Chapter 1

1

“ A nother.”

“No.”

“Just one.”

“ No .”

Nia tightened her leg muscles, thigh jumping under my cheek. She was a spectacularly useless pillow. “Come on, Milo. You fucking love my jokes.”

“Now that?” I pinched her hip. “Was hilarious.”

“The Grinch called—you’re ruining his good mood.” She slapped my hand away, then tugged lightly on my hair. Bleached to a honeyed blond by a combination of sun and saltwater, it had sailed past artfully messy and was now residing somewhere around sunscreen-smelling surfer dude with a vocabulary of ‘hang ten’, ‘gnarly’, and ‘totally’. I needed to drop by the resort’s on-site hairdresser before Richard got on my case.

Nia exhaled with a drawn-out sigh. I empathized—it was hot and humid, the air like a leaden cloak that slowed down all movement. A nap sounded like the epitome of bliss. Too bad our lunch break was drawing to a close.

Ah, well. Dive guests to pamper, weight belts to assemble, tanks to lug about. Yay. Only the promise of jumping into the water kept me from melting on the spot.

Ten more minutes, though. Closing my eyes, I resolved to spend them dozing just like this, stretched out on a shaded bench with my head on Nia’s thigh. The midday heat turned the resort’s usual hustle into a lazy symphony of distant bar music and the gentle lapping of waves. The jungle’s sounds took center stage—crickets chirped in hidden corners, a solitary bird hooted its call on an endless loop, and gravel crunched underfoot.

Huh?

I opened one eye and caught a glimpse of red swim shorts and tanned legs. Opened the other eye.

So, yeah, the guy lost points for cutting our lunch break short. He did win a couple back for being easy on the eyes, though. Tall with the body of a Greek god, chest bare, dark brown hair just long enough to curl into gentle waves around his ears. A little older than Nia and me—late twenties or so. His bluish hazel eyes shifted color with the light, his wide mouth twisting into a slight scowl as he drew closer.

A fleeting sense of déjà vu washed over me. Eh, nah. Face and body like that? I’d remember if we’d met before.

“ Bonjou !” Nia’s greeting ran counter to the sluggish afternoon. “You here for diving?”

I sat up in a token attempt at professionalism while the guy tilted his head. “Well, yeah.” He had a voice like melted chocolate, the effect sadly impaired by a mocking edge. “I hear that’s what one does at a dive center.”

Ass.

“That’s right.” Nia grinned like he’d made a joke, gesturing at the bench across the table from ours. “Have a seat, please. I’m Nia, and this is Milo.”

A pause followed as the guy took in the table and benches that I’d painted in splashes of red and yellow. From there, his attention moved to our cabin—an open, airy construction of weathered wood tucked into a gap between two breadfruit trees. The upper floor held a small apartment that Nia and I shared while the dive center took up the ground level, a notice board encouraging everyone to ‘Dive long and prosper! ’ in Nia’s tidy handwriting. It was simple, but it was the closest I had to a home.

There was something analytical in the way the guy’s gaze swept over it all. His expression turned visibly unimpressed as he sat down. Oh, hey, fuck him and his rich-kid condescension. “I’m Logan,” he supplied with all the enthusiasm of someone about to undergo dental surgery. Funny how quickly he’d dropped from ‘smoking hot’ to ‘not if he was the last fucking guy on the planet’.

“Hello and welcome to Down Under , Logan.” My voice was cotton candy. “Pleasure to meet you. Can we offer you some water or iced tea?”

“No, thanks. Just here for a dive.” Briefly, Logan’s gaze tangled with mine. Here in the shade, his eyes looked more blue than hazel, shaped like almonds.

“Is this your first time?” Nia asked, smile persisting as she knocked our knees together in warning. And fine, yeah—his attitude could be the result of nerves. But my money was on him being a jerk. He’d be a dime a dozen. Working for a luxury resort came with a considerable portion of entitled dive guests who’d rather drop dead than carry their own equipment.

“Well.” Logan’s gaze flickered. “Heard about the Champagne Reef. Thought I could do a dive there.”

Of fucking course.

“Unfortunately, it’s a protected area.” I kept my tone pleasant. “Experienced divers only.”

His scowl darkened. “I heard it’s the best spot.”

“We have quite a number of other beautiful spots outside the marine reserve,” I told him. “And if you get certified with us, we’ll be happy to take you to the Champagne Reef after that’s done.”

“Do you have any idea how much I’m paying to be here?” he asked. Depending on his cabin—quite possibly more per night than Nia and I made in a month. “I expect to see the best fucking spot, not some third-rate whatever place.” He crossed his arms, and I noticed how it brought out his biceps even as my temper kicked into a higher gear.

“We understand,” Nia said when nope, no, I didn’t. This was why she was the boss, though, and I her lowly minion. “But we have a duty to protect our environment. The Champagne Reef is a fragile ecosystem, and we can’t take divers there that might damage it.”

“Isn’t that down to whether the instructor is competent?” he asked.

Oh, for fuck’s sake . My smile felt stretched like brittle rubber. “Sure. If you’re fine with us just towing you through the water, no fins, happily tucked under an arm—then yes, we can do that.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, a tilt to his mouth that struck a strangely dissonant chord. “Are you mocking me?”

Uh-oh. I straightened my spine and held his gaze.

“Not at all,” Nia cut in smoothly, tucking a strand of curly black hair behind her ear. Her smile wasn’t flirty, just open and approachable, British accent thickening as she continued. We’re all friends here, mate. “It’s a simple matter of regulations. And as an eco-friendly resort… It’s an important part of our image and brand, so we can’t be seen cutting corners. And most of our guests love feeling like they’re part of a bigger commitment to sustainable travel.”

Read: here’s your chance to claim you’re a kind-hearted nature lover with bright, shiny values and a wallet to match.

“I guess,” Logan bit out, reluctance thick in his tone even as the odd tilt to his mouth persisted. “So what’s the best spot you can take me to?”

“How about a shallow spot near Soufriere? Parrotfish and barracuda, and we often see sea turtles and rays too.” Nia’s knee was still pressed to mine in warning, and I reminded myself to chill. Right, right. Job. Steady income. Beautiful working environment, a safe distance to Miami, and guests who were mostly tolerable.

Logan would be gone soon enough, and until then, I’d grit my teeth.

“Sounds okay,” he said .

“Good.” I was Teflon. Bullshit rolled right off me. “When would you like to go?”

He looked at me like I was a few bricks short of a load. “Now, of course.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Nia again, calm and friendly. “We already have a group that will show up any minute, so we can’t do a discovery dive with you. How about tomorrow morning? Milo can take you for a shore dive, get you familiar with the gear, and then you can decide if you want to do an actual course.”

Why me?

But I already knew the answer. Guys like Logan liked to either hit on Nia because she was pretty and deceptively tiny, or they didn’t take her seriously because she was a Black woman in charge. They didn’t know that she could make their stay here unpleasant in a million small ways because the resort staff would follow her down a cliff. By contrast, no one would even follow Richard to the closest coffee machine.

“ Him ?” Logan gave me a blatant once-over that suggested he found me wanting but would hold his tongue for now. Fuck him. Yeah, he might have a few inches and several pounds of muscle on me, but I was no slouch. Lugging about heavy diving equipment kept me plenty fit, and I’d come to embrace my shirtless state as a way of life, had long since stopped feeling self-conscious about my body. Or myself, for that matter.

I resisted the impulse to cross my arms and instead met his eyes with a hard smile. “Will that be a problem?”

For a blink of an eye, not even, it felt like his attention might have dropped to the dip between my collarbones. Then he raised his eyebrows, shoving hair off his forehead with one hand. The bracelet wrapped around his wrist spelled Coachella Festival . Huh. He didn’t seem the type to pitch a tent in the mud and sway with a beer-happy crowd.

“No, that’s fine.” He pursed his mouth. “I’d have thought you’d pair your head instructor with a beginner, but I guess you have your own way of doing things.” His tone implied we could be barely trusted to change a lightbulb.

“Milo,” Nia stepped in, “has been a dive instructor for eight years, with several thousand dives under his belt. You’ll be in great hands with him.”

“Really?” Logan shot me another dubious look. “They accept twelve-year-olds?”

Okay, now he was just being obnoxious—I didn’t look that young. “I’m twenty-six,” I said evenly. “Got my instructor certification at eighteen.”

He made a dismissive sound, lifted one shoulder, and pushed to his feet, palms flat against the table. Long fingers, big hands. “Nine?”

It was more order than request because hey, asshole. I glanced at Nia since she was the master of my time and we also had a snorkeling group scheduled for the morning. At her nod, I sent Logan another smile that could have cut glass. “Looking forward to it.”

His nod was equally sharp. “Same.”

“Wonderful,” Nia said, the bite so subtle I only caught it because I knew her well. “Have a great afternoon, Logan.”

His, “Thanks, you too!” seemed like an automatic response, closely followed by a frown. He turned without another word, making his way back to the flower-shielded path that led to the main area of the resort. His back muscles were a work of art.

The moment he was out of earshot, Nia released a small huff. “Man, don’t you just hate it when the pretty ones are twats? Way to ruin my fun.”

“Life’s not fair.” I grabbed a bottle of water that was sweating condensation, cool against my palm. “Maybe I should send him diving with the jellyfish. They’ll give him a warm welcome.”

“Well. Speaking of warm…” Nia leaned back on her hands and grinned at me. Ah, permission granted—nothing cooled down a hothead like a one-size-fits-a-linebacker wetsuit with a draft.

I grinned back.

Ugh.

No .

Just—no. There was no way, no fucking way , it was seven already. Nope. Reality could fuck right off and come back knocking in a couple of hours.

I fumbled for the alarm, but the little fucker had already rolled off the nightstand and onto the floor, tiny wheels whirring in its triumphant escape. Why the fuck had I kept the stupid thing? Nia had a twisted sense of humor, and an alarm clock that sent me on a wild goose chase was a cruel and unusual birthday present that served her more than me.

It wasn’t even that I hated mornings. Or, not as such. They were just... early, as a general rule. And early meant tired. And tired was bad.

Now, fine. No one had forced me to stay up late comparing my current camera setup to the most recent Canon model—way better resolution, animal eye autofocus, and priced like a small car. Still. Fuck my life.

I groaned, forced my eyes fully open, and crawled after my runaway clock. It stood no chance—my room was only just big enough to hold a narrow bed, a cramped desk, and a creaky wooden chair, along with a built-in closet that barely fit my meager selection of clothes. No point investing in fashionable options when I spent most of my days in swim trunks.

The clock from hell attempted to scuttle under my bed. I snatched it just in time and turned it off. Blessed silence. Well, other than the gentle rustle of palm fronds swaying in the breeze, the echoing calls of tropical birds, and the distant, rhythmic crash of the waves. Home, or something very much like it.

All right, then. My turn to take the Blueberry Seas for a refill.

I sped through brushing my teeth and a quick pee, then sprinted down to the staff kitchen to inhale an espresso, and headed to the boat. At this hour, the gravelly beach was deserted, melting into the bluish gray sea and caged in by cliffs that rose high on both sides of the bay. The resort blended into the green of the jungle, guest cabins set between trees, spread far apart for maximum privacy. Only the thatched roofs of the seafront bar and the restaurant stood out, the overwater spa hugging the cliffs on the far side.

We shared a pier with a catamaran that took resort guests on whale watching tours and excursions to Roseau, the island’s capital. Just as I untied our Blueberry Seas, movement on the shore drew my attention.

Logan.

He’d emerged from the walkway that wrapped around the resort, red shorts and neon running shoes, shirtless again. No surprise, really—if I’d put that much work into an eight-pack, I’d want to show it off too. But, hey. Some of us had to actually work for a living. I ducked into the boat to avoid him spotting me.

The engine hummed to life under me, vibrating through the soles of my bare feet. When I left the protected bay, sunrays bounced off the water in a dizzying sparkle, the salty breeze cooling my cheeks. It tasted like freedom, like everything I’d hoped for when I’d arrived three years ago—a different person.

It was a short ride to the sleepy coastal village of Soufriere, and I chatted with Luis while he filled up the tank. Nearing seventy, he ran his station with the deliberate pace of someone who knew how to savor the moment and offered everything from cold beer and shipping supplies to fresh-cut pieces of coconut and dubious nautical advice. I’d never seen him without a baseball cap that cheered on the West Indies cricket team, its darkish red faded to a bleached-out orange. His well-worn cargo shorts had seen more salt and sun than some of the boats he serviced. It didn’t deter him from having opinions about the state of the Blueberry Seas .

“She needs a coat of paint,” he said with a lazy thumb jerk at the boat. The stench of diesel hung heavy in the air, nearly canceling out the sour sweetness of drying kelp that had washed up on the pebbles. “Yellow and green, is what I keep telling you.”

“Name like that?” I shook my head. “She’s got to be blue and purple.”

“Paint a boat purple, you strip away her dignity.” Luis’s complaint wasn’t new, and I’d learned not to take offense at some of the opinions he held—like how purple was a lesser color because, yeah, who the hell even knew.

“Dignity is a state of mind,” I said. “The rest is window dressing.”

“Still, Milo—you gotta put some effort into it.” He adjusted his cap, his gap-toothed smile a contrast to his leathery skin. “Like relationships, you know? Takes work, time, and commitment. But if it’s right, it’s worth it.”

Here we go again.

In a village of less than two thousand people, gossip was the primary trade. If I’d had a buck for every hint about Nia and me, I could have started my own line of ‘Sorry, I’m gay’ greeting cards. Whenever I grumbled about it, though, she reminded me that this tiny island nation was a tropical gem with dial-up views on social norms. Yes, its palm trees might sway with the breeze, but its conservative views held firm. People turning a blind eye to our theoretical age gap was near revolutionary. The country’s recent legalization of same-sex activity was seismic.

Since attitudes remained conservative, I wouldn’t stroll about in rainbow shirts and pink booty shorts anytime soon. No loss—it wasn’t my style anyway.

“If you say so.” I shrugged my shoulders in pointed indifference. “Not in the market, personally. Got enough of my own shit to deal with, you know?”

“Ah, my lad.” Luis gave me a chummy clap on the shoulder. “That’s no way to live your life. Guys like us, Milo—we need a good girl to keep us steady.”

“I thought that was Esme’s pepper sauce?” I asked with a straight face. The stuff, homemade by Luis’s wife, was famed for being both delicious and potent. For a while, the resort had offered it as part of its authentic island food selection, but a few months ago, Richard had done away with what he called farm-to-table fakery dressed up as local charm.

“That, too.” Luis nodded, my sarcasm dripping off him like morning dew pearling on a wrinkled blossom. “She’s still miffed about your bossman taking it off the menu, just sayin’.”

She wasn’t the only one—relations with the local community had taken a hit. While Nia and our head chef Janelle had tried hard to soothe the sting, there was precious little they could do as long as Richard and his profit-over-people philosophy stuck around.

I shook my head, glancing at Luis’s little shack and its assortment of items that ranged from practical to peculiar. The machete he used to hack open coconuts had sure seen better days. “Nothing I can do about it, Luis.”

“Right, right. Hard to tell the boss how to run the show.” Luis removed the fuel nozzle and replaced the cap, then had me sign the slip that charged it to our account. I grabbed a greasy pastry to go, then started the engine and steered the Blueberry Seas back towards the resort.

Just past eight. Enough time to doze for ten minutes before I got things ready for Logan.

Oh joy—even if his abs might serve as a visual apology for his mouth. Silver linings and all that.