You should never have tried surfing.

You knew that.

Not with your conditions.

But the ocean looked calm, and you were bored, and there had been an old board on Addison’s back deck.

Addison Montgomery saw the whole thing happen from her deck — the awkward wobble, the panicked flail, the full-body Wipeout that had you tumbling under a wave like a sock in a washing machine.

Before you even surfaced, Addison was already sprinting down the stairs, bare feet slapping the sand, hair flying behind her like she belonged in Baywatch except angrier.

By the time you surfaced by the shore, coughing seawater, she barrelled into the surf and grabbed your arm.

“Are you insane?!” she shouted over the waves while dragging you onto the sand.