Easier to take the gift of the moment like a good wave.
The shell bell over the door jangled.
Lea stepped in, sunglasses pushed to her head, her dark hair twisted up in a careless knot. She was grinning like someone keeping a secret too long. Tino followed, a long board bag tucked under one arm.
Rowan frowned. “You’re both smiling. That’s suspicious.”
“Relax, Delaney.” Lea leaned against the counter. “We come bearing gifts.”
Rowan crossed her arms. “Looks too big for the coconut rum I like. Which is too bad because I haven’t sung karaoke since that fateful night at the tiki bar.”
Tino shook his head. “You are a bad singer, girl. This present is better.” They shared a glance of banked excitement, which made Rowan curious. He unzipped the bag with slow ceremony, sliding out the new board like a magician revealing a trick.
The breath left her chest.
It was gorgeous. Sunburst resin faded from coral to gold with clean rails and a perfect pin tail. She reached out before she realized she was moving. Her fingers brushed the glassed-in stringer, warm from the day.
“Tino,” she whispered. “You shaped this?”
“Been working on it for a while now,” he said simply. “A project I did slow, not knowing when it would be right. Lea came to see me and said it was time. I agreed.”
Lea’s smile softened. “He didn’t tell you because he knew you’d argue. We wanted to do it right.”
Rowan crouched to trace the underside. She had to blink fast to clear the blur. “Dad’s old stringer. Where’d you find it?”
“In his old shaping bay,” Tino said. “Thought it was time you had a board that felt like home.”
Lea crouched beside her, resting an elbow on her knee. “We’re not asking you to jump back into competitions. This isn’t about that. It’s about getting your joy back, Ro. You don’t have to prove anything.”
Rowan swallowed. “I don’t know if I can.”
“You don’t have to know,” Lea said softly. “You just have to paddle out.”
Tino leaned on the counter, voice low but sure. “Your dad used to tell me you were born in the pocket. That’s not something that disappears, girl.”
The emotion hit like undertow—unexpected and deep. She set her palm flat against the board, right over her father’s initials. JD. And beneath it, carved into the wood in Tino’s clean, steady hand:
Find your line.
Her laugh cracked around the edges. “You guys are impossible.”
Lea smiled. “You’ll thank us later. We’ll go out this weekend. Just you and me. Easy session.”
“I’ll bring the camera,” Tino said.
Rowan rolled her eyes, but the lump in her throat wouldn’t go away. “You’re relentless!”
“Only because we love you.” Lea stood and nudged her shoulder. “You ready?”
Rowan looked down at the board again. The light caught the resin and threw back gold. Her chest ached, but not in that hollow, missing way. More like something finally stretching open.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I think I’m getting there.”
Rowan stared at the two people she’d pushed away over and over, too broken to care about how it hurt both ways. People who’d loved her father and never stopped believing she’d make her way back. There were too many words and too much emotion, so she did the only thing she could.
She brought the board close to her heart. “Thank you.”
They smiled back at the acceptance of the gift.
