It had been an incredible evening. She wanted more evenings like that, with Jack.

There.

She'd put it into words. For the first time in too long, she'd met a guy who had made her look beyond just this one date.

Scary stuff.

6

The next morning, Sam sat on her surfboard in the same water she'd swum with Jack only a few hours before. Lorissa perched on her own board alongside, and as they watched their friends and fellow surfers ride some waves, they talked.

Or rather Lorissa talked, hounding Sam for the scoop on the night before.

But oddly enough, Sam didn't feel like giving any details, even though the thought of Jack still put a grin on her face.

"Come on, tell me something." Lorissa's body rose and fell gently as a swell rode beneath them.

"I told you, I had fun."

"I need more than that."

"I'll tell you this wave is mine." Sam started paddling to catch it, then heaved herself up to her feet.

When she got back to Lorissa, she wasn't alone. Skurfer, an old high school buddy who owned the surf shop they all went to, smiled. "Did you score last night?" he wanted to know.

"We're what, eight years out of school? Can't we come up with a better term than score?"

"Sure." This from Nash, another of their longtime friends, and Sam's old middle-school crush. He offered them an alternative word, a four-letter universal term, and everyone laughed.

Except Lorissa. Still straddling her board, she put her hands on her hips. "Sam did not score with a blind date. She's too careful for that." She looked at Sam. "Right?"

"Right." Sam eyed the incoming set of waves with newfound determination, because maybe riding them, she could get some peace. "And if whoever's next in line doesn't hurry up and take more interest in these breakers than my sex life, then they're going to lose."

The guys went together, while Lorissa and Sam watched.

"You didn't sleep with him," Lorissa said in a low tone.

"Is that a guess?"

Lorissa eyed her for a long time. "No, it's the truth. You like sex as much as anyone I know, but oddly enough for someone who doesn't want to be in a relationship, you need more than one date to get intimate. You didn't sleep with him, I'd bet my next paycheck on it."

No, she hadn't. But God, she'd wanted to. "You know that for sure, huh?"

"Well, it's not like you've changed your policy over the years. Like I said, rule number one, you don't sleep with a guy until you know him. Rule number two, you scratch your itch and dump him."

"Hey. I don't-"

"Yes, you do." Lorissa's smile was sad. "We both know by the time you like a guy enough to sleep with him, it's the kiss of death for that relationship because you don't like being part of a couple. Relationships scare you."

"Would you stop with the R word?"

"What's the matter, am I making you jittery?"

Sam sighed. "I'm taking this one." She started paddling toward the next wave.

"You're taking it because you know I'm right," Lorissa called after her.

"I'm going because this is a good one-"

"Was he a jerk?"

Startled, Sam glanced back and saw real worry in Lorissa's eyes.

"Because if he was," she called out. "I'll kill him. And I'll kill Cole, too, who vouched for him. I'll kill them both, slowly."

Sam looked up into the perfect wave cresting, and… let it go.

With a sigh, she paddled back to where Lorissa sat in her patriotic red, white and blue bandeau top and ancient, shredded blue surfer shorts, straddling the board that Sam had bought her for Christmas three years ago. Concern, fear and regret were stamped all over her.

Sam's heart tightened. Last night while driving along the coast, she'd had that burst of feeling isolated, and yet she wasn't alone at all.

So what made it so hard to reach out, to accept love? She had no idea, but she reached out now, because the truth was, the only reason she'd been able to go on after losing her parents had been because of the woman looking at her right this minute. Lorissa had loved and bullied and loved her some more, more than anyone else all these years. "He wasn't a jerk. Not even close. In fact, he was…" Heavenly Delicious. Magnificent. "A perfect gentleman," she said finally.

Even when he'd stripped off his clothes and dove into the ocean, with that long, lean, hard heat rubbing up against her-

"Okay." Lorissa cocked her head, searching Sam's expression carefully. "So why all the secrecy- Oh. Oh, damn," she breathed softly. "You like him. You really like him." Lorissa's face split into a wide grin. "Tell me the truth."

Sam should have taken that wave. "I had a good time," she admitted, and when Lorissa just waited, she sighed. "Fine. Make that a great time."

"So you're going to see him again? Has he called? Have you called? Stop holding back on me, damn it!"

"It's only been a few hours. And you're the one who should spill, you neglected to tell me he was an ex-NBA star."

"Actually, I didn't know." Lorissa looked thoughtful. "I guess I should have matched his name with the stories." She shrugged. "I've never been much for watching basketball."

Yeah, neither had Sam.

"So… what's next? Another date? Or did you give him the famous Sam Blow-Off?"

"Well… next weekend we're doing this… thing."

"Omigod, you're going on date number two!" Lorissa looked as though she'd just won the lottery.

"I'm just helping him and his sister at some charity carnival. That's all. Not really date number two."

"Uh-huh."

"It's not." Giving up convincing Lorissa when she couldn't even convince herself, Sam took the next wave.


* * *

On Monday, Sam skipped her morning surf to make her monthly trek out to San Juan Capistrano.

As she had on the first Monday of every month without fail for five years, she got out of her car at the secluded little house on the beach, walked up the steps and knocked.

And pulled a check from her purse written from her checking account for just enough money to make her wince-especially after dropping $800 on Jack Knight at the auction.

The door opened and there stood Red-a sixty-five-year-old, lanky lean, skin-tanned-to-leather, long-haired beach bum. The beach bum who'd given her a job when she'd been fourteen with too much free time on her hands.

The same beach bum who was her mother's older brother, a man who'd never wanted children and yet had taken her in when her parents died, giving her what he could when life had taken so much away.

And as always, just the sight of Red caught her by the chest and squeezed.

In return, his light blue eyes twinkled and warmed. But he was duty-bound by habit to give her his monthly scowl as he leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed. "Is it that time already?"

"You know it is."

"Yeah. So what do you want?"

Grabbing his hand, she slapped the check into his palm. "What do you think?"

He peered down at the piece of paper, and as it did every month, his scowl deepened. "Is it any good?"

"Deposit it and see."

"Maybe I don't want to go to the trouble." Nothing ever changed about this dialogue. As always, he tried to hand the check back to her. She put her hands behind her back. "What's the matter, my money not good enough for you?"

"I keep telling you I don't want your money."

"I bought your place, I'm paying for your place. You hold the mortgage. How many times do we have to go through this? Just deposit the damn check and reduce my damn debt, and soon enough I'll stop showing up on your doorstep."

"Fine." He jammed the check into the pocket of his faded Hawaiian surf shorts, which hung low on his skinny hips. "I suppose you've been staying out of trouble."

"I suppose." She peered in past him to look at the small place he'd been slowly renovating now that he'd retired. "You hire a maid for this sty yet?"

"Yep, with your money, thanks. Sure you don't want to take the check back?" He looked at her with some amusement. "You could buy yourself some cooking lessons. Learn to make brownies."

"Ha, ha." Everyone knew about her determination to make decent brownies.

And really, the urge made perfect sense. Any psychiatrist would have had a field day with it-her mother had always made brownies, and they'd always been perfect and scrumptious.

Sam knew deep down she wrecked her own batches on purpose. She must have a thing against being truly happy, or wanting real love, or being afraid… something stupid like that.

She didn't care. She still tried to make brownies the way her mom had.

"Well, then, maybe buy yourself some new clothes," Red suggested, eyeing her denim cutoffs, tank top and flip-flops. "Or even get a haircut. Find yourself a man."

"Shows what you know. I don't need to get new clothes or trim my hair to get a man."

"Uh-huh. I see you've got yourself a real big rock on that marrying finger."

She glanced down at her ringless hands and rolled her eyes. "I'm not interested in getting married. Why would I be?"

"Maybe because I'd like to see you happy and taken care of."

Everything within her softened. Still she had her tough facade to keep up. "I can make myself happy, thank you very much, and I certainly can take care of myself."

"Really? You've got it all covered, huh?"

She lifted her chin. "You bet."

"And kids? You going to give yourself kids?"

"Look, I didn't come all the way down here to get a lecture."

"Then why are you still standing here?" Because he was the closest thing to a father she had, and sometimes she just liked to look at him. "Traffic's a bitch. I figured you'd want to feed me the leftovers you'd just be throwing away anyway."