The Boy with the Board
PRAISE FOR KATEY LOVELL
‘Magical and sparkly short stories, highly recommended’
Sky’s Book Corner
‘I’m so glad I picked this up, it’s gorgeous!’
Rather Too Fond of Books
‘Swooning all the way through’
Reviewed the Book
‘An absolutely wonderful debut’
Little Northern Soul
‘Quirky, cute and utterly romantic’
Bestselling author Rebecca Raisin
‘Sweet, romantic, perfectly formed coffee break reads. I loved them’
Bestselling author Carmel Harrington
The Boy with the Board
The Meet Cute Series
KATEY LOVELL
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
www.harpercollins.co.uk
HarperImpulse an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2016
Copyright © Katey Lovell 2016
Cover images © Shutterstock.com
Cover design by Books Covered
Katey Lovell asserts the moral right to
be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book
is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International
and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
By payment of the required fees, you have been granted
the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access
and read the text of this e-book on screen.
No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,
downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or
stored in or introduced into any information storage and
retrieval system, in any form or by any means,
whether electronic or mechanical, now known or
hereinafter invented, without the express
written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © May 2016 ISBN: 9780008166458
Version 2016-05-06
For Skye Peto, with love
Table of Contents
Cover
Praise for Katey Lovell
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
The Meet Cute Series
The Boy with the Board
Acknowledgment
Coming Soon from Katey Lovell
Also by Katey Lovell
Katey Lovell
About the Publisher
About HarperImpulse
The Meet Cute Series
The Boy in the Bookshop
The Boy at the Beach
The Boy at the Bakery
The Boy on the Bus
The Boy with the Board
The Boy with the Boxes
The Boy at the BBQ
The Boy under the Mistletoe
The Boy and the Bridesmaid
The Boy with the Board
He was the most gorgeous person on the beach, hands down. No one else came close. The rubber of his wetsuit glistening under the sunlight, his long hair the stereotypically sun kissed Californian blonde, an arse that was surely too pert and round to be real – he must be the male equivalent of Beyoncé.
As views go, this was a pretty good one. Breath-taking, in fact.
I’d never planned to come to Avila, never thought I was the sort of girl who’d just up sticks and leave home. I’d grown up in a terraced house in Wakefield. It was nothing fancy, an ordinary small, cosy house that was extraordinary because it brimmed with the warmth of love. My Mum had been exceptionally house-proud, the type of woman that never sat still. I remember her making me feel giddy as she darted around with a duster or pushed the Hoover over the well-worn carpets for the umpteenth time.
My elder sister Maria and I shared a bedroom, the walls plastered with posters of unattainable hunks from the magazines we bought using our dinner money – who needs food when you can have David Beckham in his underwear?! We were best friends, as well as sisters, possibly because of our family situation. Mum and Dad divorced when I was six and Maria was eight. But there had never been any animosity; I’d had a very happy childhood.
Yet on my eighteenth birthday, the day I should have been popping champagne and celebrating entering adulthood, Mum died. Welcome to adulthood, Helena.
She’d been to collect my birthday cake from the bakery on the High Street ready for my party that night, and as she carried the thin white box home, taking extra care not to drop the precious contents, she was hit by a car. The driver said she looked harried, as though she was in a rush to be somewhere, and didn’t look before stepping out into the road; that although he hit the brakes there was no way he could stop the car quickly enough. And my happy childhood abruptly ended.
Life changed immeasurably for me and Maria. Although we were old enough to stay in the house alone, we went to live with Dad and his new wife in their trendy, soulless townhouse on the edge of town. I couldn’t face going past that stretch of road near the shops, the one where Mum had been hit.
The funeral procession had driven that way though, a black snake making a macabre pilgrimage from our house, past the school where Mum had worked as a dinner lady and over the very spot where she’d died. I’d vomited into a tissue when I realised the route we were taking, overcome with grief and guilt. If it hadn’t been my birthday, she wouldn’t have been out at all, she’d have been ironing, or dusting, or tidying the cupboard under the stairs.
If it wasn’t for me, she’d still be alive.
Mum’s will was simple – the house was to be sold, and the money from the sale split evenly between Maria and I. She also left clear instructions – ‘Use the money to live life to the full. Step outside your comfort zones.’
And that was how I ended up in Avila Beach. I’d seen California on TV, glamorous girls rollerblading in the sunshine, muscular men pumping iron like there was no tomorrow, pure white sand and turquoise sea. It looked beautiful, but I didn’t want to go to Los Angeles or any of the other tourist traps. I wanted somewhere with charm, somewhere with a personality all of its own. A friend of mine had mentioned this place; somewhere locals flocked but was still pretty much under the radar. It had a lighthouse, and a farmer’s market, and quirky little ice cream shops. It was hot without being that stifling, energy sapping, overbearing heat. And most importantly, there was a surf school there.
I’d always wanted to learn to surf, but living in a landlocked Northern town I hadn’t thought it would ever happen. Now I had my chance. ‘Live life to the full,’ Mum had said. ‘Step outside your comfort zone.’
So I booked my flight, a one way ticket, and headed to California.
It took a good few weeks to build up to booking a place on the surfing course. It had been a pipe dream for so long that I almost didn’t want to make it a reality, scared it would be a disappointment or something I’d find impossible to master. Instead I spent time getting to know the area, eating striped tubs of creamy vanilla ice-cream as the waves crashed on the beach in front of me. I spent hours rocking aimlessly on the swings, forward and back, forward and back, the black plastic seat moulding to my bottom like a hammock.
And I did a lot of thinking. It’s easier to think when you’re totally alone. Nobody here knew me, so they weren’t likely to disturb me.
br /> Then one Saturday I knew it was time. I inhaled a large lungful of the salty air, walked into the surf school building, filled in the mandatory registration forms and blindly paid the tuition fee on my credit card.
The course was starting the next day. I was told I could hire equipment, which was a relief – I didn’t fancy heading into any of the intimidating local surf shops inhabited by knowledgeable surf bums. The immaculately groomed lady behind the counter handed me a booklet entitled ‘What to expect from your Surf School Experience’ and scrawled ‘ASHTON MILLER’ across the top with a black Sharpie. ‘Ashton will be your instructor,’ she said, tapping the leaflet with her index finger. ‘He’s dreamy’ she added with a wink.
‘I’m not here for the eye candy’ I replied, ‘I’m just here to have fun.’
‘Well, no harm in looking. And let me tell you now, Ashton is very easy on the eye.’ And with that I nodded my thanks and escaped through the door as quickly as possible.
What was I thinking? Did I really want to be on a beach with a super fittie five hours a day for the next week? And what about the other people on the course? They might be model-thin American girls with peroxide blonde hair that trailed half way down their back and breasts which doubled as buoyancy aides. What if I really couldn’t do it and made a fool of myself in front of everyone?
Tears filled my eyes and I looked out to sea. The crests of the waves were the image of the perfect white peaks which topped my Mum’s signature Lemon Meringue pie and I could have sworn I heard her voice floating in off the waves, the gentle whisper of ‘Helena, life is for living.’
*
I awoke the next morning to the sun streaming in through my hotel window, a yellow glow expectantly filling the room. My first thought was that I’d go for a stroll along the beach, maybe see if there was a game of beach volleyball I could sit and watch. There was something strangely therapeutic about watching people throwing themselves around after a ball with complete abandon.
Then, one horror-filled moment later, I remembered – I had plans today.
Plans which involved squeezing my imperfect body into a skin-tight wet suit.
*
There were three people waiting; a couple – at least, I assumed they were a couple from the way they were practically licking each other – and a youngish guy with wavy blonde hair. He looked like a surfer. Like he belonged. Heaven only knows what they thought of me, my chestnut brown hair scraped harshly back into a tight ponytail, my makeup free face drawing attention to the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of my nose. And of course, my ample thighs. And stomach. And chest. What the hell had I been thinking?
‘So, now we’re all here – let’s hit the surf!’ exclaimed the surfer dude, rubbing his hands together expectantly. ‘I’m Ashton, the instructor for this beginner’s course. We’re gonna have fun, but prepare to be exhausted. You’ll ache in muscles you didn’t know you had.’ Why did I feel like he was looking at me as he said that? I folded my arms across my stomach protectively, a minor act of self-preservation.
We strolled down to the water’s edge, the pure white spume rhythmically lapping at the shore. As I lagged behind I caught myself glancing at Ashton’s body in his wetsuit. Broad shoulders, muscular arms, an ass so rounded I was convinced I could balance a cup of tea on it. And his hair, long and tousled which was more than blonde in the sunlight. It was actually brilliant yellow, like a dandelion.
‘I’ll run through some basics before we head into the water, you need to be able to do them on land before you try them in there,’ he said, gesturing towards the sea. ‘It’ll probably feel unnatural at first, but once you’ve mastered it you’ll be addicted, I promise. I’ve been surfing since I was six, and the freedom you get when riding those waves – there’s nothing like it.’ His accent was pure California and saturated with confidence.
He lay on the surfboard, his toned, rubber-clad body pressed hard against it, and I couldn’t deny that I was aroused. Whether it was the sun blazing down on me, my hormones screaming with desire after being sexually repressed for so long or simply being around the most gorgeous man I’d ever set eyes on, I knew I wanted him.
Ashton showed us the manoeuvres necessary to make our first attempt at standing on the boards, talking us through each step until we finally progressed into the water. I had sudden doubts about the whole thing.
‘I’m not sure I’m cut out for this,’ I mumbled under my breath. My heart was pounding in my chest, fear and attraction pulsating through my veins in equal measure.
‘Of course you are,’ Ashton replied. ‘After all, you’ve learnt from the best’. He actually had the audacity to wink.
Oh, he knew how sexy he was alright. Especially now he was wet. Why do beautiful men become even more attractive when they are doused in water? Droplets of seawater ran down the side of his cheek, dripped off the tendrils of hair that framed his face, trailed down his wetsuit from his torso, past his stomach, down the inside of his taut thigh… How on earth was I meant to concentrate with him right there in front of me, all muscles and sex?
I tried to focus, remembering what Ashton had taught me, and actually managed to get to a standing position. Admittedly, only for a fraction of a second, but still, it was progress.
‘Way to go, Helena!’ he whooped, genuinely filled with glee. I flushed with pride.
‘Now I just need to be able to stay upright!’ I joked, throwing a wink back at him. Wow, was I actually flirting?
The couple on the course were helping each other, laughing uncontrollably as they repeatedly fell into the cloud-like surf. By default, Ashton and I were alone. Every so often he’d reach out and touch me, guiding my body into a better position to balance, showing me how to improve my technique. Every touch caused me to tingle. Even through my wet suit I felt a charge surging through me like an electric current. I was losing control.
Sinking.
Drowning.
‘That was better, good job!’ he nodded with a grin. His teeth were Hollywood white. Everything about him was luminescent.
‘Well, like you say, I had the best teacher…’
Outwardly I smiled, but internally I cringed at my ineptitude. Get a grip, Helena!
‘Look, I don’t know if you’re free, but there’s a great market. They’ve got live music, the most delicious fresh fruit…it’s got a good vibe, ya know? Anyway, I’m going there after we wrap up for the day. It’d be cool to have some company?’
My heart fluttered wildly. Ashton actually wanted to spend time with me away from the water! He was probably just being ultra-polite to the token Brit, but still…it gave me a fuzzy feeling in the pit of my stomach.
‘That’d be lovely, yeah.’ I didn’t want to seem like I was bothered, but inside I was dancing.
The time flew and before long Ashton called ‘right, time to wrap up for the day.’ We headed back to the surf school, and as I showered the salty water from my hair I couldn’t help but smile.
He wanted to spend time with me. It was a major confidence boost that someone like him wanted to hang around with someone like me, even if it was only as friends. My smile stayed with me as I dressed, dried my hair and put on the tiniest hint of makeup. Life was good. And as my Mum would say, it’s for living.
*
As I headed into the foyer I saw Ashton waiting for me. His hair was still damp, teardrops of water dripping onto the shoulders of his white t-shirt. In his bright red shorts and a battered pair of burgundy Vans, he still looked every inch the all-American surfer.
‘Hey Helena, ready to go?’ he asked, picking up a rucksack from the floor and flinging it onto his back. ‘We can walk to the market, unless you’re out of energy after class?’
‘No, walking’s fine,’ I answered, ‘for today at least. I’m a bit worried that if I stop I might never be able to move again. The inside of my thighs feel really tight already.’ Oh heck, why did I mention the inside of my thighs? It’s him, oozing sex appeal and making me thin
k all kinds of dirty thoughts.
‘Like I said, you use muscles that don’t get used every day. Your body adapts quickly though. I promise that by the end of the week you won’t feel as stiff.’
And now he said the word stiff. My mind was racing.
It was a relief when we started walking.
We walked away from the beach at a steady pace, weaving in and out of the groups of people strolling in the afternoon sun. The world seemed brighter here, I thought. Especially with Ashton in it.
‘What made you come to Avila?’ he asked. ‘I mean, mostly tourists don’t come here from abroad. They all go to LA. This isn’t as flashy as the other California beaches.’
‘That was why,’ I replied honestly. ‘I needed to escape, to clear my head, and I saw pictures of Avila on the internet and went for it. It just felt right,’ I shrugged.
There was a pause. It wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward, but was definitely there, crying out to be filled.
‘I was running away,’ I blurted. I squeezed my hands into tightly balled up fists, partly with fear, partly with anger. ‘I couldn’t bear to stay at home any more. My life changed horribly and it pushed me into taking a few chances. That’s why I’m here.’
Ashton’s tanned hand curled around my fist, a cocoon gently wrapped around a floundering, unprepared caterpillar. ‘I didn’t realise you’d had a tough time,’ he said, his face etched with concern. ‘I wouldn’t have asked if I’d thought it’d upset you’.
‘It’s OK. I just needed to tell you I didn’t come here for a holiday. I couldn’t bear to be in Wakefield any more, where every café, every street corner, had a memory, so I came to Avila Beach. I needed to break out and make new memories.’
‘Well then,’ Ashton smiled squeezing my hand, ‘let’s go and make some’.
And somehow, as we headed into the vibrant market, I knew everything was going to be alright.