“Do they?”
“Most of them. Or shiny. Sometimes both.”
“Tragic combination.”
“Deeply.”
She nodded toward the dive shop.
“So, Mysterious Annie, what brings you to Pelican Key?”
A lie stepped forward automatically.
Vacation.
Writing retreat.
Visiting a friend.
My entire career was built on making rehearsed answers sound spontaneous. I could have given her something charming, detailed, and impossible to verify.
But I was tired of lies.
The whole truth was too large to place on a picnic table before breakfast, so I handed her a smaller one.
“I needed a break.”
Ellie did not ask from what.
She only nodded.
“Good place for it. Not much to do except swim, eat, burn your shoulders, and accidentally develop strong opinions about fish.”
“That sounds like a cult.”
“Scuba is absolutely a cult. We just have better snacks.”
I leaned my elbows on the table, forgetting for a moment to angle my face away from the café.
“You teach beginners?”
“Every day.”
“Are they usually terrible?”
“Yes.”
“You answered too fast.”
“I believe in honesty.”
“Comforting quality in someone taking people underwater.”
“That’s exactly where honesty is most useful.” Ellie looked me over with a bright, playful assessment that made the air feel warmer. “You thinking about trying it?”
“No.”
She grinned.
