“I want to have a vacation fling. Ido!” I insist when she arches her eyebrow again. “I don’t want to die without ever experiencing a one night stand. And I want to close the chapter on David completely. I gave him until we got back from Bali to move out of the house.”
“Which was more than generous,” she says, stabbing at her bean sprouts like she wishes they were his face. “Considering it’syour grandmother’s house.”
She’d left it to me in her will along with a small inheritance and we’d moved in a few months back. Living in our small town, a few miles away from our parents, had never been the plan but all the money I’ve saved on rent helped pay for this fabulous vacation and pad my savings. Thanks again, Grannie.
“You know there won’t be anyone in Eastern Pines for me to… sow my wild oats with.” Eva is polite enough to snicker with her mouth closed. “So this is my last chance. We’ve only got a few days left before it’s back to reality.”
“I’ll support whatever you want to do. If you don’t think it’ll happen with the turtle guy, I can ask Jake if he knows anyone.”
“Yes. Do that.” I lean back in my chair, feigning a confidence I don’t feel. The sea breeze lifts my hair and tickles the back of my neck. The salt water pool glitters in the morning sunlight. I’m cool as the cucumber I pluck off Eva’s plate and pop into my mouth with a juicy crunch. “I don’t want to go home. I love Vacation Junie,” I sigh.
“I love her too.” Eva winks. “You’re going to wear the thong, right?”
Chapter 3
Steven
I can’t get a pink, sunkissed bum off my mind until Mike and I get back to the sanctuary and the dingy chrome kitchen of our makeshift animal hospital. We place the big green on the metal bench and gently flip him onto his back so I can get a better look into his throat.
“Hold it open for me?” Mike takes over as I dig through the drawers for a torch. “I’m sorry, little guy,” I mutter and tip his mouth a bit wider as I peer into his esophagus.
“I can’t say for sure, but I don’t see a hook in there.”
“That’s a relief.” Mike grimaces. We’ve seen more than our fair share of turtles lost to swallowed hooks and it’s miserable to watch. As a small sanctuary run entirely on donations, there are limits to what we can do if a turtle is seriously injured.
The tension in the room eases, knowing he’s not in any immediate danger.
“So what did you think of her?” Mike slides his sunnies back on his head, revealing intensely blue eyes.
I make a sound that’s little more than a grunt and pretend I don’t hear him, slowly unwinding more netting from the turtle’s back flipper.
“She seemed just your type.”
I nearly stab myself with the pocketknife. I look up at him through furrowed brows and feel my chest grow tight.
It’s hard to get angry at my best friend, even when he’s purposely pressing my buttons. I glare until he mimes zipping his lips and throwing away the key, then turn back to my work.
“I’m just saying, she was cute. I thought I felt some tension there. Some serious—”
I might’ve accidentally dropped something heavy and smother a smile as he hops on one foot, holding his toes.
“Fine. Reckon I can take a hint. I’ll grab the antibiotics.” Mike strokes the green’s head before he sweeps from the room to find the cream.
Mike and I fit together like a whale and a barnacle. I’m the crusty freeloader benefitting from his strength and stability. He took me in when I washed up on the shores of Gili Telu like a piece of driftwood, and now it’s been nearly four years of scuba diving and sea turtles.
As Master Instructor of the dive shop, I spend as much time underwater as possible. There’s nothing wrong with knowing you’re not good company. I haven’t been pleasant to be around since I sailed out of Sydney. Nothing makes you lose faith in humanity like other people.
I take a deep breath and stroke the shell of the green turtle. He isn’t tagged, but we’ll take photos of his head and shell markings to upload to the Internet of Turtles—an international database of sea turtles—to see if he’s been photographed and identified before.
If not, then we’ll have the pleasure of naming him. And I can’t explain why, but this little guy feels like a Jimmy.
Jimmy blinks dolefully at me as Mike comes back with the antibiotics. I throw on a singlet and we get to work, carefully applying salve to his wounds.
“How do you think the dives are going?” Mike asks over the snipping of needlenose pliers.
“Mason knows what he’s doing.” I frown. We’d been just about to head out on a tour when Jimmy washed up on the beach. The interns are experienced, but I’ve never left them completely solo with tourists before. Things run smoother when I’m there.
“A few weeks ago you said they were the most incompetent divers you’ve ever had to train.”
