The Moment of Letting Go - J. A. Redmerski Page 0,6

surfers riding the waves. A few guys—and girls who are probably girlfriends—are among the group. All of them are tall and tanned and look like they walked right off the pages of a Hawaiian magazine.

Squeals pierce the air as Veronica’s assistants are sprayed by water from a small, boisterous wave. Veronica throws her head back daintily and laughs like a wannabe 1950s movie star—I suddenly feel embarrassed even though I’m not sitting beside her.

I peer back into my lens as two more guys from the group head out together into the wave-capped water, surfboards in hand.

Snap, snap, snap.

Suddenly the tall guy with a nice body in the red and black wetsuit looks in my direction briefly. Through my lens I see his eyes looking right at me, and I suck in a sharp breath, dropping my camera from my face with a pang of embarrassment settling in my stomach. I hope he doesn’t think I was photographing him, even though I was.

Maybe he wasn’t looking at me—I mean, I am across the beach. Though I’m sure, with them being surfers and all, they get tourists out here all the time taking photos of them.

I watch the group for a short while as they ride the waves. It’s said that the North Shore is the best place to surf in Hawaii, but I guess I expected giant waves and bodies disappearing underneath a frightening, towering tunnel of water only to shoot out the other side to the gasps of onlookers. This isn’t as nail-biting, but it’s still impressive. I doubt I could stay up on a surfboard for more than a few seconds—these guys make it look easy.

The guy wearing the red and black wetsuit emerges from the water and walks onto the beach with his surfboard tucked underneath his arm. He looks over in my direction as he walks forward, pushing a hand over the top of his wet golden-brown hair. My heart leaps a little. I think … yeah, he was definitely looking at me.

My awkwardness comes back full force, accompanied by a hot blush in my cheeks.

Veronica pushes herself to her feet, dusting sand from her fingers, and walks toward the group, her little bubble butt swishing beneath her black bikini bottom as she moves through the sand.

A little baffled by her sudden brazen decision, I watch as Veronica approaches the guy in the black and red wetsuit. He looks right at her. He smiles and nods. Veronica twirls the end of her long, dark hair around the tip of one finger, cocking her head coyly to one side.

Words are exchanged.

Then a few more.

The guy’s smile fades.

Did his brows just furrow?

Uh-oh.

Veronica’s arms navigate upward and fall into a locked position, crossed loosely over her chest.

The guy shakes his head at her with a look of … Is that disgust?

He bends over and picks his surfboard up, turning his back to her, and then heads back out toward the water.

Veronica spins angrily on her heels and marches back over to her towel and beach bag with the most offended expression I’ve ever seen on a face before. She snatches her towel from the sand, thrusts her feet into her flip-flops, kicking up sand around her toes, and goes to leave, headed straight in my direction.

“Unbelievable!” she says as she steps up. “The locals around here are rude, that’s for sure.” She shoves her towel angrily into her canvas beach bag.

“What happened?” I ask.

“He was an asshole—that’s what happened.”

Even more baffled now, I just stare at Veronica for a curious moment, part of me wondering whether she’s actually going to cry, the rest of me just wanting to know what he could’ve possibly said to someone like her to spark the urge. Her assistants move in right behind her, just now catching up, but they aren’t the ones I notice when I look up—the guy in the red and black wetsuit is looking in my direction again, and suddenly I feel embarrassed standing here with Veronica.

I look away quickly, just as he does.

“I guess they don’t like tourists around here,” she says. “Better watch your back.” Then she saunters off back toward the hotel, leaving me on the beach. The guy never looks over at me again, and while it’s probably for the best because I’m here to work, I can’t help but be bummed by it just the same.

I spend the next thirty minutes in my suite alone, expecting to get a call from Veronica any minute telling me