As was characteristic for Sandy Cove, the day after the storm was bright and sunny, and so were the days after that, each morning sky unbroken by a single cloud. It was four days after the storm that I was staring out of my freshly opened curtains, taking in the beautiful weather from my little bedroom. I didn't want to take one day of summer for granted.

I darted back out into the kitchen when I heard my toast pop from the kitchen, sock sliding along the wooden floorboards as I did so. That was when I heard the snores from the lounge room. I tiptoed over to the wide doorway. Sure enough, my father was sprawled out on the leather sofa, a small blanket haphazardly thrown over him, covering only fragments of his body. When I was young, the sight of him sleeping on the couch surprised me. These days it was more unusual to catch him in his own bed.

I pulled the throw further over his body, careful not to wake him as he caught what little sleep he could. His weathered face was peacefully relaxed, a rarity in comparison to the tense, strained look he usually had hidden behind his friendly smile. I planted a kiss on his greying hair before leaving, closing the french doors to the living room as I did. 

My hypothesis was that his bedroom, which used to be shared by him and my mother, reminded him too much of their relationship. It made me feel sick. Not in disgust, but in anger. Anger at her. I didn't understand how she could be living happily with her new husband and children when my own father couldn't even stand to sleep in his own bed.

How could love exist, when someone who claimed they loved my father could leave him like this?

Shivering from the swell of emotions induced by the thought of my mother, I remembered my toast and went to butter it before it went cold. It was often that I was left in hot flashes of anger when I thought about my mum, but they never seemed to dull. Even though she'd been gone for almost ten years.

After briskly eating breakfast I returned to my room to fetch my towel, hat, sunglasses and the book I was currently reading. As typical for the summer season, I had already changed into a bikini for the day. When I was younger, this made me self conscious, especially next to Maisie's slim figure. But it was the most comfortable and practical thing to wear when you could be travelling down to the beach at any moment. It was such usual attire that I didn't really think much of it, curvy body and all.

A I walked the few paces down to the wooden steps that lead down onto the beach, I cast my eyes over the shore. It really was a brilliant day, the sun gleaming happily over the reflective water. I smiled happily to myself. Until I noticed the two gorilla boys dotted out in the surf. They were unmistakable with their fluorescent coloured surfboards. They were beginning to show a consistent pattern of surfing in front of my favourite reading spot.

My usual little area on the sand was as soft and white as always as I shook my towel out and flattened it over the ground. Raising a pair of sunglasses over my eyes, I laid on my belly, facing out to the water as I removed the place holder in my book. I was re-reading an all time favourite today, I needed to travel to the book store in the next town over to visit their adventure section some time soon for fresh material. I'd exhausted the brief and limited range in Sandy Cove.

The sun beat down on my exposed body and the sound of the waves crashing relaxed me immensely. Paired with the distant sound of seagulls cawing and the salty smell from the sea spray, it made me nostalgic for the long summers I had spent here. I was just starting to become entranced by the first few paragraphs when I noticed a figure approaching in my peripheral vision.

I had to squint in disbelief for a few moments before I confirmed their identity. It was Alastair, on my part of the beach. As if my peace wasn't already disturbed enough with the gorillas.

Realising there was a chance he hadn't seen me yet, I pulled my hat further over my face and leant closer to my book in the hopes he would walk right past obliviously. 

"Well well, surely it can't be. Is that you, Valerie O'Conner?"

Damn it.

"How do you even know my last name?" I asked him bitterly. I pulled off my hat and tossed it to my side in defeat.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he taunted nonchalantly as he sat down next to where my towel lay. "What are you reading?"

"None of your business," I said. But I let him take the book from where I'd discarded it anyway.

"Adventure, eh?"

"What are you doing up this far, anyway?" I asked, dismissing his comment about my selective genre of fiction.

"I live here. Don't you?" He looked at me questioningly with his sparkly jade eyes, it only made me more annoyed that they were so mesmerising. Well, to anybody but me they would be.

"I haven't seen you down this end before."

"That's because Lottie and I figured the only place interesting was by the esplanade. Until..."

"Until what?" I demanded.

"Until Maisie let slip the other night that a certain someone enjoyed reading blissfully up here each morning. And I happen to be living here."

"I'm going to kill her," I informed him.

"Now now, your violent threats aren't going to seduce me."

"Oh, shut up."

It was then that the two boys on fluorescent surf boards ran in from the water. It looked as if they were going to continue further down the beach but when they spotted Alastair and I on the sand they paused. Great.

"Hey, Vally, is he your next victim?" Logan yelled across the wide space between us, his voice carrying easily through the breeze.

I did't respond, eyeing them as they turned their backs to us and continued walking along the shore. Noah at least gave a friendly wave to us both.  

"You know, he only does that because he likes you."

I turned to Alastair, my expression translating my disbelief and amusement at his words. Clearly he had no idea of the relationship between Logan and I, especially if he was saying that.

"He does not like me," I said bluntly. "We just don't get along."

"No, trust me, as a guy I can tell these things."

"Okay, what do you tell?" I challenged.

"Okay, well, let me guess. There was a period where he was nice to you. You know, wanting to get to know you, being friendly and flirty," he explained. It was true, when we were in our first grade of high school Logan had noticed me for the first time. He wasn't exactly polite back then, but he wasn't mean either. "And then, when you retorted with rejection, which I'm sure you did, he became bitter and hid his own feelings of hurt by tormenting you."

Although his words made sense, I knew much better of them. "You don't understand, Logan is popular here and could literally have his pick of any girl, or girls for that matter. The only reason he's mean is because we both studied the same classes and were always rivals. Not to mention, quite frankly, he's a dickhead."

"Ah, exactly. He could have his pick of girls. So, when he couldn't have you, he began resenting you. Because it's usually so easy for him."

I shook my head. "You've got it wrong. He is just the kind of guy that can get away with treating people badly, so he does."

"Well, that's your perspective, this is mine. I know I'm hardly experienced with your friend group but I know a broken ego when I see one."

I was quiet for a few moments as I stared out at the rolling waves. I was feeling slightly annoyed at Alastair's relationship counselling, especially when it consisted of Logan Mathews. But I had to admit, if only to myself, that it was nice to talk properly with him, he was proving to be very insightful. And his accent made his annoying comments tolerable.

That didn't mean I believed his words though. Logan was just a grade A jerk who enjoyed tormenting me because I was easy to torment. Of course, I didn't believe we truly hated each other, we were both just good at chucking insults without taking them too personally.

"Have you ever let anyone in?" Alastair mused, ripping me from my train of thought.

"What? I have friends, you know," I said defensively, baffled at the intimacy of his question. "Maisie knows everything about me, I'm not some isolated girl who needs rescuing."

"Not saying you are," he said. "And I didn't mean in a friend way."

Not wanting to go into depth about why I didn't believe in love with him, which I was well rehearsed in explaining from my long talks with Maisie, I found myself searching for ways to get out of the situation. And that meant doing the thing I did to everyone when they got too close to invading my personal bubble; I retreated.

"It's none of your business," I told him. I grabbed my book and hat and stood up.

"Where are you going?" He asked.

"Somewhere more peaceful," I replied,

"Wait," he said, throwing his arm up to grab mine. The warmth of his touch forced me to push his hand off because it gave me an unbearable jolt of closeness. "I'm sorry, I'll be quiet."

I let out an annoyed sigh. I really didn't want to have to move, it felt immature to go out of my way to avoid him. Especially because there was only so much beach to run too.

Laying back down onto the towel, I placed my hat over my face to tan. I saw him sit down through a crack in the straw, this time a little further away. After a few minutes, he spoke again.

"I'm going to leave, I'm sorry for disturbing your peace," he told me. "But first, I'd like to ask if you'd spend this evening with me, you know, we could have a few drinks, hang out at the beach or whatever..."

I didn't remove the hat, pleased with the way it hid my expression as I processed his words. I wish he didn't ask that, he already knew that I knew that he was interested in me. He didn't need to ask me to go on a date, I figured my reaction to his previous hints was enough. Why did he have to put me in this position, and why did I feel like he wouldn't stop persisting unless he got some kind of result?

"What do I have to do for you to stop trying to get me to go out with you?" The words left my lips before I could fully process them. I didn't intend them to sound as harsh as they did.

I peeked through the straw again to gauge his reaction. He looked very surprised, well surprised was a bit of an understatement. His thick brows were pulled up in astoundment, his jawbone pulsing as he churned over my words. He probably expected me to just reject him, or even cave and agree, but to wipe out any possibilities of him even asking me again? Probably not expected. And probably hurtful. I nibbled on my lip slightly, I was guilty for being such a bitch at turning him down.

"Okay, what about a deal?" he suggested.

"What are you proposing?" I asked curiously.

"I'll stop pestering you and showing romantic interest, if you do one thing," he told me. "You have to give love a chance."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you have to go on a date with someone. And really, truly, give them a chance. No bitter comments, no sarcasm. Just an open mind."

"Why?" I asked him, trying to make sense of this deal.

"Because you're letting yourself down by never giving anyone a shot," he said.

I wasn't letting myself down, in fact I thought I was saving myself from the inevitable heartbreak associated with being invested in someone. But then, there was a part of me that suggested that maybe I owed it to myself to at least give it a try, even if it led nowhere. Maybe he was genuinely trying to help me, but I was still not convinced of his personal motives, which made me hesitant to agree to his deal. But then, I recalled, it would mean no more pestering from him.

"Okay," I told him. "Deal."

And that was when I signed my soul away to the devil.

Well, more or less.