I looked at him through the mask.
Then nodded.
He nodded back once, like that single answer mattered more than anything else said all day.
Maybe it did.
After snorkeling, we climbed back onto the catamaran sun-warmed and dripping. The crew had laid out food: shrimp tacos, chips, salsa, fruit, lime wedges, cold bottles of water and soda.Regan made me eat. Amber made me wear a tiny paper crown then started a birthday playlist that was mostly terrible and somehow perfect.
They sang.
Badly.
Edge did not sing, but his mouth moved once, which counted.
Tarak sang like a threat.
Regan sang like she meant it.
And me?
I sat there wrapped in a towel, salt drying on my skin, a paper crown sliding crooked over my damp hair, and let them be ridiculous around me.
For me.
That was the part I couldn’t quite get over.
For me.
Later, when the catamaran turned back toward shore for the dolphin experience, Regan sat beside me on the front netting. The boat bounced lightly over the waves, spray misting our legs.
“Still mad I wouldn’t tell you who was coming?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She smiled. “Good.”
“You’re supposed to apologize.”
“I’m not sorry.”
“Also suspicious.”
“Also correct.” She looked out over the water. “You deserved to be surprised by love today. Not strategy. Not protection. Love.”
My chest tightened.
I looked away quickly, toward the horizon.
The ocean gave me somewhere to put my feelings.
“I didn’t know birthdays could feel like this,” I admitted.
Regan’s shoulder brushed mine. “Like what?”
“Like they matter.”
Her hand found mine on the netting.
