“Wow. What are you doing with the other one?” Remi asked.

“It’s hard to explain,” Julianne started. “But I guess you could say I sort of rebuilt it.” She described how she had sliced it up into strips and installed it, strip by strip, 47

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into a huge wood-and-wire sculpture. The whole piece was huge—she had constructed most of it standing on a step stool smack in the middle—and Julianne loved the feeling that she could live inside of it. Both had won regional art shows in their respective years. The portrait of their little beach cottage was even on display in the lobby of the Chamber of Commerce.

“Wow.” Remi looked at Jules with pure astonishment.

“That’s amazing. You and your mom must have been close.”

“Very. Our whole family is.” She stared ahead at the ocean.

“So, is that why you’re an artist? Because that’s what she did?” Remi leaned in, scooting a little closer to Julianne.

“Nope,” she said thoughtfully. “I mean, not really.

I’m an artist because I can’t not be. It’s like breathing, you know? I’ve been doing this since I was too young to understand that it was what Mom did. But I guess she’s become a part of it. Knowing it’s something we share, even if she’s not here anymore. Continuing her legacy, or whatever.”

“But you don’t want it to be all about the loss,” Remi said softly.

“Yeah, exactly.” She stared at him, hard, her blue eyes locking with his big brown ones. “That’s exactly what I was going to say.”

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Remi leaned in toward her and draped his arm across her shoulders. Julianne leaned into his side and breathed him in, surprised at how natural and easy it felt.

Suddenly, fat raindrops splattered everywhere, shooting down in rapid fire. Julianne and Remi propelled themselves up from the damp sand and ran around trying to collect Julianne’s things. Julianne quickly found her flip-flops and slid them on, then hurried over to pack up her palette and brushes. Remi had already disassembled the easel and was lifting her canvas gingerly off the sand. “You know what?” Jules began, an idea forming in her brain.

“Hmm?” Remi asked, still packing up.

“This looks like it’ll blow over in a few minutes. Let’s just toss a cover over the painting and wait it out. We’ll be fine,” she suggested.

Remi grabbed a tarp from Julianne’s art supply stash and covered her painting gently before sliding back down beside her in the sand.

They sat side by side and took in the sights of the beach in the rain. When she squinted, Julianne could just make out her house in the distance. Even dwarfed by the huge glass-and-metal McMansion that had sprung up next door, Jules thought her house was beautiful. Even from down the beach it looked warm and cozy—small, but completely charming. She silently fumed looking at her new neighbors’ pretentious monster 49

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home, but then she took a deep breath and decided to let it go. She turned to Remi and said brightly, “You know what? I feel the rain letting up. I think I’m going to start setting my stuff up again. I’ll be able to do some really neat stuff with the light after the rain clears out.” Remi nodded and smiled, obviously impressed with Julianne’s dedication. “Since I took all of your stuff down, I think it’s only fair that I help set it back up.

Sound like a deal?”

“Deal,” Julianne said, grinning back at him.

They got up from the sand and walked in small circles, gathering Jules’s discarded art supplies, just chatting. As he turned and checked out the full panoramic view of the area, Remi’s face lit up. “Oh—I totally know where I am!” Great, Jules thought. If Remi is figuring out his way around already, he’ll definitely be able to find his way back! The tiny hairs on her arm prickled at the realization that her hand was nestled in his. Standing on this familiar stretch of sand with Remi, the beach looked more gorgeous than ever. Just as Jules had predicted, the rain was weakening, the clouds brightening and clearing. By the time Jules and Remi had reassembled her work spot, the afternoon storm had all but cleared up. Surveying the horizon, Jules noticed that most of the surfers hadn’t even come off the water when the rain started.

As Julianne removed the tarp from her painting, Remi plunked down on the sand next to her, his surf-50

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board sitting by his side like a loyal dog. Jules eased down into the sand beside him and he scooted just a millimeter closer. They were near enough that she could practically feel the tiny goose bumps dotting his arms.

She was tempted to rest her head on his shoulder and recreate the cozy scene that had been interrupted by the rain a few minutes earlier, but Remi beat her to it, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Julianne was shocked and giddy—it was like he could read her mind. The heat of his body touching hers seemed to electrify the air, and Jules half expected the wooden legs of her easel to go up in flames.

“So, you surf?” she asked, breaking the silence with a question she could have answered herself.

Remi laughed. “No. Not at all. I just carry around this surfboard to impress the ladies. It was pretty awkward in Seattle, but I think it could work magic down here.

What do you think?” he joked.

“Oh, yeah,” Jules replied, looking from the surfboard to Remi’s bathing-suit-clad body. “Definite chick magnet.”

“How about you?” Remi asked, turning his head toward Julianne. “You’re a California girl. Do you surf?”

“I’m okay,” Julianne admitted, shrugging, “but not great. My best friend, Kat, is a fierce surfer, though.” Her blue eyes sparkled wickedly as her gaze locked with Remi’s. “Maybe you could show me a few moves? Help improve my game?”

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Remi took his arm down from around Julianne’s shoulders and gestured toward his board. “Have time for a lesson?”

Julianne felt the tiniest bit shy as she peeled off her tank top and lay down on Remi’s board. “Okay!” she called over her shoulder. “Surf school is now in session.” Crouching next to her, Remi laughed. “So, show me how you usually paddle out.”

Julianne windmilled her arms above her head, imi-tating her freestyle stroke. She could feel the muscles of her back moving as she fake-paddled, and she couldn’t help but laugh. She also couldn’t ignore the irony of Remi, who was new in town and from a city basically devoid of ocean and sunshine, giving her pointers on surfing. Not that Julianne minded. Sneaking a glance at Remi, who was paying complete and total attention to each movement of her arms, Julianne didn’t mind one bit.

“Good,” Remi instructed. “Now, push up!” Julianne tucked her arms back within the perimeter of the board and, in one strong, fluid motion, used them to lift herself off of her stomach and onto her feet. Once she was up, she readjusted her bandana, put her hands on her hips jauntily, and turned to Remi. “How am I doing, Coach?”

“Your form’s pretty good,” Remi answered earnestly, standing up. “I think you might want to use your upper 52

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arms a little more when you’re pushing up, though. It’ll give you more momentum. Can I show you?”

“Sure. Do you want to demonstrate, or . . .” Julianne trailed off.

“Nope. Get back down on the board, and I’ll show you, as you’re doing it. That way you can feel it while it’s happening,” Remi suggested.

Giggling silently, she hopped back down onto her stomach, already giddy with anticipation. She situated herself on her stomach in the middle of the board. Remi leaned across her, and Jules shivered slightly, both from his shadow creeping across her back and from the proximity of his body to hers.

“Okay, now move your arms in like you’re going to push up,” Remi instructed. As Julianne began drawing her arms inward, she felt his hands on her shoulders. She was momentarily afraid that her arms would give out under her, and she’d belly flop on the surfboard. Talk about embarrassing! “Now,” Remi coached, his hands never leaving her shoulders, “move your arms a little bit farther apart, and try pushing up again.” As Julianne prepared for her second try, she heard a series of quick beeps, and Remi’s hand suddenly flew off her shoulders.