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We both head straight to the railing and glance down. Below us, the tank is an endless, shimmering expanse of deep turquoise. Looking at it from this height, it feels like two, maybe three Olympic-sized pools stitched together.

From the surface, the water is deceptively still, but I can just make out the silhouettes of a few sharks, about eight feet long. Beside them, the wide, the pale wings of stingrays glide through the darkened expanse.

Cutting right through the center of the deep-blue is the clear acrylic tunnel. It looks like a jagged glass vein pumping humans through a predator’s heart. Every few minutes, a muffled whoosh and a streak of blue light signals the arrival of another train load of passengers.

“How is this even possible?” I gawk.

“You’d have to ask your friend Mr. Riverton. He was the head project engineer of Trident’s Run.”

“This is Theo’s work?”

Marcus tilts his head. “It is. He’s designed three of the coasters for the park. But this is our crown jewel.”

I look at the enormous steel girders holding the acrylic in place, suddenly seeing Theo in a completely different light. He isn’t just the man I serve gnocchi to three times a week. He’s the guy who designed this.

“He never said a word,” I murmur.

“How many gallons is this, total?” Max asks, his eyes fixed on a sand tiger shark patrolling the perimeter below.

“Two million.”

Before my brain can compute exactly how much water that is, Max’s hand slides along the railing, his knuckles brushing lightly against mine.

My breath hitches. The tight space of the catwalk suddenly feels hyper-charged.

“I thought seeing the manatees was pure magic, but this . . . this literally takes my breath away,” Max whispers, turning his head to look down at me. “Thank you for bringing us here today, Katie. You’ve reminded me why it’s important to take a few risks sometimes.”

I look up at him, the turquoise light from the water reflecting in his eyes. “You’re welcome.”

The steady hum of the pumps and filtration systems melts into the background as neither of us looks away. Max takes a small step closer. His gaze flicks down to my lips before finding my eyes again.

Just lean in, a reckless voice that sounds suspiciously like Zoe whispers inside my head.

For one suspended heartbeat, everything goes quiet. It’s just the sound of our breathing and my pulse thundering in my ears. Then, as if gravity is pulling us toward one another, the distance between us disappears.

My chin tilts upward at the same moment his head dips. I can feel his breath, warm upon my skin. Our lips are a fraction of a second from meeting, when⁠—

“Ready to see the rest of it?” Marcus’ voice shatters the moment. He’s a few steps back, already turning toward the exit door.

We spring apart as if we’ve been caught doing something we both know we shouldn’t. I run a hand over the back of my neck, silently willing my heart to slow down. I wish I could freeze the frame and make our tour guide vanish so it could be just the two of us on this catwalk.

“Unless you two are planning to move in down here?” Marcus says amused, holding the door open.

More heat rushes to my cheeks, and I momentarily contemplate taking a plunge into the cold tank water until I remember there are sharks in there.

Max lets out a quiet, slightly breathless laugh. “Probably ought to let him finish the tour.”

“Yeah,” I say. My voice comes out breathier than I’d like.

He catches my hand, giving my fingers one last, lingering squeeze before finally letting go to let me pass. “Ladies first,” he says.

His eyes linger on mine for one last beat, a playful, knowing heat behind his crooked smile. My pulse stutters. The hallway suddenly feels much, much smaller.

After we finish exploring Trident’s Run, Marcus introduces us to a few of the keepers, and the rest of the afternoon vanishes in a blur of animal encounters. We watch rescued sea otters wrestle over toys, meet the curious beluga whales, and laugh until our ribs ache when a cheeky macaw serenades us with an off-key rendition of “I Dreamed a Dream.”

By the time we finally leave Neptune Bay, the late-afternoon sun is hanging low over the parking lot, painting everything in warm shades of gold. It feels impossible that we’ve spent nearly an entire day together.

It also doesn’t feel like nearly enough. I’m desperately searching for a way to stretch out the afternoon, but reality quickly kicks in. There’s no practical way to extend the date, especially with Max’s brutal double-show day coming up tomorrow.