Sunset Beach Condos

Initially, she believed she would never experience the sensation of water against her skin throughout her life. Raised in a bustling city, Claudia dedicated herself tirelessly to her work, striving to attain a high position at the Lumiere hotel. She spent countless hours focused on her career, leaving little time for leisure or exploration. As a result, she never ventured into the vastness of the ocean, only having limited interactions with water on the surface. While she had once been on a cruise, those moments were largely spent confined to her cabin, emerging only when summoned or for significant events.

Now, standing at the edge of a new chapter, Claudia found herself contemplating Victor's earlier words about the swim and surf shop he operated. Their discussion around the bonfire sparked a flicker of curiosity within her. Could she actually learn to swim? Perhaps she might even muster the courage to try surfing as well.

The clock read 6 AM on a Saturday. The fact that it was the weekend granted her the freedom to avoid work obligations. She made her way from her condo to the beach, feeling the soft sand beneath her feet. As she approached the surf shop where Vic worked, she hesitated for a moment, then knocked gently on the door. She stood there for a moment, wondering if Victor was inside. If he wasn’t present, she would turn her gaze toward the ocean, watching surfers glide over the waves, contemplating whether she could find Victor among one of them.

Vic hadn’t been sure if anyone would actually take him up on his offer to come hang out with him in the mornings. He had gotten to the beach at 5 AM that morning, like every morning. In the hopes someone would come to hang out with him, taped a little sign to the back door of his shop. ‘Look for the red and yellow board, and you found me.’

He was catching his fourth quality wave. He was one of the better surfers out today but he wasn’t trying to be the best. Some people came out here and acted like they were in a competition. Vic was just out here to enjoy himself. If he wiped out, who cared? He pulled a few tricks out of his repertoire as he danced with the wave. He could feel the ebb and pull of the water beneath the board and responded accordingly so the ride lasted longer. Being able to understand the water was the secret to surfing.

The wave took him most of the wat to shore, so he headed in and take a break and get some water. His golden tanned body was glistening with sweat and water. His hair looked like it had been wet and was partially dry, having been blown dry and mussed by the whipping wind. When he got to shore, he stabbed his board into the sand and ran his hands through his hair, trying to tame it a little. That was when he saw Claudia standing on the beach. He grinned his ease grin and jogged over to her. “Hey yeah. You came?” He eyed her, curious if she came to visit or swim. Either way he was going to make her feel welcomed.

He would have taken her over to the small fire where the other surfers would gather to make breakfast, but he had noticed she didn’t seem all that comfortable with a lot of people around. So, he just stayed close to her a ways away from the small crowd. “Did ya wanna get your feet wet this mornin’?

As the minutes ticked by, Claudia slowly came to the realization that there had been no response from the shop. It seemed that Vic wasn't there. Had he been gone to the beach already? Her eyes began to scan the door, searching for any sign of life or a clue as to where she might find him. That's when she spotted it.

'Look for the red and yellow board, and you found me.'

Claudia's mind furrowed in confusion as she tried to decipher the cryptic message. Red and yellow board? Did he mean the surfboard, perhaps? It had to be the surfboard, but why did her mind keep flickering back to the image of a checkered red and yellow tic-tac-toe board? The thought was so random and disconnected that it made her laugh softly under her breath, the corners of her lips tugging into a self-aware smile. Silly. It has to be the surfboard. Why was her imagination always so unruly?

Shaking her head at herself, Claudia stepped back from the shop and turned around, setting her sights on the direction of the beach. If her hunch was correct, Vic would be somewhere along the shoreline. Besides, it was early in the morning, and the air held that fresh, salty crispness that made every breath feel like a small revival. The faint sound of waves crashing in the distance urged her forward.

As she approached the beach, it didn’t take long for her eyes to pick out the surfers already riding the waves. Their silhouettes moved against the glistening water, cutting through the swell with practiced elegance. Claudia slowed her pace, her jaw slackening slightly as she took it all in. For a moment, she was utterly mesmerized. The way the surfers maneuvered their boards, dancing with the rhythm of the ocean, seemed almost unreal. She had to admit—it looked so cool.

In the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like to be out there herself, slicing through the water with the same confidence and ease. Her daydreams must have stretched longer than she thought because the next thing she knew, a familiar voice with the unique dialect broke through her little bubble and snapped her back to reality.

“Oh hey,” she called back, quickly pulling herself together. “Sorry, got a little distracted.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, laughing lightly at how easily she’d become entranced by the scene.

"Yes, sure," she continued, trying to sound nonchalant. "Actually, I was about to ask if you rent swimsuits. Because, I don't think what I'm wearing is exactly proper for swimming." She added a joking tone to her voice, trying to break the ice and lighten the mood.

As she spoke, Claudia felt a sense of gratitude towards Victor. She was glad that she had gotten to know him a little better after the bonfire the night before. There was something about him that put her at ease, something that made her feel like she could be herself around him.

Rent swimsuits? Victor hadn’t heard of people renting swim suits since the 1960s. Awkwardly, he rubbed the short beard on his chin and gave her an apologetic look. “I don’t have any suits for women.” He eyed her body, not thinking it would work, but he might as well offer. “Back in me shop, I have a few extra pairs of board shorts and some old t-shirts. You wanna try those?” The shorts might be too big and, unless she was comfortable getting her bra all salty and possibly ruined, she would just be wearing a t-shirt. She might not like being that exposed.

He had no problem lending the things he had. He just hadn’t had a woman in his life for so long he didn’t keep women’s things at his place. “I can make us some coffee too. I got a little pot. Make sure you’re good and wake before I introduce you to the waves.” Vic was trying to be hospitable. He was used to the company of men and his soft side had taken a backseat for almost a decade. He was friendly and polite to everyone, that was a given. But he was trying to make sure he wasn’t being too pushy with her as he would one of his mates.

"It's alright. It's no different from what I have today," she said to Victor. She had already chosen a simple outfit: a t-shirt and shorts. The thought of finding a swimsuit did not cross her mind. She felt unsure about what would be appropriate for swimming. In truth, she did not have many close female friends to ask for advice on such matters. Since swimming was not her strong suit, she gravitated toward spending her vacations in the mountains or exploring nature. A swimsuit was not something she often thought about in her plans.

Claudia recognized Victor's kind gesture. Though she appreciated it, she maintained her composure. Her confidence shone through as she gently redirected the conversation. "Thank you, Victor," she said, her voice warm yet poised. "I'm fully capable of preparing myself. I've made arrangements for what I need." She paused before adding, "As for the coffee, I wouldn’t mind a cup while I get ready for the day. A little indulgence won’t hurt before we set out."

Her smile was soft, carrying an air of elegance as she moved to find a seat. This gesture showed she valued his kindness while also asserting her independence. Claudia's graceful balance of gratitude and self-sufficiency transformed the moment.

Vic welcomed Claudia into his shop and pointed out a chair she could use and get comfortable. He was still dripping with salt water and small drips followed his every step around the shop. He put on a pot of coffee and went to stand in the doorway between the make-shift kitchen area and the part of the shop he designated to hand carve the surfboards. He wasn’t sure what to talk to her about. He wasn’t ready to start the lesson just yet, and this should be casual. He was normally good with conversation but, for some reason, he was nervous.

Looking for some way to entertain her with he glanced over his shoulder and then at her. “Would ya like to see where I carve the boards?” The coffee pot was working but it would still be a few minutes before it would be ready. “I ah…do all me work in here. I’m an old-fashioned carver. I don’t like to use power tools. I like to feel the wood under me hands as it tells me what it wants to be.” She might think him ridiculous, but that was just Vic.

Claudia stepped lightly into the shop, she carried herself with the ease of a woman accustomed to adapting.

She offered Vic a polite smile as she settled gracefully into the chair he had indicated. “Thank you,” she said warmly, folding her hands neatly in her lap. Her sharp eyes noted the faint trail of water he left in his wake, the nervous energy in his movements. It wasn’t uncommon—people often found themselves slightly unbalanced in her presence, though she never quite understood why.

At his offer, she tilted her head, intrigued by the hesitation in his voice. “I’d love to see your workshop,” she replied, her tone smooth and encouraging. “There’s something captivating about craftsmanship, especially when it’s done by hand. It’s a rare thing these days, isn’t it? To create something with patience and care, to let the material guide you.”

She rose from the chair with a fluid motion, her sandals soft against the floor as she approached him. “You speak of your work as though it’s an art,” she continued, her voice calm but with a genuine note of curiosity. “That’s admirable, Vic. It takes a certain kind of person to respect the process as much as the outcome.”

Her gaze moved past him, toward the doorway leading to his workspace. “Please. Show me then,” she said, a hint of warmth softening her otherwise poised demeanor. “I’d like to see the story your hands tell through the wood.”

Though she remained poised and elegant, there was an openness to her now—a willingness to set aside the formality of her position and step into his world, even if only for a moment. It wasn’t something she did often, but something about Vic’s earnestness made her inclined to engage.

His workshop was in the very back, by the back door. To be fair, the shop was relatively tiny. There was a wall that separated the front of the store from the back of the store, but he only put that wall up because he had built himself a little kitchenette and shower back there. He clicked on the light and opened the back door. Vic mainly worked by sunlight. He loved sunlight. It was one of the reasons he was so tan, and his brown hair was so sun bleached it was nearly a dirty blonde.

In his workshop area there were tall pieces of tree trunks so thick it would be hard for a normal person to wrap their arms around them. In the middle of the room, lying across three sawhorses, was one of the tree trunks that looked like Vic had just started working on. There was a trashcan next to the sawhorse that was filled with used pieces of sandpaper and chunks of wood. On top of the piece of tree was a chisel and a hammer.

Vic went to stand next to the setup, inviting Claudia to come take a look. “When I get the shipments of wood, I set them against the wall until they tell me they are ready to become something.” He placed his hands on the eight foot piece of tree that was currently on the sawhorses. “I’ve had this one for about 6 months, and just yesterday did it finally say it was ready to swim.” Actually, Vic had just picked it from the assortment, but it had spoken to his artistic side.

Vic chuckled light-heartedly, “This isn’t me first choice in art. You really want to get me goin’ put me in a kitchen. Imma chef by trade. But I thought I’d take a break from it and try something new. I’ve always been good with me hands.” He picked up the chisel and the hammer and moved to Claudia’s side. “Do you want to hack at it some?”

Claudia stepped into Vic's workshop, her sharp eyes immediately scanning the space. It smelled of sawdust and sun-warmed wood, an earthy, grounding scent that felt almost calming despite the unfamiliarity of the environment. The tall pieces of tree trunks stacked neatly against the walls caught her attention, their rough, natural beauty juxtaposed with the careful order of Vic's setup.

Her sandals stepped softly against the floor as she approached the workbench, stopping just a few feet away from the massive piece of wood stretched across the sawhorses. She tilted her head, studying it with the same calculating gaze she used in boardrooms.

“Six months…?” she murmured, running her fingers lightly across the edge of the wood. “I wasn’t aware wood could be so temperamental.” There was a faint trace of amusement in her voice, but her expression remained composed.

When he offered her the chisel and hammer, Claudia hesitated for a moment, her polished exterior betraying a hint of uncertainty. “You make it sound so barbaric.”

But there was a spark of curiosity in her dark eyes as she reached out, taking the tools from him with a precision that mirrored her usual approach to challenges. She turned the chisel over in her hand, testing its weight, before positioning herself next to the wood.

“Don’t expect a masterpiece,” she said dryly, glancing at Vic from the corner of her eye. “I don’t usually create, I delegate. But I suppose there’s a first time for everything.” With that, she angled the chisel against the surface of the wood and raised the hammer. The first strike was cautious, almost delicate, leaving only the faintest indentation. Claudia frowned, adjusting her grip, and this time struck with more confidence. A small chunk of wood splintered away, falling into the trash can below.

She stepped back slightly, studying her handiwork with an air of critical analysis. “Well,” she said, her voice laced with self-mocking humor, “I think it’s safe to say I won’t be quitting my day job anytime soon.”

He placed the tools into her hands and stayed close at her side. “All things dealing with art can be temperamental.” He grinned and thought about that again. “Truth it, the temperamental element exists within the artist, not the medium. We just like to play the inanimate object rather than ourselves.” He took a small step closer as she picked up the tools and took her first try, barely marring the wood. Her second attempt yielded better results, but he could tell she was feeling out of place.

As she took a step back, he took a step forward, causing them to bump into each other; her back into his abdomen and chest. Instinctually, Vic’s hands reached out and landed on both her forearms. “Careful there,” he said tenderly. His body, should she linger close to him, was warm and comforting. “Try again with me?” he said as his large hands slid down her arms to the backs of her hands. If she let him, he would help her place the chisel along a nature break in the wood. He also would help her guide the hammer up and land on the butt of the chisel with the hammer to cause the wood to fracture and a larger chunk separate from the rest of the trunk. “Ah, there ya go. You’re a natural.”

He released her hands and took a step back to give her space. “Don’t sell yourself short. I bet you are better at more things than just delegating. You just might not have had the opportunity to explore your next favorite hobby yet.” Vic always tried to show a sunny disposition. “Speaking of which, coffee is ready. Let’s grab a cuppa before we go say ‘hi’ to the waves.” He left the workshop area and took the half a dozen steps until he was in the kitchenette area. He grabbed two mugs and poured the coffee. “Let me guess, cream, no sugar?”

Claudia hadn’t expected the sudden proximity, the solid warmth of Vic pressing against her back as she stumbled slightly. A stray root beneath her work boots had sent her lurching forward, and his reflexes were quicker than hers. Her body tensed instinctively. A sharp, almost painful clench in her shoulders and the small of her back. A reflex honed from years of maintaining strict personal space, a shield erected after years of unwanted intrusions. But his hands... steady, patient, caught her forearms before she could fully recoil. His touch wasn't possessive, not even familiar; it was simply…supportive. And his voice, low and smooth, a warm baritone that vibrated against her ear, curled around her like the scent of the wood shavings, grounding and somehow unexpectedly comforting.

For a fleeting moment, a battle raged within her. Part of her, the part that valued control and self-sufficiency, screamed at her to step forward, reclaim the space between them, reassert her boundaries. Instead, she remained still, allowing him to guide her hands. His touch firm but unintrusive. His movements were practiced, assured, as he aligned the chisel with the natural break in the wood, his own body a reassuring anchor behind her. He explained the grain, the pressure, the art of coaxing the wood rather than forcing it. Words that held wisdom far beyond the simple task at hand. When the hammer met the chisel with a decisive thud, a resonating thrum that vibrated up her arms, a satisfying fracture split through the trunk, a larger piece falling away with surprising ease and a soft, muffled thump.

Claudia exhaled, a small puff of air escaping her lips, the tension slowly bleeding out of her. She watched the result of their effort, the clean, almost surgical break in the wood, her brows lifting just slightly. A flicker of something akin to…satisfaction?

"A natural?" she mused, tilting her head toward him. “I think that’s more of a reflection on your instruction than my talent.” The words were lightly sarcastic, a defense mechanism perhaps, but there was a genuine note of appreciation woven within as she added it with a light chuckle.

But there was something almost reluctant in the way she let go of the tools when he stepped back, creating a void where his warmth and gentle pressure had been only moments before. The weight of them in her hands had been foreign at first, awkward and unfamiliar. But now, inexplicably, they felt…grounding. Solid. Real. Far more real than the spreadsheets and board meetings that filled her days.

She turned to face him fully as he spoke again. His optimism unwavering. She’d met men like him before—the ones who carried the world lightly on their shoulders, their faces bright and full of laughter, who saw possibilities where she saw obstacles, potential where she saw only risk. They irritated her, these men, with their naive belief in the inherent goodness of the world. But there was something about Vic’s sincerity, the genuine light in his eyes, that made it difficult to dismiss, even if she was deeply skeptical of his belief in her hidden artistic potential. It felt…disarming.

Still, she allowed a small smirk to tug at the corner of her lips, a subtle curve that hinted at the amusement she usually kept carefully hidden, as she followed him toward the small, cluttered kitchenette tucked into a corner of the workshop. The air here smelled faintly of burnt sugar and stale coffee. As he poured the coffee, the rich, dark aroma filling the air, she watched him, the ease in his movements, the way he seemed entirely at home in his own skin, comfortable in the organized disarray of his workspace. He moved with a quiet confidence that she envied, she who had spent her life carefully curating every aspect of her public persona.

Then he guessed her coffee preference. A direct hit.

Claudia let the silence stretch just a second longer than necessary, the tick-tock of a grandfather clock in the corner the only sound between them, her gaze unwavering, challenging him to read her, to see past the carefully constructed facade.

“Black. No cream. No sugar.”

A slow, almost imperceptible smile ghosted across her lips, a genuine smile that reached her eyes and softened the hard lines of her face. It was fleeting, almost imperceptible, but it was there. A crack in the wall.

“But nice try.” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded a shade softer, a little less guarded. "So, how's with yours? A lot of cream? A lot of sugar?"

Victor glanced over at Claudia when she asked for just a black coffee. He grinned softly, “I think I underestimated your level of seriousness, there.” He poured her a cup of strong coffee with no cream and no sugar. He carried it over to her and offered it her the handle of the mug. “Prolly don’t need to tell ya, but that’s hot so be careful.” As he moved back into the kitchenette area she commented on what she thought his coffee preference would be.

He shrugged a little as he grabbed the pot. “I grew up on boats. Coffee was essential, but we didn’t always have the frills, ya know?” He filled his mug about three-fourths full and added half a spoon of sugar and a small splash of milk. Lifting his mug to his lips to blow on it some, he turned to face her. “Even when he did get manage to get cream and sugar on board, it didn’t last long. Cream went bad in a matter of days and sugar attracted rats and bugs.” Mind you, this was the mid-1800s so it might be a different story with storage on boats in the modern world, but this was what Vic knew.

Vic was aware he was not the kind of person Claudia would enjoy being around for long. She was careful, deliberate, and had an agenda. A very long time ago Vic had been like that, too. But he was now several hundred years old and, though he had the face of a young man, he had the give a damn of an old man. It’s one of the reasons he needed a break from the pirate ship. Up at dawn, cook a full breakfast for four dozen men, serve, clean, repeat multiple times a day. Victor was by no means not up for the job, he just got tired of it. He had been a ship’s cook for the vast majority of his life and, right now, he was free to not have a scheduled – call it his version of a vacation.

The coffee was finally of a temperature that wouldn’t take his lips off, and he sipped it quietly. He leaned against the kitchenette, his foot off the ground and lined up against his knee. He rested his coffee cup on his thigh like a little makeshift table and asked Claudia, “What exactly are you wanting to learn?” He needed to know so he didn’t waste her time by teaching her different strokes if she only wished to learn how to float. “I take it, ya want to keep your head up, am I right? But do ya want to be able to paddle a board out? Just be comfortable in the water?” He would do his best to teach her what she wanted to know.

Claudia accepted the mug with a nod, bringing it close but waiting just a moment before taking a sip. The aroma was rich, familiar, uncomplicated, just as she liked it. It was a scent that spoke of mornings, of focused work and quiet contemplation, a grounding presence in her often chaotic life. She listened as he spoke, her gaze steady, absorbing the quiet nostalgia laced in his words. He spoke of a life of constraint, a past she could only imagine, so different from her own privileged upbringing.

“So, practicality over preference,” she observed, swirling the coffee slightly before finally taking a careful sip. It was strong, bitter, but smooth... just as it should be. It mirrored the man himself, she thought; unadorned, reliable, and capable. She exhaled, savoring the heat that spread through her chest, then glanced back at him, a subtle smile playing on her lips. “I can respect that.” More than respect, she admired it. In her world of tailored suits and strategic power plays, such stark simplicity was a refreshing anomaly.

Claudia studied him for a moment, her fingers wrapped around her mug, letting the warmth seep into her hands. He was an interesting contradiction... someone who had clearly lived through structure and discipline, yet now seemed to move at his own pace, detached from rigid expectations. It was a stark contrast to her own way of being, where every step forward had a purpose, an objective, a calculated return. She wondered what had led him to this point, this quiet acceptance, this unhurried rhythm.

Her eyes lifted to Vic’s, searching for his reaction. Would he find it ridiculous that she, a woman who commanded boardrooms and negotiated multi-million dollar deals, was intimidated by the ocean? Would he treat this like another casual lesson, another task to complete? Or did he understand what it meant to surrender to something completely foreign and trust that you’d come out on the other side, changed, perhaps, but whole?

Claudia ran a finger along the rim of her mug, considering his words carefully before responding. This wasn't just about learning to swim. It was about breaking free from the constraints she had placed upon herself, the invisible walls of expectation and control. “I want to start with the basics,” she said, voice even but laced with an unspoken weight. “I don’t need to be perfect. I just need to know I won’t sink.” Sink in the water, yes, but also sink under the weight of her own fears and insecurities.

She exhaled, gaze flickering to the door that led to the shore beyond. The idea of stepping into the water was foreign, uncomfortable in a way she wasn’t used to. In her world, discomfort was a challenge to be overcome, a problem to be solved. But the ocean wasn't a problem; it was an element, powerful and unpredictable.

“I want to be able to step in without overthinking it,” she admitted, glancing back at Vic. “Without hesitating.” Without feeling the panic rise, the fear of failure grip her. She wanted to experience the freedom, the lightness, that she saw in him, the ease with which he moved through the world.

She took a sip of her coffee, letting the warmth ground her. “So,” she said, shifting her posture slightly, as if bracing herself, “where do we start?”

Victor nodded as he took another drink from his coffee cup as she explained what she wanted to achieve with these lessons. He contemplated the best way to begin and that would be to just walk out into the water and start getting used to it. But then she said something that made him rest his cup in his lap and give her the first serious look. “Now there’s the challenge you’re gonna face, and it’s one I won’t be able to do too much about.” He turned his upper body, his abdominal muscles tightening, as he set his coffee up on the kitchenette counter. “You’re an adult. You have a fear instilled in you from experience that children do not have. You are either gonna psych yourself out or pump yourself up before you ever touch the water.”

Victor put his foot down from standing like a flamingo and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “I’ll be right next to ya, there to help ya if you need it. And I’ll protect you from any physical danger. But…” He gave her a concerned look, “And it’s a big but, you will either allow yourself to learn or you terrify yourself with all the ‘what ifs’ that you never give yourself the chance.” Victor didn’t want to be all doom and gloom but the psychological game will be the hardest one to overcome.

He decided to leave the mental game to her and moved on to preparing her for what to expect from today’s lesson. “This morning we aren’t going to do anything too hard. We are going to walk out into the water to about my knees, your thighs. I know it doesn’t sound like a lot, but you need to understand how the ocean moved. It isn’t like a swimming pool. There are currents and sandbars and waves and just different things to consider with the ocean.” As reassurance to help with the psychological game he said, “You won’t be going underwater or even getting your face wet. Well, unless a wave decides to jump up and give your cheek a peck, which does happen.” He turned and grabbed his coffee cup and took another drink from it. “So, finish up your cuppa and let’s get out there. Unless…” He let a few seconds pass before he continued, “you are going to let the uncertainty and fear win.”

Claudia exhaled slowly, her fingers wrapped around the warmth of her coffee cup as if drawing strength from it. His words lingered in the space between them, heavy with truth yet laced with something else, understanding. He wasn’t pushing her. He wasn’t mocking her. He was simply laying out the reality, offering her the choice to take a step forward or remain where she stood.

She glanced down at the dark liquid, watching as the faint ripple of steam curled toward the air. Fear had always been a silent companion, one she had allowed to dictate the boundaries of her world. It was safe that way, predictable. And yet, sitting here now, in the presence of someone who wasn’t telling her what she couldn’t do but rather what she could, if only she gave herself the chance something inside her shifted.

A soft breath left her lips, and she lifted her gaze to meet his, her eyes reflecting both hesitation and a quiet, budding determination. “I don’t let fear win,” she murmured, and this time, she meant it. It wasn’t just a thing she told herself to sound strong.

She took another sip of her coffee, letting its bold bitterness settle her nerves before speaking again, her voice softer, yet unwavering. “Fear is a habit, isn’t it?” She traced the rim of her cup with her fingertip, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. “Something we carry with us until it becomes second nature, until we stop questioning whether it even belongs to us.” A faint, wry smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “I think I’ve been carrying it for too long.”

She set her cup down gently, smoothing her hands over the fabric of her clothes in a quiet, almost symbolic gesture, as if shedding an old skin, preparing herself for something new. “So,” she said, her tone warmer now, a hint of amusement threading through it, “if the waves decide to introduce themselves, I suppose I’ll take it as a proper welcome.” She paused for a moment, then added with a small, teasing lilt, “Though I’d prefer they didn’t get too forward on our first meeting. I do appreciate a little patience.”

A breath of laughter softened the moment, and when she turned to look at him again, there was something lighter in her expression, something open. “Let’s go, then.” There was still apprehension beneath the surface, but for the first time, she wasn’t letting it hold her back. The unknown was daunting, yes. But maybe it was also the beginning of something worth discovering.

Victor lifted the cup to his mouth and took a much needed full swallow of the burning liquid. "Nah. Fear isn't a habit. It's your brain's way of telling you to slow down." This is where the concept of stupid surfer got tossed out the window. "You sub frontal cortex is like a brake. The fear is created not to stop ya from doing things, but to slow ya down so you have to think about it more and be so impulsive."

He waited for her to be ready. He enjoyed his coffee while she amped herself up. He was finishing his coffee when she stated she was ready. Victor put the empty mug in the small sink and followed Claudia out of his shop. He locked the door behind them and walked with her through the sand. "You're gonna be alright. I'll be right by your side."

He offered his large, warm hand to her. A safety net, if you will. If a wave took out her legs, he would be able to grab her and keep her from going under. "Make sure you breathe. Okay?" He stepped into the water as the wave raced from the pact sand back out into the ocean.

The waves were coming in strong, it was still high tide, and the currents were savage. He walked out to the first sandbar where the first set of waves were breaking. They were hitting Victor like a light punch as they smacked his upper thighs and stomach. "Ya okay, Claudia?"

Claudia listened to his words, rolling them over in her mind. Fear wasn’t a habit, but a mechanism. A way for the brain to make sense of risk. She supposed that made sense, and yet, it still felt like something that had held her captive for too long. She wasn’t reckless. She wasn’t impulsive. She was careful, meticulous even. And yet, standing here now, with the ocean stretching wide before her, she realized that being careful had also meant avoiding anything she couldn’t control.

She stepped forward, the sand cool beneath her feet, the wind teasing at the edges of her clothing. Victor’s presence beside her was steady, grounding. She glanced at his outstretched hand, hesitating for only a breath before slipping her own into his. It was warm, reassuring. A tether to something solid when everything else felt like unknown depths.

A wave rushed up, swirling around her ankles, and she instinctively tensed. Cold. Stronger than she expected. She exhaled sharply, forcing herself to breathe, just as he had told her.

“I’m okay,” she answered, though her voice wavered just slightly. It wasn’t a lie… but it wasn’t effortless either. The water climbed higher as they walked, and she held onto his hand a little tighter when the waves pushed against them, determined not to let her nerves get the best of her.

She stole a glance at him, standing with practiced ease against the current. His confidence in the water was something she envied but more than that, it was something she trusted.

“I suppose this is where I stop thinking and start feeling, isn’t it?” she murmured, half to herself. The ocean wasn’t something to conquer with logic, it was something to experience.

A small, wry smile tugged at her lips. “And you were right about the waves being a little too forward. I barely stepped in, and they’re already testing me.” There was an attempt at lightness in her tone, though her fingers remained curled around his for just a little longer.

Victor and the ocean had become friends since before he wasn’t even able to walk. He had crawled out into the shallows when he was barely six months old to play in the small waves that rushed to meet the sand. They had been companions ever since. Victor didn’t fear the water. To him, the water was life, and he was happy to share his confidence with Claudia.

She took his hand, and he grinned at her, holding her hand with the same pressure as she held his. He wanted her to know he had her, she had his support, and he would help her if she needed it. They were barely to the first sandbar when she asked him a question. Victor turned to face her, the waves slapping the backs of his thighs. “Stop thinkin’? Don’t do that…” Victor moved closer to her side, “When ya stop thinkin’ that’s when the ocean sends ya a wake up call.” He looked into her eyes, “Keep ya wits about ya in the waves. They are tricksters.”

And, as if to prove the point he made, a wave came out of nowhere and hit Vic in the small of his back and knocked him off balance. He stepped forward and caught himself, but not before his free hand gripped Claudia’s hip. Victor chuckled as he stood back up straight, “See what I mean?” He saw that as the ocean playing with him. He removed his hand from her hip and turned back out to face the oncoming waves.

Hand in hand, Victor tried to encourage the lightheartedness of Claudia, “I think the waves are just happy to see ya. Like a big dog that likes to jump on ya and give ya kisses.” They wades together past where the waves we slapping against them to where there was a little bit of a lull in the action. It was easier to stand, and the water was nearly at his waist. “This might be a good place to pause and let ya just feel the water now. This is where you can start feelin’ but never stop thinkin’.”

Claudia took a slow breath, her grip still firm in Victor’s hand. The ocean was not unfamiliar to her, but the way he spoke of it, like an old friend, a living, breathing thing with moods and intentions was something she had never quite considered before. It wasn’t just water; it was something more.

And then, before she could process what was happening, a wave came out of nowhere. It slammed into Victor’s back, knocking him slightly off balance. Claudia gasped as he lurched forward, instinctively reaching for her. His free hand found her hip, steadying himself as much as her. The sudden weight, the unexpected touch, sent a jolt through her chest, but it wasn’t what made her breath hitch. It was the realization of how easily the ocean could knock them off course, how effortlessly it could disrupt even someone as experienced as Victor.

Her stomach twisted, fear tightening in her ribs.

Her lips pressed together in thought at his words. A big dog…? She cast a glance at the rolling waves, their constant movement unpredictable yet oddly rhythmic. She had always viewed the ocean as something to be wary of… vast, unyielding, capable of swallowing anything without hesitation. But Victor saw playfulness in its nature, not just danger.

She let out a quiet breath, turning her gaze toward him. “I can’t say I’ve ever thought of the ocean as affectionate before,” she admitted, her voice steady but thoughtful. “Unforgiving, yes. But… not eager. Not playful.”

She stood still for a moment, letting the water push and pull at her legs, feeling its weight shift around her. “There is a rhythm to it,” she murmured, mostly to herself. It wasn’t just chaos, it was movement, a dance. One she had never allowed herself to truly feel before.

Her fingers curled just slightly against his, an almost imperceptible sign that, for now, she wasn’t quite ready to let go.

She turned her gaze to Victor, studying the way he stood so naturally in the water, like he belonged there. She admired his confidence, and here she was, standing beside him, feeling something new, something liberating.

“I think I like it,” she admitted, a quiet sort of wonder in her voice. Her lips curved into a small, unguarded smile as she let the next wave roll past, allowing it to move her without resistance. “It’s… not what I expected.”

She let go of his hand then, not out of fear, but because she wanted to feel the ocean for herself. Stepping forward slightly, she let the water rise higher, the coolness against her skin sending a small thrill through her.

Claudia turned back to Victor, a rare glint of amusement in her usually composed gaze. “Alright,” she said, pushing her damp hair from her face, “show me what else your old friend can do.”