Surf Lessons on the Gold Coast – Part 2: Standing Up

On the sixth morning, Lucy stood up.

It was a small wave, nothing dramatic, and she wobbled for two full seconds before her feet slipped and she tumbled into the foam. But Noah was on the beach, arms raised, shouting so loudly that a family with a toddler turned round to see what had happened.

"You stood up!" he yelled.

"I fell down," shouted Lucy, from the water.

"Same thing. Come here, you lunatic."

She paddled in, grinning so hard her cheeks ached, and dropped the board on the sand. Noah pulled her into a sudden, enthusiastic hug, salt water and sunscreen and the warmth of his arms, and she let him, laughing into his shoulder.

"Seven wipeouts on the first day," he said, into her hair. "Five on the second. And now you're standing. I'm very proud of you."

"You're not allowed to be proud. You're the instructor."

"I'm allowed to be proud of anyone who makes me stop counting," said Noah, and let her go.

They sat on the sand afterwards, their boards beside them, a thermos of terrible coffee between them. The surf rolled in and out, bright and loud, and the beach filled up with families and dogs and teenagers doing handstands on the rocks.

"Can I ask you something?" said Lucy.

"Yes."

"Why did you stop counting my falls?"

Noah turned the thermos cup in his hands.

"Because I started to think that counting was the wrong thing," he said. "You weren't falling because you were bad. You were falling because you were trying. I'd rather watch you try than count how often you don't get it right."

"That's very wise for a man in a rash vest."

"It's very honest for a man who's been waiting for you to stand up all week," said Noah.

Lucy's breath caught. She looked at him, sun-bleached and easy, his hair salt-stiff and his eyes very bright.

"Noah," she said quietly. "Can I ask you something else?"

"Yes."

"Would you like to come to dinner with me tonight, and then go for a swim in the dark, with no lessons and no boards, just the two of us and the stars on the water?"

"Yes," said Noah at once. "But only if you promise not to fall off the pier."

"I'll try very hard," said Lucy, grinning.

"Can I kiss you, first?" he asked, his voice softer now. "Here, on the sand, while the surf is still too big for the tourists to get in?"

"Yes," said Lucy. "And if I say stop, you have to teach me the backhand tomorrow, and you're not allowed to laugh."

"No laughing," said Noah, solemn as a judge. "I promise."

He leaned in, slowly, and kissed her, warm and salty and unhurried, the sound of the waves filling the space between them. Her hand found his, and his fingers curled around hers, steady and sure. When they parted, both of them were breathing hard and laughing.

"Green?" he asked.

"Green," said Lucy. "Very green. Now let's go to dinner before I fall into the sea from pure happiness."

"That's a very dangerous way to fall," said Noah, and stood, holding out his hand, and pulled her up onto her feet, steady and sure, on the warm, bright sand.