Dawson pulled himself from the waves and trotted over to where his surfboard floated in the shallow water. He picked it up and decided he’d had enough of the waves pounding him for one day.
Maybe if he surfed more often than once or twice a month, he’d be able to stay on his feet for longer than three seconds. He didn’t have to work today—at least not in the cockpit of his helicopter. He had agreed to help Charlotte install a sprinkling system in the backyard today, so he was a bit surprised to see her standing in the shade of the tree behind his house.
“Dawson?” she called, shading her eyes with one hand.
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