“You said the same thing about running, and I nearly died,” she points out, sounding amused as she bends to take off her shoes.
When the first wave strikes our calves, I take her hand in mine to steady her—and the feel of it almost knocks the wind out of me. Weird. Her hand is so warm and soft. And it feels so small in mine. This strange protective urge gnaws inside of me when I touch her, as though there’s a little voice in my head whispering, “She’s The One,” at the same time it says, “She’s off-limits.”
Stupid little voice.
I’m not her type. I learned that within the first five minutes of conversation with her. And the last thing I need is to start crushing any harder on my inaccessible housemate.
I lead her a little deeper.
“Feel that?” I ask as another wave recedes and wants to pull us in with it.
“Feel what?”
“That power. You can’t control it. The surf. The tides. None of it. The ocean is going to do what it’s going to do. You’re just along for the ride, Millie.” I glance over at her, and her eyes are bewildered by my brand of philosophy. “It’s the same with life. Anytime I need to remember that I can’t control everything, well, I come here. Fixes me every time.”
“Huh,” she replies thoughtfully.
Another wave rolls in and rolls out again, making our feet sink deeper into the sand. “Feel that rhythm? You can’t make that wave do anything that it doesn’t want to do.”
“I still don’t get how that makes you less stressed.”
I sigh. “Half the things we worry most about are the things we can’t control. But do we try to stop the ocean? No. So why do we try to control other things that just aren’t ours to control?” I repeat the words to her that I’ve reminded myself so many times in recent years.
Looking over at her, I soak up the sight of her for a moment, savoring the way her face seems to relax at the feel of the water caressing her calves.
Yep, she’s finally getting it.
I should totally put this in a book and become the next Tony Robbins.
“That’s—that’s actually really true.” She barely whispers it.
I send her a smile. “I’m smarter than I look, right?” I chuckle, retrieving our shoes and carrying them as we resume our walk again, enjoying the way the ocean tugs at my ankles with each receding wave.
“You’re looking like the smartest guy on the beach to me right now.”
I glance around us. “Not much competition at this hour. So what are you trying to control that you can’t? Or I guess I should saywho, since you said it’s a family thing. Your sister, maybe?”
“Why do you guess that?”
I shrug. “You said she just moved. Sooo…” I stretch the word out, my brain pondering for a moment. “She got divorced?” I glance at her again and she shakes her head. “Fired?” She shakes it again. “Escaping a bad boyfriend?” I brighten suddenly. “Want me to go kick someone’s ass for you?”
“No. Definitely not.” She laughs. “You know, for a guy who likes mysteries, you’re not the best guesser.”
“Why do you think I didn’t pursue my childhood dream of becoming a detective?” I grin. “So what is it? Unless you want me to keep guessing.”
She holds up her hands slightly, as though in surrender. “No, no—please don’t. It’s my brother. He just deployed this afternoon.”
That makes my back stiffen. “Your brother’s military?”
“Yeah. Navy.”
“I had no idea.” I sift through the images of him that I’ve seen on her wall. He was a big guy, as I recall, and I guess his cropped hair might be in compliance. But with her attitude about military guys, I hadn’t really suspected he’d be in a uniform.
She shrugs. “Why would you? I mean, I don’t think I mentioned it.”
“Actually, I thought—I thought you hated the military.”
She laughs again. “Well, seeing as they’ve just sent my big brother God-knows-where, I’m not reallylovingthem at the moment. But I don’t hate them. What gave you that idea?”