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Nathan lifts a chocolate piece. “To the ones we’ve lost—”

“But who are still with us,” I finish.

We toast with our half-eaten chocolates.

“Merry Belated Christmas, Nathan,” I say. “Macadamia nut chocolate and the beach. This might be my favorite Christmas tradition yet.”

Even if he won’t say it out loud, Nathan’s smile tells me he agrees. “The hour’s almost up. We should go.”

We keep our promise and head back.

Chapter 32

NATHAN

One year ago, four days after Christmas

Maui

I still haven’t caught my flight out of Maui. I can’t seem to bring myself to leave Scarlett alone.

I sleep on the chair in her hospital room while she recovers. Even after what she’s been through, her bright eyes still sparkle. Scarlett may tell lies to do her job, but it doesn’t seem like they’ve damaged her. Not in the way the lies have damaged me. She’s somehow learned how to compartmentalize them, how to protect herself from the constant bad we’re surrounded by.

“Can I ask you something?” I say after bringing back fish tacos from Paia Fish Market.

“Shoot,” she says before wincing. “Ooh, too soon.”

I set up her lunch. “In the entire time I’ve known you, you’ve always been so… bubbly. Energetic. It’s one of the best things about you, but do you really always feel that way?”

She breathes out a laugh. “Aww, thank you. High praise. After the Coopers died, my life got dark. Then I heard Bruce Lee’s philosophy about being like water. Flow, not crash. Adapt to situations. Stone can break but water can’t. What we do and see in this job are hard. Heavy. I can let it turn me to stone, or I can roll with it. I want to be like water, and I want to be my resilient, upbeat self, even if other people don’t understand it or think I’m too emotional or enthusiastic.”

And there it is. The reason I was drawn to her all those years ago. Her flow. Where I see things in black and white, she sees them in gray. In blue. In pink and purple. She’s always helped me blur those lines, always added more color into my life.

“Well, I’m in awe of the way you flow,” I tell her.

She bites into her fish taco and groans. “I’m in awe of this. So good.”

Once we’re done eating, I clean up and check Scarlett’s vitals.

“Sleep as long as you need,” I say, tucking her in. “I’ll change your bandage after.”

She looks mildly horrified. “That’s too much to ask.”

“I don’t recall you asking. I’m offering. Actually, I’m insisting.” I bring her a cup of water. “Can I get you anything else?”

She shakes her head. “Can you just sit with me?”

I rub my hands together. “Great, yes, I live for a challenge.”

She laughs and slowly scoots over. Even in just a few days, this routine now comes so easily to us. I turn on the television and find a channel that’s still playing Christmas movies. Scarlett manages to angle her body in a way so she’s leaning against me like I’m a human pillow. For the first time in my life, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than with her. Though preferably not at a hospital.

As we lie next to each other, what Scarlett said earlier about the Coopers and their honesty nags at me. I promised to tell her true things about myself. When I saw her in the water, I nearly stopped breathing. And then I could no longer see her.

I couldn’t lose her.

You didn’t, my brain reminds me.

The whole experience dredged up something deeper inside me. I may not have lost Scarlett this week, but it made me realize I don’t want to lose her. Ever.