Matt picks you up bright and early, 8 o’clock to go surfing. You left your board at Quint’s house the night before (after surfing) and you called him to load it onto his truck. When you finally come out to the truck with a bag slung over your shoulder and a surf-worthy bikini underneath your clothing, Matt groans.

“Finally,” he grumbles, “every time I pick you up you take an extra twenty minuets.”

You counter, “it was maybe ten, and even that’s exaggerating.”

The two of you speed down to the beach, your favorite on the island. Never crowded, great waves; right in front of the Brody’s house. You were complaining to the chief after school one day: ‘the beach packed by the time I get there every day, everyone’s in my way, I can hardly surf!’ That was when he offered his private beach up to grab. It’s the perfect place, besides being so far from your house, but that isn’t a problem when you have a gorgeous tanned boyfriend with a truck.

You reach for Matt’s hand and he takes your’s in his eagerly. He presses a firm kiss to your knuckles, his beard tickling your skin, and then moves your hand to rest on his thigh. The sun peaks over the trees and dunes of Amity and you watch as his eyes crinkle up in annoyance. Wordlessly, you pass him your sunglasses (pink with sequins, but they’ll do).

“Gosh, look at those waves,” Matt can hear the smile in your voice and he smiles a little himself.

“Looks like it’ll be a good run today, babe.”

He illegally parks the truck on the side of the road, coincidently right in front of the chief’s window, but you both know he wouldn’t give you a ticket. You ruffle through your bag and then huff.

“I forgot my damn wax.”

Matt comes around the front to open your door and, to your surprise, hoists you into his arms. “You can use mine,” he mumbles in between wet kisses he plants all over your shoulder. You squeal.

“Oh honey, you’re so pretty,” Matt whispers. You press your nose to his.

You finish surfing and begin walking back to the truck. Matt carries your board for you.