue-and-white top, leaving on the jewelry. The blue sandals she replaced with waterproof Tevas Eva had left behind. While Gus was surfing she could walk at the water’s edge, dip her toes in. That would actually be great. She’d been so busy at Slow Pour and touring nearby competitors, she hadn’t spent as many daylight hours at the beach as she’d wanted. And it wasn’t as if Gus was planning to surf for hours.
He surfed for hours.
Or at least it felt that way. Chris loved it at first, watching him paddle out to the spot he deemed best, his strong shoulders and arms propelling the board. She’d waited for him to start riding wave after wave in spectacular fashion.
Unfortunately, she figured out really quickly that surfing was about as exciting to watch as golf. For every wave Gus went for, there were about a hundred he let pass. Watching someone bob up and down sitting on a board was just not that absorbing.
She explored the beach for a while, walked along the water’s edge for a while doing the toe-dip thing, lay in the sun for a while, watched some kids playing in the sand with their mom for a while, and then...
Just sat there.
Every now and then Gus would wave cheerfully from his stupid bobbing board. Or he’d cup his hands over his mouth and yell something she couldn’t hear and she’d have to shrug and shake her head in pantomime. After the first few runs, she’d cheered enthusiastically, expecting each time that he’d come the rest of the way in, sit next to her and make plans for their next stop.
Yeah, that didn’t happen. Gus would end his run or fall, then he’d paddle right back out. And he’d sit there. And sit there. And sit there.
Chris was very tempted to get up and leave, but they’d driven in his car to an unfamiliar beach and she had no idea where she was or how to get home.
To put it mildly, her lust was cooling. She’d been so primed to spend the evening in a thrilling haze of something-could-happen. Or even better, in the throes of something-is-happening. She’d been stoked and ready to be unsensible and uncautious and to do whatever she felt like.
“Hey! Chris.”
Chris turned at the familiar voice, sick dread in her stomach. Oh, no. Not him. Zac. As if she needed another gorgeous and disappointing man around tonight. She was almost homesick for a typical speed-through date with a neurotic and entitled New Yorker.
Almost.
“So.” Zac dropped onto the sand beside her as if they’d planned to spend the evening together and he was about to apologize for being late. “What’s going on?”
“I’m here with a friend.” She gestured out at the bobbing Gus dude.
“Yeah?” Zac shaded his eyes to peer out. “Who’s that?”
“Gus Banyon.”
“Gus, huh.” He stared at her curiously. “Something going on there?”
Yes, I’m carrying his octuplets. “Is that really your business?”
“Nope.” He shrugged, dug up a handful of sand and let it slide through his fingers. “Just wondering. He doesn’t seem your type.”
“Ah.” She wasn’t going to ask what he thought her type was. She wasn’t going to ask him anything. Maybe then he’d go away.
Though she had to admit he was not tough to look at. If he’d shut up, she wouldn’t mind having him around all that much. At least he was here beside her instead of out in the waves playing shark bait.
“How long has Gus been out there?”
Forever. “Oh, gee, I’m not sure. A while.”
Zac snorted. “If I know Gus, he won’t come in until it’s dark.”
“Oh.” Chris kept her features bland, fuming inside. Until dark? What was wrong with the guy?
“Gus really loves t
“No.” Chris wasn’t going to admit that she didn’t even know people surfed professionally. Like, really? You could get paid for sitting there bobbing up and down?
“But I think he kind of forgets that other people don’t love it the same way.”
“I see.” She was really pissed off now. One date had tanked and now she was apparently stuck with another one she never wanted in the first place. “Doesn’t anyone have normal office jobs around here?”
“Nah.” He grinned at her.
His smile made it hard to stay properly pissed off, which pissed her off even more. “I didn’t think so.”
“How’s it going at Slow Pour?”
“You’re there every day.” Oops. She hadn’t meant to sound that bitchy. “How do you think it’s going?”
“Seems fine to me.” He lay back on his elbows, stretched his long, muscular legs out in front of him. He was a big guy, lean and lumbering, not like Gus, who sizzled with slender sexual energy. “But I want to know what you think.”
“I like it there.” She tried to sound gentler. It wasn’t Zac’s fault her evening had started rough.
“I saw pictures of NYEspresso online. Totally different concept, huh.”
“Different cities. Different sisters.”
“Yeah, no kidding.”
Chris barely kept from jerking around to stare at him. What was that supposed to mean? Was he comparing her unfavorably to Eva?
She scoffed. Who cared? Unless and until he was actually her brother-in-law, she was indifferent. In fact, she was not interested in discussing Eva or herself with him. Or interested in discussing anything with him. She wanted to go home and pull the covers over her head and have a good cry. Maybe punch something.
“But you’re liking it here?”
“Sure.” Chris was exasperated. Did he not get the hint when she answered with monosyllables or didn’t answer at all that she was not interested in talking to him?
“Nice weather anyway.” He was watching her, she could tell, and it made her want to fidget. Actually it made her want to put her hand out and push his manly jaw away so he could check out Gus instead and she could have peace. “But slow, quiet. I imagine you’re so used to going one hundred percent that you sometimes feel like you’re falling behind.”
Chris glanced over sharply, then away, because she didn’t want to meet his eyes for some reason. He had this sort of...forceful stare, which was too personal or something.
But the truth was, she had been feeling like that, especially at the shop. During the early-morning rush—which wasn’t much of a rush at all compared to the crowds at NYEspresso—she was astounded at customers’ patience, especially when people in line wanted a manual pour, which could take as long as five minutes per cup. At that hour people in New York wanted their coffee and they wanted to leave, one, two, done, to sprint to the office, to catch a train, to get to a meeting. Chris had nearly gone out of her mind the first morning she’d worked alone at Slow Pour when what she’d consider an unacceptably long line had formed. But no one had seemed to mind the wait; they’d stood patiently and chatted, complimented her on her coffee, wished her a nice day, or peace or to be well.
It was nice, she guessed, but definitely...foreign. Zac had nailed it. “I do feel a little out of tempo sometimes.”
“Kind of a strange adjustment to have to make, huh.”
How did he know? Chris sighed. She might as well ask him. At least talking to him was better than staring out at Mr. Love Me Love My Board. “Sounds like you’ve done something similar?”
He didn’t answer for so long she turned and found him staring at her, a half smile on his lips. A tingle of excitement ran down her spine. Argh! For heaven’s sake! Was she that starved for attention? “What is so funny?”
“Nothing. I’m just glad you decided it was okay to talk to me.”
“Oh. Right.” She poked at a piece of seaweed in the sand to avoid looking at him again. He saw way too much, and it was really annoying. “I have been in a better mood.”
“No worries. To answer your question, I served as a Peace Corps volunteer in Africa. Big transition going over. Big transition back.”
Okay. That was unexpected. Somehow she’d pictured him springing full-grown out of one of the Slow Pour chairs and doing nothing else. Had Eva ever mentioned anything else about him? Whatever she’d said, Chris had taken it as shorthand for “beach bum.” Nothing about him until now had contradicted that impression. “That must have been an incredible experience. Life changing.”
“Yup. So I get what you’re going through.”
“Come on.” Chris waved away that concept. “You changed countries, cultures, everything. I just changed states. Boohoo.”
“Change is hard.” He reached over and touched her arm, his blue eyes kind. “You’re allowed to find this rough sometimes, Chris.”
To her horror, tears threatened; she had to swallow hard. What was this, PMS? She was never, ever this fragile.
“When did you last eat?” He was again studying her carefully, could probably tell she was struggling. The guy’s intuition and perceptiveness creeped her out. She felt like a cell on a microscope slide.
“I had some... I don’t know.” She sniffed and tossed back her hair, pretending to enjoy the breeze.
Next to her, rustling sounds. He was digging something out of his bag. “Here. Cashew-granola-cranberry bars. I make them myself. I brought plenty.”
“You cook?” She was on the verge of refusing one, but quite honestly, the red-studded bars wrapped tightly in plastic wrap looked chewy and delicious, and she was really hungry, having stupidly assumed she and Gus would be getting something to eat.
“Sure. These are good for energy. Here.” He held out a thermos. “Have some of this, too.”
“Not until you tell me what it is.” She bit into the bar—it was nutty, chewy, not too sweet, with the gift of a few surprise mini chocolate chips. “Mmm, these are fabulous, thank you.”
“No problem.” He held out the thermos, eyes twinkling. “The smoothie is a secret recipe. Trust me?”
“Why should I?”
“Because it’s California and that’s what you do here.”
Chris rolled her eyes good-naturedly, took the thermos and peeked in. “It’s green.”
“Uh-huh.”
She sniffed. Frowned. Took a sip. The flavors were creamy and complex. “Whoa, what is that? Mint? Banana? Ginger?”
“All of the above. You have good taste buds. There’s more, too.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “How much more?”
“Kale, cilantro, pineapple, hemp seeds—”
“Kale? Yeah, okay. I get it. Disgustingly good for me.” She took another sip, feeling better already, and handed back the thermos. “And delicious. Thank you again, Zac.”
“Sure.” He grinned at her, then chuckled.
“What?”
“That’s the first time you’ve said my name.”
“Uh.” Chris stared incredulously. “You kept track?”
He shrugged, raising the thermos to his lips.
The guy better not be crushing on her. She had zero interest.
And who put vegetables in a smoothie, anyway?
They sat in silence for a while, Zac apparently contentedly watching the waves roll in, Chris nearly twitching from the silence between them. She hated silence.
“So...what you do when you’re not at Slow Pour?”
He was clearly amused again. As if he got that she was finally talking to him only because she found the silence so awkward. “I’m finishing my degree.”
Ah, so he was a student. He must have gone back to finish now, a bunch of years after dropping out—she’d put him in his early thirties. Well, good for him, better late than never. “In what?”
“Engineering. Specialization in water engineering.”
“Wow. So you’ll end up with a bachelor of science degree for that? Pretty technical for undergrad.”
His smile was slow and smug. “This would be for my master’s.”
Oh, crap. She bit her lip. “I see. So then...”
“Are you trying to figure out why I’m at the café so much? If I’m a poor slob or independently wealthy? Where I’ve been all your life?”
Chris shrugged irritably, as if she didn’t care, when in fact that was exactly what she had been trying to figure out. “Something like that. And also not.”
He laughed. “If you want to ask me something, Chris, just ask.”
“Why do I have to do all the work?” She scowled good-naturedly. “If you know I want to know something, just tell me.”
Zac chuckled, conceding the point. “Okay. Let’s see. I went to UC Berkeley undergrad, worked for an engineering firm for several years before and after the Peace Corps. This fall I’m finishing my master’s at Cal Poly in San Luis Obispo and applying to doctoral programs for next year. Ultimately I want to teach.”
Holy— Chris gaped at his peaceful profile. She’d stuffed Zac safely away in the beach-bum category, rich or poor didn’t matter, and now she found out he was not only intelligent, but ambitious, with clear goals and a plan. For some reason the surprise of him annoyed her all over again. Why hadn’t Eva ever told her this?
Come on. That wasn’t her sister’s fault. Chris had made the stupid and rather snotty assumptions all by herself.
“Dude!” Gus waded toward them in the fading light, backlit by the magenta ball of the setting sun. “Is that one of your kale smoothies?”
“Sure is.” Zac got to his feet as Gus came closer. They high-fived, then fist-bumped. Chris snorted. Seriously, dudes, just shake hands and get over yourselves. At least they didn’t bounce their chests off each other.
She was so done with this roller-coaster evening, and with the strain of talking to Zac, not feeling sure of herself around him. Frankly, she hated it.
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