Chapter 4

4

T he next morning, Logan and Tom showed up twenty minutes early to help us carry the gear down to the boat. Not even just their own, which Des had personally dropped off earlier—no, they were expressly happy to pitch in for the rest of today’s dive group too. What .

“Trying to prove something?” I asked Logan.

He shrugged. “Just that I’ve been raised by the right dive instructors.”

“You know you’re not supposed to help,” I said even though things would move a lot faster with four people instead of two. One trip down the stairs with everyone shouldering a tank, then all of us traipsing back up for a second, final trip—Nia and I would have needed twice as long.

“If anyone asks,” Tom said, “tell them we insisted.”

“Why hit the gym if it’s just for show?” Logan’s tone made it a rhetorical question, Tom nodding along, and that was that.

Nia distributed tasks while I set about attaching tanks to dive vests, making them easier to carry. The rising sun cast a golden glow over the world, the air already thick with the promise of the day’s heat. When I hoisted my camera over one shoulder and a tank over the other, a bead of sweat tickled its way down my spine.

“What kind of monster is that ?” Tom asked, pointing.

“Don’t listen to the mean man, darling.” I patted my camera’s underwater housing, two strobes sticking out like robot arms. “He doesn’t know any better.”

Tom perked up an eyebrow. “If it starts talking back, I’m out of here.”

“You’ve never seen an underwater camera before?” Logan asked Tom.

“Most people bring a GoPro,” Tom said. “Not a midsize truck.”

“Most people just want underwater selfies that’ll make them look cool,” I said.

“And you’re—what? Creating art ?” While Tom’s words poked fun, I could tell it was playful, just a normal part of how he seemed to interact. Yet it bumped up against the memory of a different voice, rougher, mocking me just like that and meaning it.

I looked away. “Jesus, no. I’m not that pretentious.”

“Actually,” Nia said, “Milo is really good. Just likes to sell himself short.”

Logan shot me a smile that deserved to be bottled up for a rainy day, dimples and all. He opened his mouth, and I cut off whatever he’d been about to say. “Flattered as I am by all this attention”—Nia snorted, and I ignored her—“let’s hustle. Finish this and we can snag a real coffee from the kitchen before we leave.”

“Thought I was the boss,” Nia said.

“Coffee,” I told her as though it were a complete sentence.

“Fair point.” She grinned and turned to lead the way, petite frame belying the ease she showed in lifting a weighty dive tank. Tom followed, balancing a stack of fins and masks, with Logan just behind, carrying another tank.

We took the well-worn stairs from the shop perched high on the hill down to the pier. Salt and humidity had aged the wooden railings to a silvery patina. The sea below us was a glassy expanse, undisturbed by even the faintest whisper of a breeze .

Bringing up the rear gave me a chance to admire Logan, descending the stairs in front of me. Sun caught in his slightly shaggy hair, highlighting the bronzed muscles of his back and shoulders. He looked like he’d stepped straight out of some beach magazine, long-limbed and skin gleaming with a slight sheen of sweat.

Yeah, fine . I’d be revisiting this image under the shower. I was only human, for fuck’s sake.

The scent of the sea mingled with the earthy aroma of the surrounding foliage as we stepped onto the wooden planks of the pier. Tom dropped his stack of fins with a gusty sigh and stopped to take in the Blueberry Seas’ resplendent coat of purple paint. “Wow. That is one gay boat.”

Hmm.

“Thanks,” I said with forced lightness.

Logan shoved his sunglasses into his hair, then held out a hand to Tom, palm up, and crooked his fingers in the universal ‘pay up’ gesture. “That’s five bucks in rainbow taxes, man.”

“Do I look like I’m carrying my wallet?” Tom asked.

“Hard to be sure.” Logan’s sudden smirk dug craters into his cheeks. “Seems like there’s plenty of room in those trunks.”

“What’s that all about?” Nia asked with a nod down at Logan’s gesture.

“Ah, well.” Smirk persisting, Logan dropped his hand. “You’d think that with two decades of friendship between us, Tom would have learned not to stereotype. But alas…”

Another hint at Logan’s sexuality? Still none of my concern. Never mind the sharp burst of attraction, nothing to do with the heat, when I watched his languid stretch after setting down his tank.

“So you make him pay?” I asked, a tad delayed.

“Five bucks for every comment that stereotypes gay people.” Logan’s grin was lopsided. “Both Tom and this other friend of mine, Kyle. If they keep it up, I’ll have a nice little backup fund if the family money runs out.”

“Well, fine.” Tom dropped the stack of fins on the pier. “But you’ve got to admit that the purple is kinda out there. ”

“Et tu, Brute?” Nia shoved her tumble of hair back and pulled it into a messy bun, then hopped on board the Blueberry Seas so I could begin passing over the gear.

“People complain about the purple?” Logan asked.

“Some townsfolk want us to paint her green and yellow,” I said.

Logan tilted his head, looking from me to the boat. “Why don’t you?”

“Name like that,” I said, “she’s got to be blue and purple.”

“She?” Logan asked right as Tom jumped in with, “So rename it. Or her—whatever.”

“You can’t rename a boat,” Nia said. “It’s bad luck.”

“Also,” I said, “the higher-ups named it.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “You mean that Richard dude?” He sounded skeptical, which was a healthy reaction to anything Richard-related.

“No, he’s only been here for a couple of years.” I hoisted the first tank up by the attached dive vest and passed it over to Nia, careful to support its weight until she had it fully under control. “It was the family who owns this place. The son, I think.”

I’d missed the Blueberry Seas’ maiden voyage. The resort had opened just a few weeks before our stay, and my first dives had been from a standard dinghy. I’d been excited to check out a boat actually built for divers, but my parents had insisted on a final hike that kept me from the christening.

“So he proposed Blueberry Seas , and the rest of the family just went, ‘Sure, why not?’” Tom sounded inexplicably entertained.

Logan’s smile flickered. “What would you have named it— Stormbreaker ? Wave Rebel ?”

“Would’ve been much more badass,” Tom said, and I might judge him for douche tendencies if not for the barely hidden quirk to his mouth.

“Sure,” Nia said. “Scare off the kids, just what we’re after.”

“Little boys love that sort of shit,” Tom said.

“Less talk,” Logan said, “more action. Coffee awaits!” He hopped aboard and motioned for Tom to pass him the fins .

“You know you don’t have to do a second haul with us,” I told them, shielding my eyes against the sun. The water shimmered in a watercolor blend of pastel hues.

“I’ve been raised by dive instructors with zero tolerance for diva behavior,” Logan said. “I’m not about to start slacking just because they can’t see me right now.”

“And I’m counting this as a workout,” Tom said. “Don’t ruin it.”

“Well. Thank you, in that case.” I looked away from the flex of Logan’s arm muscles and told myself it was just casual appreciation for a pretty thing.

Yeah, right. Kind of like how I was a casual fan of oxygen.

Some divers must have found their certification at the bottom of a cereal box.

Today’s exhibit? Jordan, in his early forties with the sinewy body of a marathon runner and the underwater coordination of a toddler taking his first bath. In theory, this should have been an advanced group. Logan and Tom did just fine, and so did a mother and her daughter who were celebrating the daughter’s graduation with a tropical trip. Jordan, though? Jesus Christ .

I spent the majority of the dive chasing after him so he’d stop plowing through seagrass or grab at anything that didn’t dash away. Half an hour in, I was ready to strangle the guy. But hey, at least Logan and Tom seemed to have a good laugh at my expense. Every time they caught me checking on them, they faked over-the-top incompetence—from wearing their fins on their hands to bumping into each other as though they’d had a few too many. Jerks.

To exactly no one’s surprise, Jordan also used up air much faster than the others. Forty minutes into the dive, I had to guide everyone back towards the boat and signaled for the group to hang around while I wrestled Jordan through a safety stop.

Once he was out of the water, I took the others for one more spin. We happened upon a hawksbill turtle, its distinctive beak and patterned shell immediately recognizable. Nestled near a coral outcrop, it was feasting on a piece of sponge with deliberate, almost methodical bites, unbothered by our presence. Tiny fish darted around as we watched, a contrast to the turtle’s unhurried air.

We resurfaced some twenty minutes later. I rid myself of my own equipment before I helped Nia secure people’s tanks, Logan and Tom the only guests who’d taken care of it themselves. The mother and her daughter had moved to the front of the boat for a sunbath while Jordan was talking into his phone, wildly gesticulating about something. I’d need to have a chat with him about a refresher course before we could allow him at any dive site that required finesse or an ability to handle current. Ugh. I’d deal with him later.

Instead, I joined Logan and Tom. Side by side, they were propped against the railing, swim trunks and bare feet, wide grins as they chatted between themselves. “You two looked good down there,” I told them. “When you weren’t playing bumper cars, that is.”

Logan’s smile staged a show-stopping appearance. He flicked a meaningful glance at Jordan. “You mean we looked good by comparison?”

“A hippo on a sugar rush would have looked more competent than that,” Tom said, and man, I wasn’t supposed to gossip with guests about other guests, but… true.

“At least the rest of you still got to hang out with a turtle,” I said.

“That was a nice touch,” Logan agreed, then changed his tone to that of a TV host, voice low so Jordan wouldn’t overhear. “Five star dive—good visibility, turtle was epic, and slapstick incompetence that had me damn near choking with laughter. Highly recommended!”

“We endeavor to entertain,” I said dryly.

Logan’s full-bodied laugh made it impossible to take offense. “Mission accomplished.”

I grabbed the railing when Nia started the engine, the Blueberry Seas rumbling awake. I glanced over just in time to catch Logan watching me, something hot and open in his eyes. An electric jolt twisted through my gut, breath catching at the back of my throat.

Bad idea .

I fitted an easy smile onto my face. “You’ve seen hawksbill turtles before?”

It was Tom who answered. “Yeah. We get them around Miami too.”

Miami?

“You guys from there?” I asked, striving for neutral, as the boat sliced through the calm sea, its shimmering blue occasionally shadowed by a passing fish swarm. The coastline of Dominica loomed to our left, a tapestry of green cascading down to meet the rocky shore.

“Born and bred,” Logan said.

“Not me.” Tom shook his head. “Dallas, man. We moved when I was six, though. Met this loser on my first day of school, and the rest is history.”

“What about you?” Logan asked me. “There’s not much of an accent, far as I can tell.”

It wasn’t like my origins were a secret, nor was it highly unusual to meet others from the Miami area—some six million people were bound to get around. Fellow divers, though?

“Miami as well,” I said. “Been a few years.”

“Wait a second.” Logan stared at me, eyes narrowing. I shifted under his gaze, tempted to look away if not for how I didn’t do that anymore. He blinked, then smiled. “Hey, you don’t happen to know Katie’s dive center, do you?”

“Katie?” Wow, what were the odds? “I worked there before coming here—she trained me into an instructor. She’s”— like family —“great. Really great.”

“She’s still got your picture in her shop,” Logan said.

“You mean a picture that I took?” I asked. How did he know? As part of her campaign to boost my self-confidence, Katie had put up several of my better photos in the shop when I’d still been there, but it wasn’t like I’d scrawled my name across them in scarlet letters.

“No, I meant a picture of you—I saw it when I did my Advanced Open Water certification. Must have been taken on Katie’s boat. You were laughing at something, still in your dive gear?” He shaped it into a question and followed it up with another smile, his hair tousled by the wind. “I always thought it was one of those model shots that dive shops can order from PADI or whatever. Didn’t make the connection until just now.”

Katie had taken that picture the same day I’d decided to accept the job here. I’d felt free for the first time in years, in charge of my own life again. Boldly moving forward.

“A model shot?” I laughed. “Hardly. But, yeah. I worked there for a few years.”

“Why ‘hardly’?” Logan asked, and Tom huffed out a snort.

“Should I light a few candles?” he asked. “Or play some mood music to go with this flirt fest?”

Ah, so Logan really wasn’t straight. I glanced at him just as he glanced at me. Briefly, our gazes held. Then he shook his head and looked away with a tiny frown that sat mostly around the corners of his mouth.

“Would you like some sneakers for that leap?” he asked Tom.

Ouch. Friendly reality check—Logan and I didn’t play in the same league. For just a second there, I’d forgotten.

“Just calling it like I see it,” Tom said easily.

I shifted my attention to the horizon. Sea melted seamlessly into the sky, the sun casting a golden pathway across the water. Seabirds showed as silhouettes, their calls echoing as they swooped and soared.

“Eh.” I shrugged and smiled. “Don’t knock Tom’s creative potential, man. Could be he pens a bestselling romantic comedy one day.”

“Fat chance,” Logan said with a laugh.

“Your lack of faith cuts deep.” While Tom’s tone was grave, mirth lurked just underneath.

It had all the signs of another banter war, and I took my first glimpse of the resort’s thatched roofs and wooden structures as a cue to leave them to it.

I was just the hired help, after all, and they’d be gone in a month.