‘Yes.’ His gaze skimmed over her pensive features, over the delicate curve of her neck, the glorious thick dark hair that waterfalled past her shoulders.
‘Why didn’t you ever mention that you were a surfing champion?’
He stilled. Even knowing that Leila must have mentioned it, he still didn’t want to talk about it. ‘It’s never come up in conversation.’
‘It must have been tough to give it up.’
‘It was.’
‘Like shutting down a fundamental part of yourself?’ she asked, quoting his own words back at him.
Dammit. That was what happened when you started to care about other people. It came back to bite you on the bum.
‘Yes.’
‘Do you regret it?’
‘No.’
Clearly the monosyllabic answers weren’t doing the trick. Her expression showed a mix of compassion and admiration, and Joe didn’t want either.
‘I mean it. Holly and Tammy are way, way more important to me than being a surfing pro. It was never a question in my mind that there was any choice. And I’ve never regretted it. Not once. My sisters are two wonderful people, we’ve built up a cache of incredibly happy memories over the years and we’ll continue to do so. I have a career that I love and that I believe has value. Maybe I lost something, but I gained more. Life is what you make it.’
He’d known that all those years before—been determined never to look back and have regrets.
Blue-grey eyes surveyed him and then she stepped for ward. Standing on tiptoe, she brushed a feather-light kiss across his cheek before almost leaping backwards.
‘I was right. You’re a good man.’
Emotions mixed inside him—the desire to pull her into his arms and kiss her properly along with a residue of embarrassment.
‘Hey, there were days when it was hard. Don’t make me into a saint because I’m not.’
Days when, surrounded by the collapse of the family business, facing the fact that his parents had not been the people he’d believed them to be, trying to help the twins through their grief, all Joe had wanted was his old life back. He had craved the feel of the waves under him, the powerful exhilaration of meeting the challenge of the swell. He’d yearned for the freedom of the sea instead of the net of responsibilities that had sometimes threatened to drown him.
‘When did you last surf?’ she asked.
‘Just after my parents died.’
Her hand rose and one slender finger twirled a tendril of hair. ‘I’ll do you a deal,’ she said.
‘What sort of deal?’
‘I’ll go to that art class tomorrow if you’ll go surfing.’
Whoa. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’
‘Why not?’
‘I haven’t been on a board in years. I drew a line under it long ago.’
‘Then maybe it’s time to rub it out. I understand why you gave it up years ago, and I understand how back then you were scared to surf because it would be too painful. But maybe now you could take it up again.’
I’m too old and too unfit to go back to a professional surfing life, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.’
‘Then what’s the problem with just surfing because you enjoy it? For you?’
She laid a hand on his arm, her touch heating his skin even through the thick material of his tux.