She bites down on her lower lip, and I have to suppress a groan. She has no idea what that does to me. Or maybe she does and this is revenge for the flexing.
“Hey.” I set down my mask and shift to face her fully, dropping the banter. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”
Her eyes search my face for a long moment. “Again,” she whispers, almost to herself. Then she straightens her shoulders, lifts her chin, and says, “Okay. Let’s do this.”
She waves off the life vest and reaches for the fins instead.
“These are absurd,” she mutters, holding up one foot. “I look like a duck.”
“A hot duck.”
“You’re not helping.”
“I wasn’t trying to.”
We slide into the water, and she quickly inserts the mouthpiece then gives me a thumbs up as if she’s afraid she’ll chicken out if we dawdle. It’s annoyingly adorable to see a woman who is normallyso self-confident have a case of nerves when, just as Antonia claimed, we’re about as safe as if we were floating in a bathtub.
But even if I wanted to mention that, Avah is already under water, so I follow. Christ, it feels like I’d follow her anywhere right now. And that’s scarier than the thought of swimming with a great white.
7
JEREMY
Sunlight filtersdown beneath the surface, spotlighting the coral formations that stretch across the ocean floor in all the colors of the rainbow. A school of tiny fish moves past us like a cloud, and Avah grabs my hand without even realizing what she’s doing, her eyes wide behind her mask.
A stingray drifts below us, unconcerned with the humans invading its space. She squeezes my fingers, and even though I can’t see her mouth, I know she’s grinning.
I’m disappointed when she releases me, but then she continues to stay close as we explore the reef’s contours. I should be appreciating the ecological beauty of what I’m seeing. Instead, I can’t tear my eyes away from Avah and how she reacts to every new species of fish like she’s just found buried treasure. How elegant her pink-tipped fingers look as she reaches toward a piece of coral before pulling back, remembering we’re not supposed to touch.
A nurse shark glides past, maybe five feet long, and she freezes. I position myself between her and the shark, even though it’s harmless. The shark doesn’t spare us a glance before disappearing into the blue darkness beyond.
Avah points up and we surface a moment later. Treadingwater, she lifts her mask onto the top of her head and spits out the mouthpiece.
“Did you see that? We just swam with a shark.”
“Did I see the shark?” I try to sound affronted. “I threw my body in front of it to protect you.”
She splashes water at me and laughs. “It seemed about as docile as a kitten and you know it.”
“It could have attacked,” I insist.
“Not even a little.” But her eyes are bright, and there’s something in her expression that makes my rib cage feel too small to hold my heart. “But thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Don’t let my gratitude go to your head.”
“Too late.”
We dive deep, this time finding a manta ray that spans at least twelve feet wingtip to wingtip. I can feel her awe through the water between us.
I got certified to scuba dive five years ago and have been in nearly every ocean in the world, but I’ve never enjoyed any of it like this. Her wonder is extraordinary, and I feel like I’m seeing the underwater world through new eyes because she’s seeing it for the first time.
When we surface again, she pushes her mask up and grins at me with water streaming down her face. The mask has left faint lines pressed into her cheeks, and her hair is plastered to her head like seaweed.
She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“That ray was ginormous.”
