BEACH GLASSÂ byÂ Suzan ColÃ³n
Location: A beyond-gorgeous beach in Costa Rica
Welcome to Emerald Cove, a tropical paradise on a black sand beach in Â a lush green jungle of Costa Rica. This is where Katy, the heroine of my contemporary romance BEACH GLASS, has been sent to write a review of a surfing and yoga retreat for a famous travel website. It’s also where she hopes to get over her broken heart – and keep from breaking her neck while learning to surf. A sexy surfing instructor can give her a hand with both…
â€œDid you hear someone screaming last night?â€
I blush as I climb the stairs to the veranda at the main house and overhear Brigitteâ€™s question to her husband William. I guess my spider-inspired shriek was louder than I thought.
â€œBuenos dias, Kate,â€ says Juan, the resort manager. â€œHow was the tentalow?â€
â€œIt was actually fun. I really liked it.â€ Iâ€™m not sure whether thatâ€™s true because the waves sang me to sleep last night, or because Iâ€™m proud of myself for doing something new. Or, should I say, New Kate. This trip is already taking my mind off of Daniel, his lack of marriage proposal, and all the other things Iâ€™ve always wanted that arenâ€™t happening.
I grab a mango smoothie and join Brigitte, William, and their son Nicholas at the communal table, where I meet the other surf camp guests. Lila, Krystal, Lucene, and her sister, Allegra, are all from Texas. They excitedly tell us theyâ€™re on a bachelorette vacation before Allegraâ€™s wedding. Sitting next to me are Dean and Jamie from Ohio. Theyâ€™re here, they explain as they snuggle into each other, on their honeymoon.
My smoothie suddenly tastes like sludge. Our group, the people Iâ€™m spending my first post-breakup week with, consists of a bridal party, a pair of newlyweds, and my married friends and their adorable kid. Fate, are you trying to kill me? I thought coming here would help me forget my new soup-for-one status. Now I have to watch Jamie ooh and ahhh over Allegraâ€™s huge, disco-ball sparkly engagement ring, while the three bridesmaids, two of whom are wearing wedding bands, coo over little Nicholas. Our group is like the evolution of relationships, with Brigitte and her family in the most evolved slot and me as the primordial ooze. I wonder if it would be wrong for me to get a shot of vodka in my breakfast smoothie. Yeah, that would be wrong. I need two shots.
â€œHey, everybody, welcome to Surf Camp!â€ One of the guys I saw on the beach this morning, the dude with the curly red hair, comes over and greets us with a big smile. â€œIâ€™m Randy, one of your instructors. Just wanted to see how youâ€™re all doing and let you know that weâ€™re setting up for your first lesson. Everyone good so far?â€
We all nod and tell him yes, weâ€™re doing great. Well, Iâ€™m not great, but whatever.
â€œAwesome!â€ Randy says. â€œSo weâ€™ll meet on the beach at nine-thirty. Cool? See you there.â€
After William takes Nicholas to the resortâ€™s daycare center and Brigitte gets her camera equipment, we all head to the beach. â€œThis is going to be fun!â€ William says, grinning with excitement. I hope itâ€™s more fun than breakfast, or this is going to be one long week.
Weâ€™re the last to arrive at the beach. Randy is talking to the bridesmaids and the honeymooners. The other surfer from this morning, the lean guy with the dreadlocks, walks up to us and shakes our hands warmly. â€œIâ€™m Evan, one of your instructors,â€ he says. â€œAnd this is Anya, who works in the surf shop. Sheâ€™ll be helping you out with equipment.â€
Anya says hello and smiles, but only just. She has eyes like a cat. Sheâ€™s also got a perfect body, which I can tell because sheâ€™s wearing a very tiny bikini. Can she really surf in that? Then again, she doesnâ€™t look like the type whoâ€™d be too embarrassed by a nip slip.
Then I hear a rich, smooth voice behind me say, â€œHi.â€ I turn around and…
Standing in front of me is a sun-tanned, tight T-shirted, board shorts-wearing, in-the-flesh surf god. About six feet and two inches of lean muscle. Hair the color of milk chocolate, lighter on top where the sun kisses his head daily. Eyes so green they probably make the ocean jealous.
But itâ€™s his smile thatâ€™s making me forget the mechanics of breathing. The smile is so easy, like heâ€™s been looking forward all morning to making the person heâ€™s beaming at feel really special. The surf godâ€™s warm, sweet smile keeps me from getting nervous about how handsome he is. This guy doesnâ€™t even seem to know heâ€™s hot, which makes him even hotter. I feel like I just stepped on a live wire. And liked it.
The surf god extends his hand. â€œIâ€™m Carson,â€ he says, still smiling away, like something really good is happening right now.
How long does it take for one hand to reach another in a shake of greeting, about two seconds? Well, two seconds in real time is much longer in mental time. In the space of those two seconds, I have a waking dream.
Carson the surf god teaches me how to ride the waves. Carson sits with me on a surfboard, and we kiss as the sun sets behind us. Carson looks on with approval as I send a postcard home with one sentence: Iâ€™m not coming back.
Carson and I teach together in this paradiseâ€”he gives surfing lessons, and I lead sunrise yoga classes. The two of us make passionate love on the beach beneath a full moon as the waves wash over our naked bodies. We walk hand in hand along the shore, picking the perfect spot for our beach wedding. Me in a white gauzy dress, Carson in a white shirt and white pants, both of us barefoot as we say, â€œI do.â€ The two of us holding our childâ€™s hands as we lift her up over waves and she shrieks with delight.
A lifetime of happiness, all in the space of two hellos and a handshake.
And for an equally quick blink of time, Iâ€™m thrown. Where did all of that come from? Wasnâ€™t I just the broken girl, all broken up over her breakup? As Carson continues to smile at me, his green eyes holding mine, my new persona comes to my rescue. I give him what feels like a very confident grin. â€œIâ€™m, ah, Kate,â€ I say. â€œPleasure.â€
Pleasure? Whoa, that was silky. Who am I?
Carson takes Kateâ€™s hand. I mean, my hand. His is big, warm, smooth, and apparently has some sort of electric current that hums from his body directly into mine. â€œReally good to meet you, Kate,â€ he says in that rich voice. â€œYou ready to do some surfing?â€
The response is quick and witty. â€œThat responsibilityâ€™s going to fall on your shoulders.â€ Kate admires Carsonâ€™s shoulders and approves. Somewhere in the back of my mind, which has been hijacked both by hot Carson and this smooth Kate person, Katy is mute and wide-eyed.
Carson laughs and says, â€œOkay then, letâ€™s get started.â€ And only then does he slowly let go of my hand, which heâ€™s been holding since our initial shake. Thatâ€™s only been for a few seconds. But hand time is even longer than mental time.
- About the Author
- Posts in the Past
I’m the author of Beach Glass, a novel, and the inspirational memoir Cherries in Winter.