This was venturing into dangerous Divine Mother Shakti territory, but I smiled back, because his love for surfing was obviously so pure.
“That’s why I decided to take a break from touring for a while,” he continued. “To get back to my roots, to surf for the sheer joy of it. And to teach other people to love it, too. There’s so much beauty in the ocean. It’s a shame you’ve had such bad experiences.”
Popping the last of the burrito into my mouth, I threw up a hand as if to say, Oh, well.
Then Trey’s eyes went from dull to twinkly and danced across my face. “Let me help you. I can take you out on the water and show you there’s no reason to be afraid.”
As tempting as it was to spend more time around Trey, wearing nothing but skimpy swimsuits, my fear outweighed my desire. “Thank you, but no.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but I loudly slurped back the rest of my horchata and shook my head.
“Okay. I guess it’s probably asking too much of you to say yes when you’ve still got stingray venom in your foot.”
I glanced down, taking in the swollen pink skin. “It feels a lot better. I wonder if I can walk on it now.” Standing up, I wobbled and quickly sat back down. “That would be a no.”
“No worries. I got you.” Trey kneeled at my feet and I hopped on his back. Without a word, he carried me home through the calm, cool San Diego evening. Laughter and music trickled from the open doors of restaurants and bars. The post–happy hour Friday night crowds were ramping up, but I was more than ready to hunker down in the quiet and comfort of my own bed.
Though snuggled up here against Trey’s back was a pretty pleasant place to be, too.
When we got to the triplex, he stopped. “Which unit is yours?”
“I actually live in the back,” I said. “On top of the garage.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize it was legal to rent those out.”
“It might not be, but I don’t ask too many questions.”
We walked through the passageway leading to the back of the building and passed through the courtyard. When Trey approached the rickety wooden steps, I panicked. There was no way I wanted him to see my apartment, not in its current state of chaos.
“You can leave me here!” The words came out too loud, too anxious. I cleared my throat and tried again. “This is good, thanks. I can make it upstairs by myself.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
He set me down at the base of the staircase, where I held on to the banister for support and gave him an awkward thumbs-up.
“Listen,” he said, “my offer to help you feel comfortable in the water is always on the table. Give it some thought, okay? You might feel differently after you’ve had a chance to recover.”
“Yeah, maybe I will.” No, I definitely won’t. “Thanks again for everything.”
“It was really my pleasure.”
Trey stared at me now, his eyes laser-focused directly on my lips, which started tingling under his gaze. There was nothing more I wanted than to kiss him good-night, burrito breath be damned.
But that wasn’t gonna happen, because he was already backing away across the courtyard. With a casual wave, he said, “See ya around.”
“See ya.”
As soon as he was gone, I clasped my hand over my mouth to muffle the squeals of delight. It had been so long since I’d felt this way in the company of a man—desired, interesting, dare I say special?—that I wanted to bottle up this moment and keep it forever.
And maybe even send it out into the universe.
I whipped out my phone and set the camera to selfie mode. The soft lighting in the backyard cast a warm amber glow around my face. I swear, you could actually see my lips tingle. I curved them into a smile, snapped a photo, and uploaded it to my vision board.
This time, I added a caption: a single kiss emoji.
Hopefully, the universe would know exactly what that meant.
Chapter 9
The next day I woke to the screeching of the garage door, but oddly, I didn’t mind. Because the pain in my foot was gone, my lips were still tingling, and I was consumed with the overwhelming feeling that good things were about to come my way.
A scroll through my phone confirmed that feeling. I’d received preliminary approval for a HandyMinion account. My virtual onboarding session was scheduled for Monday morning, and after that I could start taking on paid work for random odd jobs around the neighborhood.
Furthermore, my Instagram account had garnered over a hundred more likes overnight as well as a gaggle of new followers. They left encouraging comments like, “You’re a warrior, sweetie!” and “Get it, girl!” Someone named @dipalmatribe had even featured my profile in one of their stories, overlayed with an animated GIF of a little girl twerking in a pageant dress and the message: @breebythesea bringing the #aspirationalactionplan vibes and #manifesting her dreams!
This vision board was getting me noticed, and I had to admit, it felt kind of cool to have random strangers cheering me on. Maybe this is what Demi DiPalma meant by “energy follows thought.” I’d put my positive thoughts out there, and people sent their positive thoughts back, which energized me in a most welcome and unexpected way.
If that was the case, The Aspirational Action Plan was doing its job. So it was probably time to get started on step three: clearing away negative energy.
A quick glance around my apartment revealed no shortage of bad vibes. Reminders of my debt and my failures, and of course, reminders of Rob. Even seemingly innocuous things were tied to memories of our doomed, pointless relationship. Like those coasters we’d bought after we toured the Stone brewery together. Or that hideous faux-fur papasan chair, the first and only item of furniture we’d ever picked out and purchased together.
There was also the yoga mat, the one I hadn’t taken out of its original packaging. Rob had given it to me for my last birthday, even though I’d never expressed an interest in taking up yoga. After I unwrapped it, he must’ve seen the perplexed look on my face, because he’d said, “You’re always saying how you wish you had a hobby.”
“Yeah, but I meant something crafty, like scrapbooking or origami.” I’d turned the box over and saw a Target clearance sticker on the back. He hadn’t even bothered to scrape it off.
“This is better,” he’d said. “Yoga’ll help you get in shape.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t realized I needed to get in shape, but apparently Rob thought otherwise.
Suddenly, I wanted everything he’d ever touched out of this apartment, immediately and forever. It was time for him to GTFO of my life.