Clear skies, that's what the report had said. Clear skies and medium chop and not buckets of rain thudding onto the roof of the Surf Shack and beating down the waves.

Deke tried manfully not to pout. Mac wasn't fooled.

"Whassamatter, hot date?" He laughed.

"Yah, with a wave." Deke lost his battle with the pout. "It was supposed to be nice out! Best day in weeks when I woke up."

"Tough luck, kiddo. The ocean ain't going anywhere."

"Nope, just the season."

Mac shot Deke a look; moping didn't suit him. "He'll be back."

Deke grumped at the shelves.