Free Waves of Love (Surf’s Up Book 1) by Lori Ann Mitchell Page A

chuckled and quickly polished off her meal. She hadn’t wanted company but, now that she had it, suddenly craved it. “Can’t you have some?” Sage asked, pushing half of it away.
                  Heather sighed. “You finish that,” she scolded, but Sage had had enough. “Doggy bag?”
                  Sage chuckled, looking around the empty deck. “Don’t you have any other tables to psycho-analyze?” she teased.
                  Heather shrugged. “They cut me half an hour ago,” she said. “I’m just killing time.”
                  “Oh no,” said Sage, reaching for her knapsack purse. “Let me pay you…”
                  Heather stilled her hand. “I’ve got another hour before the babysitter expects me anyway,” she explained, “and I’ve prepaid, so… you’re doing me a favor keeping me company.”
                  “So if you’re off,” Sage said, pushing the plate closer to Heather. “You can finish that for me.”
                  Heather chuckled and, looking guilty, dug in. Sage sipped her drink and watched her eat, realizing how little you could tell from a person’s appearance. Here she had thought Heather was just another college kid, waiting tables in between classes, but she had a young boy waiting on her at home, and a broken heart of her own.
                  Heather finished, wiped her lips and stood, silently, taking the plate away. The sky was dark now, the reggae band on the stage inside blaring every time someone opened the door to bring food out to the deck. When Heather returned, she had two margaritas – one for each of them.
                  “On the house,” she said, sliding Sage’s in front of her. “For putting up with me.”
                  Sage chuckled as they clinked glasses. “I thought I wanted to be alone tonight,” she said. “But what I actually wanted was a diversion. So, I owe you one.”
                  “Well, we’re even, because you just fed me!”
                  “I’m Sage,” by the way.
                  “I know,” Heather said, jerking a thumb toward the bar. “Chip, behind the bar, told me when you sat down. Says you’ve got the best spy books in town.”
                  “I’ve got the only spy books in town,” Sage corrected her.
                  “So, he’s technically accurate then?”
                  Sage chuckled, softly, sipping her fresh drink. A crescent moon loomed high above the ocean, the night cloudless, the waves soft and fizzing with each tug and pull.
                  “So… Derek, huh?” Heather asked, a mirthful smile on her face.
                  “Yup,” Sage sighed. “Well, for a quick minute, I suppose.”
                  “Best kind,” Heather chuckled knowingly.
                  Sage, for once, could agree. “Thing about Derek, though,” she said, glancing back at the pretty young waitress. “I knew better.”
                  “Why do you say that?”
                  “Look at me,” she said.
                  “Uh huh,” Heather said, not budging. “Why do you say that? You’re beautiful, surfer chick.”
                  “I’m old,” Sage groaned.
                  “How old?”
                  “Thirty-two,” Sage confessed.
                  “And? What’s the problem. Derek’s no kid, either.”
                  “ Twenty -two.”
                  Heather made “shivery fingers” and chuckled. “What is this, the 50s? Ten years is nothing anymore, and you’re as hot as any surf bunny out there, trust me. If something happened with Derek, or didn’t happen, it wasn’t because of your age, or your looks, that I can