Sloane orders a taco salad, which sounds somuch healthier than the soft shell tacos and order of nachos Iasked for. Any other time, I would care about her opinion, but I’vehad two bites since I got off the plane late yesterday, so allcaring is out the window.
We walk over to a picnic table, and Sloaneexplains that The Tiki Taco is actually mobile, but Sylvia’s familylives down this road, and they usually park here while setting upfor the day.
“My brother Will is obsessed with theirfood, and he used to sneak down here before and after hours toeat,” she says before scooping up another bite of taco salad. “Oneday he brought me with him, and the rest was history. Eventually myparents found out. They don’t try to stop us, but they don’t trustfood trucks, even though they think Sylvia is ‘quite lovely.’”
This is my first food truck experience, butI’m pretty sure it won’t be my last visit to The Tiki Taco whileI’m here. I crunch into another nacho and savor the taste so I canremember it months from now when I’m back home and searching fornachos of this quality.
“So what does a surf coach do?” Sloane asks.“That’s a job I’ve never heard of.”
I explain that Dad’s job is basically topick apart his surfer’s surfing. They watch clips of surf sessionsand see what could’ve been done better. They watch every turn andsee where they could’ve used more power or turned the board morevertically or dug the fins into the water more. It’s all thetechnical stuff that goes into scoring potential. Surf coaches lookat the gritty details to see what the judges are looking for.
“That’s what wins heats. That’s what winsevents. That’s what wins world titles,” I tell her. “Or at leastthat’s my dad’s mantra about the whole thing.”
“Okay, let me get this straight,” Sloanesays. “Your dad travels the world, gets to see the best waves, andteaches superstar surfers how to be better? And he gets paid forthat?”
Basically, yeah. It almost sounds like alazy job, but in all actuality, my dad busts his ass harder thananyone I know. He has a knowledge of surfing and all the technicaldetails. He knows maneuvers and different waves and what workswhere. He knows that the things that score well at a beach break inRio aren’t going to work in Fiji. He earns every penny hemakes.
I nod to Sloane. “One of his best friends,Neil Harper, made the world tour when they were in college,” I tellher. “My dad dropped out and hit the road with Neil. It started outas a year off just to see the world because he didn’t think he’dhave a chance, but he started breaking down heats with Neil and hetook him on as a coach. It led to two world titles, and atwenty-year career, so I guess it’s not too shabby.”
“Definitely not,” she says. “So what aboutthis new guy he’s coaching?”
I eat the last few bites of my second tacoas I dig through my beach bag with one hand searching for my phone.The Tiki Taco pulls away, headed toward the resorts and touristsspots for the lunch crowd.
“His name is Dominic. He’s this rich kidfrom California,” I tell her. I pull up his Instagram account andfind one of his few selfies. “This is him.”
Sloane’s eyes widen, just like I’m sure minedid the first time I searched him on the web. “He’s ratherattractive,” she says, as if it’s surprising to her. “Single?”
I nod. “I get the vibe that he’s one ofthose guys who is too busy surfing to date.”
She shrugs. “That would help your chances,though,” she says. “He’s too busy surfing to date. You’re his surfcoach’s daughter. You’re the only girl who would be constant. It’sdestiny.”
I can’t help but burst out with laughter. “Iknow I’ve only known you for two hours, but you are completelycrazy,” I tell her. I look down so she can’t see the heat that’sforming behind my cheeks. “Besides, I never said I was interestedin him.”
“Kaia, you didn’t have to.”
Chapter Four – Dominic
I haul my substitute board back to thebungalow, but Glenn is already a few steps ahead of me. The manhasn’t stopped talking about his craving for a turkey sandwich forthe last hour. Normally that’d make me hungry, but the thought ofeating right after a hardcore surf session makes me want tohurl.
After I shower and ‘blow the ocean out of mynose,’ as Kaia put it, I plan on walking down to the resort andseeing if my real boards are here yet. Dad sent me the overnighttracking number, but those things are coming by plane, so‘overnight’ means nothing here.
I push the cracked door open, and Glennstands at the kitchen counter. He says that Kaia isn’t here, sohe’s going to go grab a sandwich at the resort and come back for anap. I make my way back to the shower on our side. I wonder ifshe’s found anywhere decent to hang out here. I may be surfing andtraining most mornings, but I can’t imagine sitting around hereevery afternoon doing nothing. Napping is out of the question. I’llnever get up with the sunrise if I nap in the afternoon.
Once the ocean is off of my skin, I make myway down the pier toward the island’s resort. It reminds me of thatnew hotel in Crescent Cove. I actually hated to see that thing goup. They tore down the old carnival, which was abandoned andweathered, but it had character. It was part of the town’s history.Now it’s Florence Gardens Inn with expensive chandeliers andoutrageous flower gardens. I preferred the rusted tilt-a-whirl,honestly.
I check at the front desk and explain mysituation to the receptionist. She writes down my information andwhere we’re staying so she can let us know when my boards arrive –if my boards arrive. My faith in the airlines is nonexistentat this point.
As I turn to go find the gym, Kaia walksthrough the lobby in a pink bikini top and a towel around herwaist. Her hair is wet but pulled into
