The wave peters out and I drop onto the board with a plop, landing flat before I fall off. Using my right arm, I turn a slow, arduous circle and start paddling back to Kai when he arrives on a wave of his own.

He grins at me as he reaches for my board, holds it steady. “You did it.”

“It wasn’t pretty.”

“You looked great.”

“Kai—”

“You looked great.”

I’m blushing and beaming and mortified and exhilarated all the same time. “Thanks.”

“I love your style. Big-wave style.”

On a little wave. But I smile bigger, warming at the praise. I’ve done something I never thought I’d do or could do. I’ve actually surfed.

It’s been so long since I felt good about anything, and I spend most of the lesson now anxious to try again and again. We spend another forty minutes out there. I catch a few more waves, biff on more than I catch, but when I am able to hang in there and ride one long wave, I feel victorious. Glorious. Brilliant.

The water’s warm, and the waves lap and rock at the surfboard, and it’s like being a kid on a floating air mattress. Everything seems so new and interesting.

I feel new and interesting.

Finally it’s time to paddle in. Kai has another lesson soon, and we make small talk as he tows me back toward the Sheraton Hotel beach where we did our dry-land lesson.

On the beach, he wraps the leash around the board’s skag and carries it to the board rack. I peel off the very tight, very wet rash guard shirt. “Thanks,” I say, combing my wet hair back behind my ears. “I can’t believe you got me up.”

“You had a good time?”

“Yes.”

“I told you so.” He looks to the beach desk, signals that he’s aware his next lesson is waiting, and I exhale in a whoosh of disappointment. I’m done. He’s moving on.

“Thank you,” I repeat, awkward and nervous all over again. I want to ask him what he’s doing later, want to get a drink with him after work, want so much but don’t know what’s appropriate, don’t want to chase him but haven’t any pride left at the moment, either.

“I better go,” he says.

I nod. Smile. “Okay.” Then, as he starts to turn away, I blurt, “Are you free for a drink after work?”

Kai stops, turns, and looks back at me but doesn’t say anything.

This is embarrassing, and heat rushes to my face. My smile feels as wobbly as my balance on the surfboard, but I have to ask. I know I’ll regret it if I don’t. “Would you like to have a drink later?”