“My name is Luke,” he repeats, urging me to shake his hand the charming smile never faltering. “We should get that much out of the way, I think.”
Reluctantly I place my hand into his, and in an instant I feel a sense of security.
“Sienna Murphy.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sienna,” he says while still holding my hand.
Finally he lets go.
“To answer your question,” he says, “she came over to talk to me, and when she asked me to show her how to surf, I told her—as I would any other customer—that I was already booked for the day and that she’d have to set up an appointment.” He laughs lightly, shaking his head. “She didn’t like that much.”
I make a face just thinking about it.
“I saw you talking to her yesterday,” he goes on. “That worried me a little. Thankfully you’re nothing like her—that would’ve been a disappointment.”
Luke sits down on the sand, drawing his knees up and resting his forearms atop them.
“You teach surfing?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah. I’m not a pro, but I know my way around the waves enough to offer lessons.” He points in the direction of the hotel. “I work part-time for the surf school.”
I smile on the inside, assuming that the girls in his group yesterday were likely just customers. I drop my sandals and sit down next to him, crossing my legs underneath my skirt.
“Then I guess you’re not just some stuck-up surfer with territory issues?”
He laughs.
“Nah, I’m not one of those.”
“Well, that’s good to know”—I smile over at him—“because that would’ve been a disappointment.”
His lips spread into a soft grin as he looks out at the ocean.
“I thought the surfing here was supposed to be insane and dangerous, like you see on TV?”
“Oh, it can be,” he says. “Mostly in the winter around here, and over at Laniakea. But give it time, you’ll see some big waves. I like surfing when the storms roll in, myself.”
That takes me a little by surprise.
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
He shrugs. “Sure, I guess it is, but I’ve done all right.”
“Don’t you worry about getting struck by lightning?”
He chuckles and I feel myself turning red—clearly I know nothing about surfing.
“I’d be more worried about getting my leash tangled on a reef, or getting knocked unconscious and drowning.”
I feel my eyes springing open wide in my face.
“Oh, well, yeah, that definitely sounds dangerous—ever been in a situation like that?”
“Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “Nothing major.”
I nod, taking his word for it, but a faint twinge of uncertainty lingers.
I listen to the waves crashing against the shore and the breeze combing through the trees behind us. I reach up and wipe underneath my eyes again; tiny flakes of dried mascara come off onto my fingers. Suddenly I’m not feeling so confident about how I must look. I could check myself out in the camera on my phone, but to let Luke see me doing it would be embarrassing.
“Sometimes I wish my job was a little more laid-back like yours seems to be,” I say.
Luke looks over, his arms dangling casually over the tops of his bent knees.
“What do you do?” he asks.
“Event coordinator,” I answer. “Weddings. Parties. All things crazy and hectic and ridiculously expensive.”
“You don’t like it?”
“No, I like it,” I say with a nod. “I must thrive on the chaos, I think.” I laugh lightly, shaking my head just thinking about it, because I’m not sure that’s true. “And there’s no shortage of chaos, that’s for sure.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” He smiles softly, and it kind of melts me a little inside.
“Well, it pays well,” I go on, feeling a strange need to justify my job more than I thought I already had, “but … well, it’s just been a disaster this time around.” I leave it at that. I’m still not ready to think about the other problems I should be fixing right now with the Denningses’ wedding. I’m having such a strangely pleasant time sitting here with this attractive stranger. On a beach. In Hawaii.
This is how a trip to Hawaii is supposed to begin.
He smells good. Not like saltwater or overwhelming suntan lotion, but like soap and toothpaste and heat. To keep from looking at him longer than I should, I gaze down at my toes buried partially beneath the sand, my painted toenails poking through against the tiny grains.
I hear him sigh lightly next to me and I worry that it’s because maybe I’m boring him. But then he glances briefly toward the hotel and I get the feeling he’s got somewhere he has to be soon—that’s better than boredom, I suppose.
“How long are you here for?” he asks.
“The wedding is tonight and I have a plane to catch tomorrow afternoon back to San Diego.”
The softness of his face fades a little. He nods.
“That’s too bad,” he says, not looking at me.
He glances over with a smile but doesn’t look at me for long. Then he stands up. He reaches his hand out to me, and this time I accept it without reluctance and he pulls me to my feet.
“It was nice meeting you, Sienna, but I need to get back. I’ve got an appointment in ten minutes.”
My gut is twisting. I don’t know why, but I don’t want this to be good-bye. It’s too soon.