I go back to the book I’ve been picking at in my spare time. Back in Canada, any stretch of free time that wasn’t spent polishing academic skills or begging fishermen for stories—or a few hours on their boat—was spent reading. Romance, sci-fi, a bit of historical fiction. Self-help books never really stuck. Might explain a few things.
Here, though, I haven’t had much time for it. Between classes, my thesis, hours with Damon, and squeezing in time with my friends, I usually crawl back to my dorm dreaming only of a hot shower and unconsciousness.
But this? Right here? This is perfection.
Maya, Soren, and Alana have teamed up against Theo in a heated debate about which surfboard is best for North Shore waves. I can hear him fighting not to pull the “I’m literally a professional surfer” card, opting instead for well-reasoned counterarguments. Not that it matters—there are three of them, they’re louder, and I’m pretty sure Maya’s entered her rage-bait era solely to see if she can make him crack.
I glance up from my book just in time to catch her grinning wide and winking at me as Theo lets out a dramatic groan and flops back onto his towel, forearm slung over his eyes.
He peeks at me through his elbow. “Freckles, will you please talk some sense into your friends?”
“Why?” I giggle. “You’re holding your own just fine.”
He makes a lunge for my feet like he’s going to tickle me, but I swat his hand away with my book. Seconds later, he’s up again, rallying, facing them with a fresh set of counterpoints and the intensity of a man defending his dissertation.
Nearly twenty minutes later, I hear Nate and Holden’s voices behind us, growing clearer as they approach. Holden drops down onto the towel beside Theo and me, both arms full of takeout containers. Nate follows, mirroring the balancing act. They lay out bowls, chip bags, fruit, and drinks in front of everyone, and within seconds, a chorus of hands reaches to claim what they want.
I’m just finishing my chapter when Holden nudges my knee with his elbow. I lower the book to see what he wants—and catch his gaze hooked on the hoodie I’m wearing. His eyes widen slightly. He looks from the logo to me, then back again.
“Nice hoodie,” he says, still blinking like he’s not entirely sure it’s real, until a slow smirk tugs at his mouth.
Before I can respond, he seems to shake it off and lifts the container he’d meant to show me in the first place—a shallow carton bowl filled with white, wobbly squares that look like some hybrid between tofu and feta.
“What is that?” I ask, prodding one with a finger and watching it jiggle.
“It’s called haupia,” he says, fishing a wooden fork from his shorts pocket and handing it to me. “Coconut pudding.”
He holds the container steady while I cut out a small square. “I know it’s nothing like your usual dessert choice, but trust me onthis one.”
I take a bite and— “Oh my.”
It’sdelicious.Cold, creamy, sweet. Silky-soft, with just enough firmness to hold its shape. Paired with the warmth of the hoodie and the sun overhead, it’s the perfect contrast.
I go in for another bite, then pass the fork back to him—and watch him take a bite without hesitation. Oh. Cool. We’re sharing cutlery now.
“So, this is your preferred choice of sweet treat,” I say, mostly to myself.
Theo leans around me, eyes lighting up. “Ohhh,haupia, bro?” He practically lunges for the fork, and Holden tosses it over without protest.
“It’s my favorite dessert,” Holden says, eyes back on me. “Do I still deserve to be on the CIA watchlist?”
I turn to Theo, feigning deep thought. “What do you think? Is he a threat to society?”
Theo, already chewing, nods solemnly. “For many reasons, yes. But the chocolate thing? We’ll let that slide.”
I laugh and face Holden again. “Fine. I’ll call off the manhunt. You live to see another day.”
He chuckles, shakes his head, then takes the fork from Theo—only to offer it back to me instead of taking a bite himself.
We fall into a comfortable lull, the kind that only comes when food and sun and friends converge just right. Holden chats with Nate and Maya, slipping effortlessly into the rhythm of the group, while I watch them all with quiet appreciation.
Seeing him like this—off-campus, relaxed, dark shorts and dark T-shirt, hair tousled from the beach breeze—it does something strangeto me. It doesn’t make any of this morepossible, not really. But here, he's just a guy. A friend of friends. Not a TA, not my lab supervisor, not the mind I spend half my life trying to understand. Just Holden. Still complicated, still off-limits. But maybe—just maybe—a little easier to be around when he’s not walking the tightrope of professionalism.
I push the last bite of pudding toward Holden, but he shakes his head. “All yours.”
I smile, feeling the tips of my ears flush, and then—a loud horn blares behind us, nearly launching me out of my skin. I whip around, startled, but everyone else seems completely unfazed. The girls cheer. Nate and Theo get up. They fist-bump Holden, who tells them “good luck,” and then Theo winks at me before disappearing down the beach.
At my confused expression, Soren leans in. “That means the competition’s starting.”
