He meant to leave. He needed to get back to the office, and surfing beforehand would be ridiculous. It made no sense.
Everett grabbed the bathing suit, quickly changed, and trudged across the warm sand, still cursing Tino under his breath. But he kept going because there was nothing else left to try. A few surfers were out today, but he was still a beginner, so he wasn’t about to challenge anyone for a wave or go out that deep for a chat.
Too bad. They’d probably have better advice than Tino.
He tossed the board down onto the sand and stared at it like Bagel stared at him. “Fine. I’ll play the game.”
He waded through the shallows, water folding around his ankles, the resistance tugging at him until he threw himself onto the board and began to paddle with long, awkward strokes. It felt nothing like the clean, confident glide of the surfers around him; he was all elbows and floppiness. But he kept going, breath steadying with the rhythm. Soon his shoulders warmed and his frenzied thoughts began to quiet.
When he reached the surf line, he sat up on the board and let his feet dangle. The ocean rocked him gently. He dragged a hand through his wet hair and took a long breath.
“Okay, ocean,” he said softly, the words snatched by wind. “Why would I move here?”
He waited.
Nothing happened.
“This is so stupid.” Feeling like an asshole, Everett rolled his eyes and looked toward shore, ready to declare the whole exercise a bust. But then a small wave surged underneath him, lifting the board just an inch, nudging him in a direction he hadn’t chosen. His muscles responded automatically, and he adjusted, letting the flow take over.
He caught the swell, using the techniques Rowan had taught him, and popped up, riding it in with the same freedom he experienced when his daughter laughed or held his hand or Rowan kissed him and stared up with those beautiful green eyes.
And suddenly—without warning—his body answered.
It wasn’t a sentence or a revelation or a grand cinematic vision. The simple word drifted up from inside him.
Peace.
He thought over this past summer and all the moments leading up to now. All the moments in the quiet he’d overlooked because it wasn’t his goal or something he easily recognized.
He was happiest around Rowan and his daughter. Not chasing shiny new objects to prove something. Just ...
Living.
New York had never felt like this. Like a chance to draw a line that belonged to him, not his father’s expectations or the ghost of the man he’d tried to be.
Everett stood with his feet in the sand and the sun on his shoulders, and wondered if he was brave enough to blow it all up for something bigger.
Chapter Thirty-Four
When Everett stepped into his office at Purity, Jessica jumped up from her desk. “Afternoon, Mr. Hale. The initial bookings have exceeded everyone’s expectations and corporate wants a meeting ASAP. Oh, and your daughter’s school emailed requesting a pre-enrollment meeting. They said it’s urgent in order to get her set up in time for the first day.”
He offered a small smile. “Thank you. I’ll look at everything in a bit.”
The staff was buzzing with energy, flush on the opening night’s success. He told himself this was his time to enjoy. Everett was sure he’d solidify his promotion once he got back to New York.
Matthew popped in, posture immaculate, suit crisp, expression politely carved from stone. “Got a minute?” he asked.
Everett shut the door. “What’s going on?”
“Wanted to congratulate you again on the opening. It was a true success.”
The words should’ve soothed him but his posture tensed. “Thanks.”
“Just wanted to go over a bit of business.” Matthew rotated his laptop toward him. “I finalized the vendor switch for the menu.”
Everett scanned the screen and froze. “You replaced the local seafood suppliers?”
“Yes,” Matthew said briskly. “The Tahitian distributor guarantees uniform cuts, predictable pricing, and faster delivery. Purity expects consistency.”
