“I just graduated from college. I did a five-year master’s program in literature and education. So in a couple months, I’ll start my first teaching job, but right now I’m pretty much a beach bum. Which, thinking about it, isn’t a bad way to live.”

“It sure isn’t. And where did you pick up that delicious accent?” She limbered up a little, twisting her body.

“Southern Alabama. What about you? Or are you one of those northerners who thinks you don’t have an accent?”

She laughed. “Wyoming. More west than north. So, tell me, what’s your damage?”

Her words came with such honesty and genuine curiosity. In truth, it was the best kind of way to get to know someone quickly, if they were willing to open up to a complete stranger.

But maybe that was the best time to lay your shit bare, when you had nothing to lose yet. Or maybe listening to the tape this morning had scraped another layer of dust off my avoidance. What the hell. If I scared her off, then so be it. I scared myself most days.

“The man I loved was killed in action almost two years ago, and now I have horrendous anxiety attacks. I moved a thousand miles and cut off everyone I know but my friend Sam and my psychiatrist. Still want to be my friend?”

I looked over at her slowly.

“Absolutely,” she answered without hesitation.

“What’s yours?” I challenged.

“I’m insanely worried that Peter’s career will always come first and I won’t matter in the scheme of life. I also hate coffee and can’t understand why people willingly drink it. Still want to be my friend?”

“Absolutely,” I stole her answer. “The coffee thing was a close call, though.”

Her lips curved, matching mine as the instructor took the little platform set up in front of us.

“Okay, ladies! Welcome to Hawkins Day! Now let’s get our energy flowing and center ourselves. Begin with the mountain pose.” She modeled the pose, standing with her feet wide apart and her hands reaching for the sky.

I copied her, letting myself take in deep breaths of sea air as my whole body stretched to welcome the sun.

After yoga, Christina and I made plans to meet up the next week, and then I chose to step forward into surfing after purchasing a wet suit. Holy crappola, did I suck at that.

“You weren’t that bad,” Jackson assured me as we drove home that evening.

“Are you serious? Were you watching? Goats are more graceful on a surfboard than I am.” I kept my voice low, noting that Fin had passed out in the backseat before we’d even made it out of Waves.

Jackson grinned, and my traitorous heart skittered a few beats.

“See? You know it was bad.”

“I was actually picturing goats on a surfboard.”