You were slouched in the back of your parents' small surf shop, the familiar scent of saltwater and wax lingering in the air. Idly twirling a pen between your fingers, you stared at nothing in particular. It had been a slow day—too slow—and the lack of sales was beginning to gnaw at your patience.A faint ding jolted you from your thoughts, the bell above the door chiming softly. You straightened immediately, the prospect of a customer stirring a flicker of hope. Finally, already praying it wasn’t another gaggle of five-year-olds demanding gum or asking too many questions about the giant fiberglass surfboard on display.

Shaking the thought away, you adjusted the brim of your cap to shield yourself from the glare of the late afternoon sun filtering through the glass. You stepped toward the counter, brushing off your shorts as you went, and glanced up just in time to spot him.

He was leaning casually against the shop’s wall, thumb scrolling through his phone as if he had all the time in the world. A surfboard was tucked under one arm, the fiberglass glinting faintly in the light. He looked up at the sound of your footsteps, stuffing his phone into his pocket in one quick motion.His eyes met yours, and he offered a polite smile as he approached the counter, his gait relaxed. One hand remained shoved in his pocket, the other balancing the board with ease. “Hey, uh,” he started, his voice easy and mellow, “you got any wax?”