Page 45 of The Surfer

Every day we’re getting closer and closer. Every day I felt my heart beating faster and faster the longer I’m with him.

Cove is unlike every other man I’ve met, and I feel safe with him. Trusted. Secure. As he leads me down the trees to the secret beach by his hand, I feel protected, like nothing can touch me.

And I think I’m changing him. I’ve not seen him with another girl since that first day we went surfing. I’ve not smelt alcohol on his breath or seen weed in his room.

He’s even washed his clothes.

Even his bedsheets.

This is all down to me.

I know he’s doing all this for me.

And I love it.

We reach the secret beach, and we do what we always do. Cove takes the surfboard, dumps it on the sand, and teaches me how to stand so that I will be ready to do so in the actual ocean. All the time I can sense his wariness around the board, he still hadn’t got over his aversion to surfing. He still doesn’t want to surf. I wish he does. I wish he shows me what he’s like when he did surf when he was in his natural element. I can only imagine it.

He takes me out on the board, pulling it, and me, along as he paddles us a few hundred yards out into the ocean. I spend the time focused on his beautiful sandy hair and the shape of his sharp jawline. His hand sometimes grazes mine and I physically shudder at the thought of us so close together. The man is beautiful. I can’t believe I’m alone with him. Every moment we’re together like this I hold preciously close to my heart.

Where once I was terrified of the open water, he’s made me feel confident. Cove’s confidence has rubbed off on me like it’s contagious. I’m no longer scared of the ocean, especially when I’m with him.

“Ready, American girl,” Cove says every time when he spots a good incoming wave on which to launch me on. I smile and nod my head, thinking that this is my chance to finally stand up.

And then, when the wave is about to go over his head, he pushes me onto it and lets me go.

Every time, as I shoot down the wave, I try to stand, just wanting to impress him. I just want him to know that every day spent with me is not going to waste, that I listen to him. I just want him to be proud of me and of the teaching he’s done.

And every time I fall off the board before I get the chance to stand up. Every. Single. Time.

This particular American girl from Queens is not made to stand up on a long piece of fiberglass in the Australian ocean.

And today is no different.

After a couple of tries in the water, we retreat back to the beach, exhausted. Cove is dripping wet. I laugh at how his bleach-blonde hair sticks to his face and I watch water droplets fall from his defined torso. He grins at me with his white straight teeth and collapses onto the sand next to me whilst I stare out at the ocean. I hear his heavy breathing just inches from me. His muscular chest rises and falls. His eyes are shut as he slowly relaxes. The sun is bright and there are no clouds in the sky. It’s just us two alone on this stretch of perfect sand.

It really is paradise here. With Cove.

As I stare out the ocean, I think I see something far out. Something black. A whole group of black dots jumping in and out of the water.

“What’s that?” I ask, pointing at what I’m seeing. Cove opens his eyes and rests upon his hands to get a better view. “Are they dolphins?”

Cove laughs. “Yeah, they are.”

“God, they’re amazing.”

“They really are.”

“Did you use to see them when you use to surf?”

“All the time,” Cove replies. “Did you know every dolphin has a unique whistle?”

“No?”

“Yeah,” he says. “They can recognize former lovers’ whistles even after twenty years apart.”

I look at Cove, he’s still staring out at the dolphins with an intense focus. “Is that true?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

He stands up then to get a better view of the dolphins as they jump in and out of the water, crossing his arms.

He’s different from what I thought he was when we first met. For a whole year, he’d understandably put up defenses to protect himself from the nasty way people treated him since his accident. He put up this façade to hide his pain from the accident, from his girlfriend leaving him, from the shame of never surfing again. He didn’t let anyone see this defenseless side of himself, not until I came along. He doesn’t dare show anyone this side of himself. He’s let no one in, until me.

Until I came along.

Me.

He’s slowly letting me in.

And now, as he watches the dolphins play out far in the ocean, I watch his small dolphin tattoo on his lower back, and I think only one thought. The thought that’s been replaying in my head constantly on a loop these last few weeks.

Cove Finn.

I’m slowly falling in love with you.