Lakeshore Chronicles [10] Candlelight Christmas by Susan Wiggs

drained out of his head. Darcy Fitzgerald was the unexpected cause of his brain damage.
    At first he didn’t even realize it was her. Then he saw the big floppy hat and shades left by her beach bag. She’d taken off the big shapeless coverup to reveal the hottest bikini bod he’d seen since...maybe ever. His sister’s charming but frumpy friend had suddenly turned into a goddess. He tried not to gawk, but damn. She might not be his type, but she sure as hell was built like his type.
    Oblivious of his stare, she bent over to strap the leash of the board around her ankle.
    “Oh, sweet mother Mary,” whispered Bilski. “Remind me I’m a married man.”
    “Daddy! Daddy!” Fisher’s shrill voice pierced the air. “I made you a wig out of seaweed. Come try it on.”
    “There’s your reminder,” said Logan, without taking his eyes off Darcy. She arched her back slightly and shook out her hair. Then in a graceful movement, she bent down again, displaying that perfect ass, and picked up the board. Logan tried not to groan aloud.
    This, he realized, was going to go well. Extremely well. He had been surfing these waters since he was a kid. He knew every wave, every break pattern. She was going to need help. He was the guy to coach her. He’d span his hands across her waist, feel those nice taut abs...
    As she approached him, amazing in the yellow bikini, he wondered if he should warn her about her top—or bottom—coming off in the waves.
    Naw.
    He lowered his board to conceal his excitement.
    “Ready?” he asked her.
    “As I’ll ever be.” Her eyes sparkled as she regarded the waves.
    India bustled forward with a rash guard. “Put this on,” she said, holding out the shirt.
    Killjoy, thought Logan. But the rash guard was skintight, concealing nothing. “So, the best breaks are over there,” he said, pointing. “If you start in the white water, you’ll have fun. The green waves are amazing here, but you might want to work up to them.”
    “Dad! Check it out!” Charlie splashed toward him through the surf, kicking up a storm of water, spraying both Logan and Darcy. Charlie waved his sand pail. “I caught a mullet!”
    “Well, jeez, buddy,” Logan said, “you got us both soaked.”
    “Oh, sorry.”
    “You remember Darcy?”
    “Yeah, from summer. Hi.”
    “Hey, Charlie.”
    The kid stared, his mouth slightly open. He was ten years old, just starting to exhibit the signs of female-induced brain damage. He fumbled with the pail. “Want to see my mullet?”
    “How could I resist such an invitation?” She leaned over and peered into the bucket. It was all Logan could do to keep his eyes off her tits. “That’s pretty cool,” she said.
    “Yeah,” said Charlie. “So, Dad, can I keep him?”
    “A mullet? A freaking mullet?”
    “I mean, just to watch him, you know.”
    “You crack me up.” Logan tousled his son’s damp and salty head.
    “You crack me down.” Charlie grinned, the exchange a familiar one.
    Logan felt a wave of affection for the kid. Charlie wasn’t a little boy any longer. Gone were the round apple cheeks and high-pitched voice. In his place was a funny, smart, sometimes cheeky kid—one who was not immune to yellow bikinis.
    “Just don’t let it drown,” he said.
    “It’s a fish. It’s not gonna drown.”
    “When you keep a fish in a small amount of water, it runs out of oxygen and could suffocate.”
    Charlie’s face fell. “I’m letting him go, then.”
    “Okay. That’s a good decision. Now, I need to give Darcy a surf lesson—”
    “Dad.”
    Logan turned to Darcy, but she was gone. Concern shot through him. Maybe she’d been swamped by a wave, caught in a riptide. He shaded his eyes to check the lifeguard station.
    “Dad—”
    “Not now, Charlie.” Logan’s voice was sharp with command. “I need to find Darcy.”
    “But—”
    “Not another word.”
    At that, Charlie grabbed his arm and pulled him around to face the horizon. He pointed at something out