“It has,” she said, her voice a little wistful. “Probably three or four years ago, for that disastrous family reunion my mom planned.”
I turned to her, surprised. “You come here often?”
She laughed, a sound clear and natural over the hum of the motor. “Not exactly a regular, but Holly and I used to spend a week here almost every summer when we were kids. And teenagers. This place is practically a second home.”
That explained it—the easy way she navigated the grounds, her familiarity with the staff.
“You still teaching kiddos up in Atlanta?” Eli asked, his eyes on the channel markers.
“Yep, still wrangling six-year-olds,” she confirmed. “Though I’ve been getting an itch for a change lately.”
Eli shrugged casually. “Well, if you ever get serious about it, I imagine you could get a job at the elementaryschool here. It survived all six of us Coleridge kids, so it’s probably a pretty safe place to work.” He grinned. “Built like a bunker.”
Brynn’s gaze drifted to the mangrove-lined shore, a thoughtful expression settling on her face. She was quiet for a moment. “Teach in Dove Key… It sounds wonderful, idyllic even.” Then her expression clouded slightly. “But my job in Atlanta is good too. I love working with my kids. I guess I’d worry a teaching job here would be the same life, just transplanted to a different town. I’m not sure that’s the change I’m looking for, you know.”
She laughed self-consciously, the moment passing, but her words lingered. That flicker of deep-seated restlessness in her eyes was impossible to ignore. It was a look I recognized from my own reflection.
The boat slowed over the dive site. Twenty feet down, the reef was a garden of color and motion. Eli moored us to the ball floating on the surface. “All right, folks. Gear up. Buddy checks.”
Brynn turned to me, her expression shifting from carefree to focused. She went through the checks methodically, her hands moving over my gear with a competence that was both reassuring and attractive. When it was my turn, I did the same, my fumbling overshadowed by muscle memory. As I checked her tank valve, I caught her glancing at me, not with a teacher’s evaluative squint, but with something softer, like she was genuinely looking forward to sharing this.
Maybe I was too.
Then Eli shouted, “Let’s dive!” and I remembered I was about to hurl myself into the ocean. The anticipation ratcheted up, a mix of caution and thrill.
Jumping off the stern platform of the boat, theworld above became sealed away behind a wall of blue. My heartbeat was a distant thump compared to the rush of bubbles and the mechanical whir of my breathing. Brynn dropped in after me. We gave each other the okay sign, then began a slow, controlled descent, following Eli through thirty feet of turquoise.
They say the world sounds different underwater. They’re not wrong. My movements were cautious, deliberate—a contrast to Brynn, who moved like she belonged here, controlled but loose, letting the water carry her. Being underwater seemed to strip away whatever held her back on land.
At the bottom, the reef stretched in every direction, a vibrant landscape. Fields of soft corals in shades of purple and orange swayed in the gentle current, and delicate sea fans filtered the dappled sunlight. Schools of electric-blue parrotfish and striped sergeant majors darted in and out of the coral heads. My pulse finally leveled, the cautious anxiety giving way to a sense of awe. All my fumbling and focus on the mechanics melted away.
This was what it was all about.
I was so lost in the spectacle that I almost missed Brynn’s frantic tapping on my arm. I turned, and she was pointing out into the deep blue, away from the reef, her eyes wide with excitement behind her mask. At first, I saw nothing but hazy, endless water.
Then, a sleek, gray shape materialized from the blue, then another, and another. A pod of six dolphins, gliding past with an effortless grace that made my own deliberate movements feel clumsy and loud. They were silent and majestic, moving as one organism. Two of them broke from the pod, their curiosity evidently getting the better of them. They circled us once, their intelligent eyes taking us in,before peeling off to rejoin their family and disappearing back into the deep. The entire encounter lasted maybe a minute or two, but it felt like a lifetime.
I glanced at Brynn. Her reaction was not the detached cool of an experienced diver. It was absolute joy. Her eyes were crinkling at the corners in a clear smile behind her mask, and she gave a little, ecstatic wiggle that sent a cloud of bubbles toward the surface. She was completely lost in the moment. Not curating it for a story later but living it. It was the same easy happiness I’d seen on the boat, but amplified by the silent, intimate world we were sharing. Then I remembered the game we were supposed to be playing.
We’re a couple.
The thought was a sudden, jarring reminder of my role. I reached out and, a little awkwardly, took her hand. She startled for a moment, her head snapping toward me, her eyes questioning. Then she caught on. A slow smile spread across her face, and her fingers laced through mine, a warm, firm pressure in the water. The smooth feel of her hand in mine in this breathtaking world, sent a jolt through me. I liked it. A lot more than I should have.
She gave my hand a little squeeze, then turned to point out a huge parrotfish chomping on a piece of coral. We swam on like that, hand in hand, two halves of a perfect lie.
Then, as we rounded a curve in the reef, Brynn froze. Her hand shot to her mask. A froth of bubbles erupted from her regulator, and she jerked backward, eyes wide.
She was choking.
The sight was so unexpected it short-circuited my own novice nerves. All my self-consciousness vanished, replaced by a singular, clear thought.
Help her.
She was already clawing at her regulator. I movedtoward her, slow and deliberate, just as I’d practiced. I caught her wrist gently. Her frantic eyes locked on mine. I moved my hands in the universalslow down, breathesignal.
She hesitated, then nodded. She exhaled, then slowly inhaled but sputtered again. More bubbles, more panic.
I squeezed her hand—steady.
