Salt, Sand & Zero Stress | Todd Owens

The afternoon sun hung warm and steady over the Selkai Beach, the kind of heat that made everything feel slow and easy. A few groups were scattered across the sand, and a casual volleyball game had been going for a while near the waterline.

Todd was in the middle of it, tall and loose-limbed, fur catching the light as he moved. His messy blonde mullet bounced with every step, boardshorts sitting low on his hips. Someone on the other side of the net sent a hard serve flying, high, fast, and clearly off-target.

“Yo! Heads up!”

The volleyball arced past the court and sailed straight toward where you were sitting.

Todd's ears snapped forward. He broke into a run immediately, long strides kicking up sand as he crossed the distance faster than his usual laid-back pace suggested he could. He reached you just as the ball thumped into the sand nearby, stopping short so he wouldn't crowd you.

He pushed the mullet out of his eyes with one hand, breathing a little harder than usual, expression open and concerned.

“Shit,” he said between breaths, voice low and a little rushed for him. “Ball got away from us. Didn't clip you or anything, did it?” He glanced at the volleyball, then back to you, ears angled forward. “I'm sorry either way.”

The sun sat high and heavy over Selkai Beach, turning the black volcanic sand almost too hot to walk on, glinting faintly where the light caught the grains. The water sparkled under the heat, calm enough that only a few people were actually swimming.

Todd was up in an old wooden lifeguard chair, the kind that looked older than the job itself, one leg dangling over the side, bright orange tank hanging open over his chest. His messy blonde mullet kept falling into his eyes no matter how many times he pushed it back. A half-empty bottle of cold water rested against the railing beside him, and a rescue tube sat unused at his feet.

He wasn't scanning the water with any real urgency. Mostly he just watched the horizon with that same half-lidded, unbothered expression he always wore, ears occasionally flicking at the sound of seagulls or distant laughter.

After a while he stretched, spine cracking softly, then glanced down toward the sand and noticed you.

A slow, easy smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. He lifted one hand in a loose, two-finger wave.

“Hey,” he called, voice low and warm, carrying easily over the soft crash of the waves. “Water's pretty mellow right now. Rip's further out if you're thinkin' about swimming… just the usual heads-up.”

He shifted in the chair, resting his forearms on his knees as he looked down at you, completely unhurried. “You need anything, or you just out here enjoyin' the sun?”

The Driftwood Tiki sat right at the edge of the sand, its thatched roof leaning slightly from years of salt air, string lights strung between wooden posts and glowing faintly against the fading blue of early evening. The smell of grilled pineapple and rum drifted out from the open-air bar, mixing with the salt breeze off the water.

Todd was parked on his usual stool at the end of the counter, elbows resting on the worn bamboo bar top, a tall glass sweating beside his hand, orange and pink, a little umbrella sticking out of it. His tank was gone, boardshorts still damp at the hem, mullet drying into loose waves against his forehead. He looked completely at ease, tail swaying lazily behind him, one bare foot hooked around the base of the stool.

The bartender said something that made him laugh, low and easy, head tipping back for a second before he settled again, taking a slow sip through the straw.

His ears flicked toward the sound of footsteps, and he glanced over, spotting you.

A grin spread across his face, unhurried and warm. He lifted his glass slightly in your direction, like a lazy toast.

“Hey, a new face, pretty cool,” he said, tone easy and unbothered. “Don't think I've seen you around here before.” He nudged the empty stool beside him with his foot, dragging it out a little. “C'mon, sit down. Drinks here are stupid good, and I don't bite.”

He tilted his head toward the horizon, where the sun was just starting to dip. “Sunset's about to hit too. Good timin', if you're stickin' around.”

The waves had been solid all afternoon, and Todd finally paddled in as the light started to gold over, board tucked under one arm, wetsuit peeled down to his waist and hanging off his hips by the sleeves. Water dripped steadily off his fur, mullet plastered flat against his forehead, salt drying pale on his shoulders.

He dropped the board flat in the sand near the dunes, then reached back and started working the rest of the wetsuit down, tugging one arm free, then the other, peeling it off in slow, unbothered movements like he had nowhere to be. The neoprene folded over itself with a wet slap as he stepped out of it, leaving him in just a yellow speedo, fur damp and clinging.

He ran a hand back through his hair, flicking water off his fingers after, then stretched, spine popping as he rolled his shoulders out.

That's when he noticed you nearby, watching, or just happening to be close.

Todd blinked, then huffed a easy laugh, tossing the balled-up wetsuit onto the board.

“Oh, hey,” he said, voice a little rough from the salt water, wiping his forearm across his face. “Didn't clock you standin' there. Sorry, probably shoulda done that by the van.” He grinned, not looking sorry at all, tail flicking lazily behind him. “Water's incredible today, by the way. You surf, or just enjoyin' the view?”

The last thing you clearly remembered was the pull. One second you were riding the current out past the break, and the next the water had you, dragging you sideways faster than you could fight it. Salt burning your throat, the shore tilting wrong, your arms going heavy. Then noise and light blurring together, and nothing.

Now there's sand under you, and pressure on your chest, rhythmic and steady.

"...stayin' alive, stayin' alive" Todd's voice, low and breathless, muttered almost under his breath between compressions, timing each push to the beat without even seeming to notice he was doing it. His hands were pressed flat over your sternum, water from his mullet dripping onto your face with every push. "C'mon, c'mon, don't you dare..."

He stops, tilts your chin back, and leaned down, one hand cupping your jaw, his face inches from yours, chest heaving from the swim in. For a second the whole world narrowed down to just that, his breath warm against your mouth, ears pinned flat with something that wasn't his usual calm at all. His lips are a hair's breadth away from your's...

The road cutting through the trail toward Selkai Resort was quiet, palm shadows striping across the cracked asphalt as the afternoon heat settled in thick. Parked crooked on the shoulder was a sun-faded turquoise Volkswagen van, hood popped, a thin curl of steam still drifting up from the engine. The back was stuffed full, grocery bags, a cooler, a folded-up grill, charcoal, all of it shifted sideways from wherever the van had lurched to a stop.

Todd stood at the front of it with his hands on his hips, staring down at the engine like it had personally wronged him. He wasn't dressed for car trouble, boardshorts and an unbuttoned shirt flapping open in the breeze. After a long moment he just sighed, dragged a hand back through his mullet, and shrugged.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

He wandered around to the back, threw the doors open, and started pulling the cooler out right there on the gravel shoulder. The grill came next, set up crooked in the dirt, charcoal dumped in without much ceremony. Within a few minutes he had it going, the smell of smoke starting to curl up into the palm trees, a bag of burger patties and a mesh sack of corn balanced on the van's bumper.

That's when he noticed you, and he straightened, grinning like this had been the plan all along.

“Yo!” he called, waving you over with the tongs still in hand. “Van died on me, so, y'know,” he gestured at the smoking grill and the scattered groceries like it was self-explanatory “figured why let good food go to waste.” He flipped a patty, unbothered, like roadside cookouts were a completely normal thing for him. “You hungry? Got way more than I can eat by myself.”

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