“The ocean’s neutral,” Rory said. “You’re just...learning her language.”
“Her language is violence.”
Rory splashed him. “Come on. One more try. I’ll talk you through it.”
Kieran lifted his head. “You promise not to laugh if I fail again?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Great. Super supportive.”
But he paddled out anyway, because apparently self-preservation wasn’t his strong suit.
Five minutes later, Kieran achieved a grand total of one successful pop-up.
He stood for maybe three seconds before the board wobbled, his arms windmilled, and gravity won decisively.
But still. Three seconds.
Rory cheered like he’d just won an Olympic medal.
Now, as the sun started its slow descent toward the horizon, they sat side by side on their boards, legs dangling in the water, letting the swells rock them gently.
Kieran’s arms ached. His shoulders burned. His ego was bruised but still intact.
“That wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be,” he admitted.
“See?” Rory said. “Told you.”
“You caught like fifteen waves. I caught a mouthful of seaweed.”
“Quality over quantity.”
Kieran snorted. “That’s generous.”
They floated in comfortable silence, the water turning gold around them as the light shifted.
“You know about the green flash?” Rory asked.
Kieran glanced over. “The what?”
“The green flash. Sometimes, right when the sun sets, there’s this flash of green light on the horizon. Only lasts a second. Most people miss it.”
“Is that real or are you messing with me?”
“It’s real,” Rory said, smiling. “Rare, though. You have to catch it at the right moment. And it doesn’t happen every day.”
Kieran looked out toward the horizon, where the sun was sinking lower, painting the sky in shades of yellow and purple.
“Have you ever seen it?” he asked.
“Twice,” Rory said. “Once when I was a kid. Once a few years ago.”
“What’s it mean?”
Rory shrugged. “Some people say it’s good luck. Some say it’s physics. I think it’s just...a reminder to pay attention.”
Kieran smiled, watching the sun slip lower. “That was unexpectedly deep.”