He tilts his head. “I could lend you mine, if you want.”
It’s a good offer—cheaper, cozier, environmentally sound. But I’ve been meaning to replace my one university hoodie anyway. So I explain that, and Theo nods like I’ve just presented a well-reasoned thesis. “Okay, okay. I know a place. Come on.”
We fall into step together, weaving through foot traffic as he starts telling me about the chaos at his booth. Apparently, things devolved into a full-on competition between a group of teenagers trying to sink the plastic surfer in the ripple tank as fast as possible.
“It was hilarious,” he says, shaking his head. “Holden took him out in, like, three seconds flat.”
I ignore the small shift inside me at the mention of his name. “What was up with that woman yelling at the two of you?”
Theo lifts his hands, exasperated. “Oh my god. She kept going on about her own real sailboat and how it’sneverflipped. She said our experiment made no sense. Holden tried explaining the variables involved in the demo—currents, slope, boat design—but she just cut him off and told him to get back to class.”
I blink. “Please tell me she didn’t know who he was.”
“She definitely didn’t,” he laughs. “Honestly, it was kind of amazing. Good for his ego. Keeps him humble.”
I snort becausenothingkeeps Holden humble. But the thought of someone dismissing him like a student with too much attitude and too little knowledge is admittedly funny.
A few minutes later, we reach the Rip Curl tucked between two bigger, glossier fast fashion stores. Theo holds the door for me, still talking.
He stops walking when a guy who looks almost like his DNA was copy-pasted from Theo’s jogs over, all sun-bleached hair and boardshorts. The two of them launch into a handshake that starts like a high-five and ends somewhere in the realm of secret society.
“What’s up, bro?” Theo says, and just like that, he becomes the California mascot I imagined when I first met him. “Coralie, this is Nate. He’s a pro surfer too.”
Nate flashes me an easy, playful smile before diving into some inside story with Theo—something about reef breaks and last week’s swell—while I linger awkwardly nearby. I use the opportunity to scan the store: rows of wetsuits, rash guards, graphic tees with curling waves and island maps. I love this about Hawai‘i—how the ocean isn’t an accessory here, or a weekend novelty. It’s embedded. Present in their closets, in their language, in the rhythm of daily life.
Eventually, Theo breaks away from Nate and waves me toward the women’s section.
“I’ve got, like, a ridiculous discount here,” he says with a wink. “So this’ll basically cost you a coconut.”
I raise an eyebrow but follow him to the rack, flipping through hoodies on one side while he does the same on the other. He pulls one out a few moments later—bright blue, soft-looking, with a curved block-letter Rip Curl logo across the chest.
The second I see it, I know it’s the one.
He notices the look on my face and lights up. “Yeah, that’s perfect for you, Freckles.”
Without asking, he finds my size—accurately, annoyingly—and hands it over. I head toward the register while he trails behind, clearly pleased with himself.
Nate’s back behind the counter now, and he scans the hoodie, automatically applying Theo’s discountlike it’s a reflex.
“Oh, no need for a bag, bro—she’ll wear it now,” Theo says casually, as if I’m some regular fixture in his life and this is normal.
I blush. Deeply.
Nate grins, rips the tag off cleanly, and passes the hoodie back to me. I slip it on over my tank top, the fabric warm and just oversized enough. Both of them give me matching nods of approval, and I have never wanted to disappear into the stitching of a sweatshirt more in my life.
Still, I thank them both and walk out with Theo beside me, pretending I’m not hyper-aware of the fact that I’m wearing something he picked out for me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Moments after, we’re both working through fast food sandwiches I insisted on buying to thank him for saving me a few dozen dollars on a quality hoodie. We make our way back toward the beach as the sky shifts into watercolor mode—deep orange bleeding into purple, the last rays of sunlight melting into the horizon.
I spot my friends easily—Maya’s oversized shirt flapping in the breeze, Soren sitting with her knees pulled to her chest, Kai standing with sunglasses on despite the sun’s imminent departure. They’re exactly where they said they’d be in the group chat.
Theo and I walk over, finishing the last bites of our sandwiches and dropping the wrappers into a nearby trash can.
He flashes that infectious, golden-retriever smile as he greets the group, even though it’s his first time meeting Maya and Soren. Somehow, it still feels like he’s known them forever.
Then his brow pulls slightly. “Your friend Alana’s not coming?”
Maya’s grin twitches—barely, but I catch it. So does Soren, who lifts one eyebrow in perfect mischief. Theo picks up on it too.
