Between The Waves

BETWEEN THE WAVES

LOVE OVERSEAS

BOOK 1

ELLIE MALOUFF

Copyright © 2018 Ellie Malouff

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing, 2018

ISBN-13: 978-1-949269-01-7

ISBN-13: 978-1-949269-00-0 (eBook)

Persephone Publishing LLC

P.O. Box 270684

Louisville, CO 80027

CONTENTS

Author’s Note

Lesson 1

Audrey

Jake

Audrey

Jake

Audrey

Lesson 2

Jake

Audrey

Jake

Audrey

Lesson 3

Audrey

Jake

Audrey

Jake

Lesson 4

Audrey

Jake

Lesson 5

Audrey

Jake

Audrey

Jake

Audrey

Jake

Lesson 6

Sara

Jake

Thank you for reading!

The Love Overseas Series

The Colorado Storm Hockey Series

Acknowledgments

About The Author

For Mike. You are my everything.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

This novella is a work of romantic fiction, written in 2018 before I educated myself on how Hawaiian tourism is not sustainable. A Hawaiian vacation can contribute to the displacement of Hawaiians for tourism development, the diversion of water and other crucial resources to maintain and expand tourism infrastructure, pollution of Hawaiian lands and waters, and many more harmful reasons. This novella was written in the spirit of romance, with a setting that I had always found beautiful through my own naivety and base-level understanding of history. My hope now is that this note can help open the eyes of others to these important issues to the native Hawaiian people.

LESSON 1

My passion for surfing was more than my fear of sharks.

BETHANY HAMILTON

AUDREY

If you had told me a year ago that I’d wake up every morning thirty yards away from the Pacific Ocean, I’d have said yeah, and the Cubs are going to win the World Series. My life was planted firmly in Chicago, working for the fun of it as a drama teacher at a high school and spending my summer days at Wrigley Field, watching my beloved Cubs play baseball. The Pacific Ocean was nowhere in sight. It was exactly 2,131.4 miles away.

But here I am, wearing my Cubs World Series Champions cap, sitting outside of my house on the island of Maui staring out at that very ocean as if it belongs to me now.

More than the sight of the water, it’s the sound I love. I sleep better at night when I hear it because the ocean is vast and my island is small, and I’m far, far away from Chicago. Exactly 4,196.3 miles away from him.

Since the day I moved in a month ago, I’ve woken to the rising sun, made a cup of coffee, and plopped down on my beach towel to watch the tide for hours. It’s a routine most people would envy, and I loved it for the whole month of March…but it’s the beginning of April, and I’m bored with it.

Knowing I need something more to do, along with some actual human interaction—because the snails in my yard don’t make the best company—I’m headed into town for coffee this morning. It’s the first step toward breaking out of my shell, although it’s not like I’m going somewhere entirely new. When I first moved to Manalua, I’d frequent Happy Grounds to use their WiFi while I was waiting for mine to be activated. As much as I’ve been trying to live off the grid, I’ve accepted the fact that the internet is a utility I can’t go without. Plus, I need to make sure that everything and everyone is just as I left it back in Chicago.

The little bell chimes when I open the door to Happy Grounds. It’s kind of dead for a Friday morning.

Aloha, the woman behind the counter greets me. I suspect she’s the owner because she’s the only person I’ve ever seen working.

Hi, I respond, not quite feeling local enough to say aloha without feeling like an imposter.

Hey, I remember you. Where ya been?

Crap. I don’t want to reveal I’d been using the place for its WiFi, so I tell a different form of the truth. I’ve been settling in.

I figured you were a tourist.

Nope, I moved here, I answer and decide to leave it at that. Can I get a flat white?

Sure thing, she says and goes to work on my drink. I take a seat and leaf through this week’s newspaper. There’s an interesting article about a local playhouse on the verge of closing and how the community is trying to keep it open. In my old life, I’d be tempted to get involved and do whatever I could to save it, but in my new life, it’s better if I don’t get too involved, especially in something that gets press.

I listen for Kaila to call out my drink order, but she brings it to my table and takes a seat across from me. She’s got that gorgeous Pacific Islander complexion that I’ve come to envy, and hair that’s as black as midnight entwined with silver strands. She’s not wearing a bit of makeup and exudes a level of confidence she could teach in a seminar. So, where are you from?

She also likes to ask a lot of questions.

They say if you have to lie, you should make it as close to the truth as you can. My dad and I spent a decent amount of time in Wisconsin when I was a kid, and it’s close enough to home. Wisconsin.

Escaping the cold winters?

That’s exactly right, I tell her and make myself laugh lightly.

She reaches her hand across the table. Five or six bracelets made of string, beads, and shells dangle from her wrist. I’m Kaila.

Nice to meet you, I reply and slip my hand into hers. This is always the hardest part. While I may be a decent actor, I’ve still had to practice for this moment to make it look natural. I’m Audrey.

Nice to meet ya. You know, I’ve only known our nice winters. Although the rain here is really something.

I’ve read that.

April is nice, and baseball is back. She points up at my Cubs cap.

That’s right, tomorrow is opening day at Wrigley Field, I tell her.

A couple of young guys in wetsuits, zipped halfway up their back, come through the door.

Back to the grind, Kaila says and goes behind the counter.

While I leisurely sip my coffee, I do a little people watching. There are seniors in wetsuits and a group of moms in wetsuits. Basically, people of all types in wetsuits.

When I return my cup to the counter, I ask Kaila, So, does everyone surf?

Her eyes crinkle at the corners as she laughs. Yes, especially if the surf report is good, like this morning.

Good how? I ask and lift an eyebrow.

Offshore winds and a west swell.

I wish I knew what that meant, I admit.

Not much surfing where you’re from?

Nope, mostly day drinking on boats.

She smiles broadly. Now, that sounds nice.

I’ve had some fun days on the water. A dozen bittersweet memories of my dad come to mind. We had a sailboat that we took out on Lake Michigan. I sold it three years ago after he died. I knew I’d never want to sail on it without him.

Well if you want to learn to surf, my friend Jake teaches people, she says as she wipes down the counters.

Oh yeah?

Yep. He runs The Hut, about twenty yards north of the lifeguard stand. You should try to catch him this morning. It’d be the perfect day to go out and learn.

Shouldn’t he be surfing on such a perfect day? I ask, a little confused.

No, these waves are too tame for him.

Oh. So, he’s really good?

He is. Used to be a pro, but these days he runs the surf shop. Trust me, find Jake. Take a lesson, and you’ll fit into Manalua in no time.

Fitting in. That’s not a bad idea. It would probably be helpful not to stick out but blend in with the locals. Audrey, from Wisconsin, who goes surfing when the surf report is good. Sara, from Chicago, approves.

The Hut is where Kaila described and looks exactly like how it sounds. Surfboards and boogie boards of all sizes and styles lean against it, poke out of it, and are wedged into the sand in front of it. The roof looks like it could actually be made of straw, and I’ve got to wonder how on earth has this joint weathered any kind of storm, but there’s a wood carving on the front that says Manalua Surf Hut, Est. 1968, so I suppose it has. On the countertop, there are various types of sunscreen and sunglasses for sale, really cute ones. I try on a pair of fake Ray-Bans and check myself out in the little mirror attached to the display. Maybe it’s the Chicago in me, but I think I look like one of the Blues Brothers. I’ve got to have them.

This Jake guy doesn’t appear to be here, so I linger around a bit, touching the different boards. There’s one lying on the sand and it catches my eye. I drop my beach towel, kick off my flip-flops, and step onto it. My toes press into the board and a little thrill rushes through my chest. I can’t help myself and start mimicking what I believe to be surfer moves. It’s silly but amusing.

You’re a natural.

I twist around on the board, feeling like a kid that’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. The fake Ray-Bans slip down my nose, and the words, oh and sorry are out of my mouth before I can push them back up.

The guy standing before me mirrors me in age, somewhere in his early thirties, and has a giant smile on his face. I think he’s just finished laughing at me. Yeah, he’s definitely been laughing at me, based on the way his shoulders are still shaking.

Speaking of his shoulders, Jesus H. they’re broad, but they fit his massive frame. He’s stupid tall, nearly a foot taller than me, like six-three. His biceps and triceps are just as absurd. I’m reasonably sure my two hands wouldn’t come close to fitting around his arm, although I’d like to test that theory.

Based on his sun-streaked blond hair, board shorts, and a Manalua Surf Hut branded tank top, I’m guessing this demigod might be the guy that runs this place. He is the quintessential surfer. Not to mention he’s got a tan that looks like it hasn’t faded in ten years and is barely sweating. I wish I could say the same for me. Can you say boob sweat?

Are you Jake? I ask, cutting right to the chase.

He gives me a once-over before answering. That’s me. And you are? He’s got one of those deep voices that come across a little unexpectedly. I’m sure he’s been told he could be on the radio or better yet narrate an audiobook.

Audrey, I blurt out, not nearly as naturally as I’d like.

He crosses his arms over his chest and it’s such a sight, I bring my fingers to my bottom lip to make sure I’m not actually drooling. Well, hello Audrey. What can I do for you?

Kaila from Happy Grounds sent me.

Did she now? The corner of his mouth lifts up a moment before he takes off toward The Hut.

I follow him, leaving my flip-flops behind. Yeah, she said you teach people how to surf.

She should know better; I don’t teach tourists, he says as he starts rearranging some boogie boards.

I’m not a tourist. I live right over there, on Kai Ala Lane, I tell him and point across the cove. What on earth am I doing, sharing my home’s location