Waves of Love (Surf’s Up Book 1) by Lori Ann Mitchell Read Free Book Online Page B

with Fiona and another part-timer, both of whom were more than capable of running and closing the store without her actually being there. Sage just liked to be there, as always, hovering over – the kids called it “smothering” – and covering for the high school kids she generally hired to run the café and bookstore registers.
                  But, tonight, Derek was right: it was a time for celebration. She was thrilled to hear the ocean at her back and, just inside, the reggae remixes softly oozing as Derek hummed along, padding around the hardwood floor on his bare feet.
                  Sage couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so relaxed. Or unburdened. It had been ages since she’d talked about her parents, to anyone, let alone a comparative stranger like Derek. And yet, hearing his not-so-perfect life made Sage realize that she wasn’t alone in her suffering, or her grief. And being with him, like this, all afternoon, and now here, on his porch, meant she wasn’t alone… period.
                  She sighed and heard him approaching, two beers in one hand, a bag of tortilla chips in the other. He handed her a beer and, while she opened it, gently dragged his wooden deck chair closer with one long, strong bare foot.
                  He sat, so close their knees were almost touching, and tore open the bag. “Bon appétit,” he said, handing it to her.
                  She took it appreciatively. “You sure do know how to treat a gal.”
                  He smirked, fresh beer halfway to his lips. “It’s tradition,” he explained, sitting back and sliding his feet on either side of hers. “You’re a surfer, you’ve surfed, now you eat what surfers eat after we surf.”
                  The fresh corn chips, salty and crisp, were a perfect complement to the beer and, until she tried one, Sage hadn’t realized how hungry she was. A dozen chips later she forced the bag back on Derek, patting her flat belly with unbridled satisfaction.
    “Perfect,” she sighed, leaning back and, in the process, brushing her foot against his. Rather than gasp and race away, however, she preferred to leave it there, enjoying the feel of his warm skin against her own.
                  And besides, it was just a foot.
                  He appeared not to notice but, instead, attacked the bag voraciously. “Good, huh?” he said between mouth fulls.
                  She barely had time to answer before he was reaching into the bag again. When it was empty, he folded it carefully and slid it between the two empty bottles on the rustic wooden end table beside him.
                  It was late afternoon now, bordering on early evening, the sun a brilliant blend of orange, pink and blue. “You know,” she ruminated, the beer cool and wet on her bare knee, “I’ve lived in Florida so long and I’m always in the store at this time. I mean, I can see the sky change outside the window, but…”
                  “It’s just not the same,” he finished for her when her voice trailed off.
                  “Exactly,” she said.
                  “Wait’ll you see it from a surfboard.”
                  “Yeah?”
                  “Yeah,” he confirmed. “You’ll never want to get out of the water.”
                  She tapped his foot, lightly, almost… flirtatiously, sipping her beer. “Is that an invitation?” she teased, setting it down on the table near her chair.
                  He arched one dirty blond eyebrow and shook his head slowly, eyes drowsy but full of intent. “Some other time,” he said. “You couldn’t pry me off this porch right now with a crowbar.”
                  She sighed, leaning back a little so that, as she did, her foot rubbed against his once more. “I