"A kite? Really?"

Kensi gives me one of her looks. The one that says 'shut up, if you know what's good for you'. I know what's good for me, so I shut up. "Yes – a kite. And not just any kite – a stunt kite." She sounds extraordinarily pleased with herself, and with the kite she's holding.

"A kite's pretty much a kite – isn't it?" That earns me a particularly withering look of pity. "Except when it's a stunt kite. Obviously." Kites are for little kids – aren't they?

"Obviously"

There's something about the look in her eyes that makes me start to wonder – it's a strange mixture: part reminiscence, part excitement. "You've done this before, haven't you?"

"Oh yes." She starts to smile, and it's actually rather scary. "And you haven't, have you?"

"Nope." Well, there's no sense in bluffing when what I know about kites could be written on the back of a credit card. On the strip where you sign your name.

"I'm going to have to teach you then."

There is a certain amount of relish in Kensi's voice. She's quite competitive, you see. No – that's a lie. Kensi is the most competitive person I have ever met in my whole life. It actually used to bug me quite a bit, the way she always had to be better at everything than I was. Sometimes it was like the world would end if Kensi wasn't better at shooting, at driving, heck - better at having completed the most obscure NCIS-approved courses (like advanced disemboweling or how to defuse a nuclear bomb with your teeth) with much higher marks than I could ever hope to achieve. After a while, I just stopped even trying to compete, reasoning that she needed to be the best at things and that I just needed a quiet life. I like to save my energy for the really important things in life, after all.

"On one condition." Come on, I'm not that easy.

"And that condition is?" Clearly Kensi doesn't want to buy a pig in a poke. But that's okay: I'm prepared for that. I was a Boy Scout, after all. Just not a very good one – I got distracted easily.

"I'm not telling. Not until you agree." That's another thing about Kensi: her curiousity knows no bounds. Now, if you add that to her competitive streak, ayou just know that there is just no way she's going to turn down my challenge.

"That's not fair." I knew it!

"That's tough."

She waits, and I start counting in my head. I actually get right up to fifteen, which is pretty impressive for Kensi. Most days she's lucky if I get to seven.

"Alright. You win. What's the condition?"

"You come surfing with me. As in you actually come in the water and get up on a board – not just sit on the beach."

"Do I have to wear a wetsuit?"

Of course you do, sweetheart, because that is one of my all-time favourite fantasies – Kensi in a wetsuit that clings to every inch of her body. "You can freeze your ass off if you want to, but I'm definitely wearing mine."

I wasn't prepared for the smile that creeps across her face at that statement. There's only one word to describe that smile: lascivious. It kind of takes me by surprise. "What did I say?"

"Enough." She's practically licking her lips, and once again I'm acutely aware that Kensi has me at a considerable disadvantage. "Do you have any idea how many times I've dreamt about you in a wetsuit?"

"Really?" It must be more common than I thought, this particular fantasy. And unisex too. That's interesting.

"Oh yes." She moves closer, so that her mouth is up against my ear and the whispering sensation of her breath sends a shiver right down my spine. And then it does something strange and goes straight to my groin. Don't ask me about that, because I'm barely holding it together as it is. "And that's not all I dream about."

"Really?" I say weakly. It's like my mind is stuck in this groove, because I'm conscious that I keep repeating myself. Mind you, I'm using every ounce of my self-control not to just grab Kensi and kiss her until her knees buckle. She knows exactly what she's going to me. In the middle of a crowded shop, full of families. As in little kids – little, innocent children. And what I have in mind is not at all innocent. It's a good thing that having x-rated thoughts is not illegal. "It's not?"

"Oh no. You see, I have this dream where you come running out of the ocean, with the sun behind you, and you're holding your board under one arm, and you shake your head, so that I can see your hair fly out, in this shower of droplets that catch the rays of the sun."

Wow. This is pretty vivid and incredibly detailed. My own personal dreams are rather more prosaic, I've got to admit. Maybe I should get some more practice in? "Go on." I know we shouldn't be doing this, not here and not now – but I don't care. I just want Kensi to keep whispering in my ear, telling me her private fantasies in the middle of this busy shop, because I reckon that combination is pretty potent stuff.

"Well, like I said, you come running out of the water, and you stick your board in the sand, and then you come walking up the beach towards me."

"You're there?" My voice sounds kind of distant and far away. Is it just me, or is that surfboard in the sand kind of an obvious metaphor?

"Of course I am."

"I just wanted to check." Well, some people have fantasies in the third person. Kind of like replaying a movie in their heads. That's all I'm saying. Except I'm not saying it, of course. Well not out loud and not right here, anyway. Later on, in private is a different matter.

"So, you come up to me, and you kneel down in the sand beside me…"

"What are you wearing?" I ask, out of a purely academic interest.

Kensi does a double take. "What's that got to do with it?"

"Everything," I assure here. "I'm just trying to get the whole picture here."

"Okay." She thinks for a second. "I'm wearing a two piece, kind of low-cut, in cherry-red, with gold buckles."

Incredible. Almost perfect. Perfect would be nothing at all, but you can't have everything, can you? But a red bikini works for me. On Kensi, of course. I'm more of a bright blue myself, as far as swim wear goes. Only obviously not a bikini. "Go on."

"So I'm sitting there and you're kneeling beside me, and you ask me if I can help you."

Do you know something? This is just about killing me. I definitely need help. "So what do you say?"

"Oh, I smile sweetly at you, and say 'sure'. And that's when you ask me if I can unzip your wetsuit."

"I do?" Now is clearly not the time to tell Kensi about the really long strap on wetsuit zippers, specially designed so that you get yourself in and out of it without assistance. That's clearly not relevant right now, and besides which, I prefer her version. She can pull my zipper any day.

"You do," she says sweetly.

"And do you?"

"What do you think?"

I think is that we'd better get out of here before the window start to steam up, that's what I think. "I'm guessing you do? Just because you're a really helpful person?"

"That's true. And also because I want to see if you look as good out of that suit as you do in it."

"Keep talking."

"So I pull down the zip, quite slowly. And I see what broad shoulders you have. Like you work out a lot. And what a good tan you have – just like molten toffee. Or even butterscotch sauce. As I pull the zip down lower, I notice how you've got really slim hips and I let my hands rest on them for just a second. And that's when I see where your tan line stops…"

That's when I clap my hand over her mouth. "And that's where I stop you. How about we get out of here and we can continue this conversation somewhere more private?" I turn around so that we're looking at one another.

"No way. I want this kite." Kensi clasps it to her chest protectively. "I tell you what – after we've flown the kite, we could go back to the cottage and I could show you what happens next?"

That's a great theory, only I might have just died of frustration before then. "I'm not going to change your mind, am I?"

"No way."

"Fair enough. But I win too – one day I'm going to teach you to surf."

"In your dreams, Deeks."

"And in yours too, Kensi." And that, I think, is what they call touché. Isn't it? Of course, I didn't reckon on having to pay for the kite, so maybe she won both rounds? Who cares? Not me, that's for sure.

So that's how we end up, with Kensi standing on the beach, and me running along like a complete idiot, holding the kite up above my head.

"Now! Now, Marty."

I throw the kite up into the air and then watch in amazement as it hovers unsteadily for a brief moment before starting to rise up majestically into the air, carried high by the thermals. As I'm jogging back towards Kensi, she starts doing complicated things with the lines, so that the kite dances around, and then moves smoothly through a series of spirals and loops. It's seriously impressive.

"You never told me you could do that."

"I never told you a lot of things." Her eyes are fixed on the kite, soaring above us, crimson and black against a cerulean sky. "Which I should have done. You see, Dad and I had kites. We used to fly them together. He taught me everything I know."

"You're good. I mean, you're really good. I couldn't begin to do that sort of thing."

The kite is now doing a nose dive, but just when it looks like it's going to crash into the ground, Kensi sends it flying back up again with a flick of her wrists.

"Yes, you could. If I showed you. And if you wanted to."

10. Study.
Bone up on topics the other likes - read about impressionism, listen to Blink 182, do a web search on Brad Pitt. You will have more to talk about (which we already know is always good) and you may discover that you really like football!

"I'd like that a lot." And I really mean that.

So we stay on the beach for hours, just fooling around with the kite (and each other). Doing all these stunts is not nearly as easy as Kensi makes them look – but it's fun. It's possibly the most fun you can have fully-clothed on a public beach.