Ice Waves.
That’s the name of his surf shop.
I glance down at the floor briefly to hide the smile stretching across my lips. Because, of course, he doesn’t remember me, but he names his shop in my honor.
I hold the two frappés, one in each hand, and walk toward the open shop.
“Hi,” I greet, hoping to see him inside, but soon I realize he isn’t there. I look around; the place is empty, which makes me frown in dissatisfaction. “Hello!” I shout again, but there isn’t a soul nearby.
I venture further into the shop, carefully looking at the surfboard designs. I’ve never been a fan of surfing; I don’t know anything about it, but I guess this is going to be a big part of my life from now on.
I smile at the thought.
I hear footsteps on the narrow stairs behind me, so I turn just in time to
