Chapter 6

6

I t was the elephant thing. Problem. The elephant problem thing. Pink? Maybe tap-dancing? The tap-dancing pink elephant problem.

Yeah.

“The hell you talking about?” Nia mumbled into my hair.

That was, uh… Hmm.

I blinked at the lanterns above us. They wore halos, like they thought they were better than other lamps. Or… I blinked again. Maybe just one lantern. A schizophrenic lantern with an attitude. Nia had asked me something, though.

“Logan,” I told her.

“Logan is a tap-dancing pink elephant?”

Jesus, she wasn’t usually this slow. Must be the booze. Staff birthday parties had that effect, which was why we only celebrated the big 0’s. Kept us from alcohol poisoning. And I wasn’t a party person—not like Nia. Too many people made my head spin.

“No,” I said patiently. Because I was a man of great patience. Like Godot in that play. The one where no one shows up… or, no, they’re waiting for him. Whatever. “Logan’s not a tap-dancing pink elephant. I mean, yeah, he’s tall. And his lips are kinda pink, so… ”

They were. Not lipstick pink, but this sweet, rosy hue. Very… kissable.

“Milo,” Nia said.

“Huh?”

“Logan and elephants. Connection?”

“Right.” I tipped further into her. She made a nice pillow. The sofa was great, too. Soft and welcoming, and God, I was never getting up again. This was my island of calm in a sea of music and laughter and shouting. The staff area was draped in the same string of lantern lights we always brought out for birthdays. Life was very predictable around here.

Nia poked me. Huh? Oh.

“It’s the elephant thing,” I said. “Logan’s not an elephant, but he’s my elephant. The one you try to ignore but can’t.”

She pondered this. “You’re trying to ignore Logan?”

“Not… exactly.” Not at all. Really quite the opposite. Which made sense —he was a dive guest, and I couldn’t ignore someone I was responsible for. Safety first and all. Plus, he knew Katie, so we’d reminisced about post-dive beers on her boat, and I’d teased him about how she couldn’t remember a Logan Fox the size of a brick house. He also asked about photography, and it was fun to explain, since he already knew stuff like the rule of thirds. Even though framing a shot was kinda harder when you were floating.

Nia poked me again.

I squawked. In a manly way.

“So you’re not ignoring Logan?” she asked.

Ah, that. I took a sip of… something. Fruity with rum. “Not exactly. But, like. Ever since you told me I should hook up with him? I can’t think of anything else. His hands, Nia. His fucking hands .”

She had the audacity to laugh. Audacity—cool word. Loved the way it rolled off the tongue. Fancy.

“So the elephant is how much you want him?” Nia asked, all serious.

Oh God.

“Have you seen his ass?” It came out plaintive. I was perhaps a little drunk. “And… you think he’s proportionate? ’Cause then I’m already in awe of his dick. Also, I wanna lick tequila off his abs.”

“So do it,” Nia said. Like it was simple.

“But I shouldn’t.” I stared up at the pretty, pretty lanterns and their shimmery halos. “Right?”

“Why not?”

“Reasons.”

“Like?”

“Can’t remember.”

“So no reasons?”

Huh. Seemed logical. Felt wrong, but I mulled it over until something else popped up. I waved a fluttery hand at nothing. “Well, I can’t just say, ‘Oh, hey, wanna fuck?’”

“Why not?” Her tone was reasonable.

Good question. “It’s not very classy, is it?”

“Then suggest a nightcap. In his bedroom.”

“Why his?” Not that I was going anywhere. Yet. One should never assume.

“Because ours has thin walls.”

Fair. I frowned. “But he shares with Tom.”

“Separate bedrooms.”

“How do you know?”

“They’re rich kids who can stay for a month.” Nia took a sip. “Also, I asked Tom.”

“You have no shame.”

“Thank you.” Her smile was blurry. Then again, so was the world. Maybe it was time to call it a night.

Man. Tomorrow was going to hurt .

All mornings sucked, but some sucked more than others.

Nia was already gone when I dragged myself under the pitiful sputter of our shower. God, that last drink had been a mistake. The last three had been a mistake. My stomach was plotting a hostile takeover, my tongue like sandpaper. A few scant sun rays filtered through our grimy bathroom window and shone a painful spotlight on my life choices. Never again.

Some ten minutes later, I stumbled down the stairs with the grace of a drunken giraffe, each step a jolt to my brain. Just a matter of time until the painkiller would kick in, though. The dive shop greeted me with its familiar, weathered charm. Outside, Logan was stretched out on a bench, eyes closed.

Come again?

“Unh?” I croaked. Words of a poet, looks of a zombie.

Logan sat up, took one look at me, and grinned. Too bright, Christ. “Well, aren’t you just a sight for sore eyes?”

“F’k off. You’re early.” I scrubbed a hand down my face, and no, this wasn’t how I usually talked to guests. But mornings were evil. Add a hangover, and I simply couldn’t be held accountable for anything that came out of my mouth. Also, something about Logan short-circuited my polite-responses-only mode.

“You don’t mean that.” The asshole sounded amused. I would have told him just where to stick it if he hadn’t chosen that moment to raise the most beautiful thing I had seen all day, nay, all year—an iced coffee, cubes clinking against the glass. There was a God.

“Gimme.”

He did.

The first cold gulp was like a brain reboot, like being kissed by an angel while reality sucker-punched me in the kindest way possible. Nothing to be done about my resemblance to a raccoon that had lost the fight, but hey, at least my taste buds were throwing a parade. I took another mouthful and closed my eyes. Rich and bitter. Oh .

“Do you and that coffee need a room?” Laughter colored Logan’s voice, and I blinked at him. Sunlight tangled in his shaggy hair and caught in the tips of its gentle waves. Eyes that blended green and blue, a slightly pointed nose, and dappled brightness that danced across his shoulders. I wanted to touch —my walls still down, thoughts a little sluggish .

“No.” I clutched the coffee with both hands, condensation cool and damp against my palms. “It’s fine. You can stay.”

“Your generosity knows no bounds.” He straddled the bench and watched me with a small, quirked smile. “Rough night, huh?”

“That obvious?” I mumbled.

“Just a little.” He held his thumb and index finger apart by half an inch. “I also ran into Nia earlier, down at the beach. She looked pretty bad too.”

Ah, yeah. It was her turn to refuel the Blueberry Seas before she’d spend the morning with a group of snorkelers while I’d do an intro photography dive with Logan. Right now, I felt pretty good about my lot in life. At least compared to five minutes ago.

I clenched my jaw against a hearty yawn and dropped onto the other bench. “Frankie turned fifty. There was a party.”

“Bartender Frankie?” Logan asked.

“Yeah.”

Logan gave a sympathetic wince. “I see how that could turn painful.”

I savored another sip of coffee. So good. So, so good. “Speaking from personal experience, party boy?”

“Hey,” Logan drawled. “I’ve done some growing up since my Art degree.”

I kept all inflection out of my voice. “Have you.”

“Why the disbelief?” It came with a wink and a slightly pouty bottom lip that held my attention for just a moment.

“You’re hot and rich. You’ve no reason to grow up.”

He snorted. “I’m not sure whether to be flattered or insulted.”

“Why choose one when you can be both?”

“Fair point.” He considered me. “So you think the only way to grow up is for something bad to happen?”

“It doesn’t have to be a massive trauma or anything. But, yeah.” I could have left it at that if not for Logan’s inquisitive head tilt, his eyes turning thoughtful. Sunlight flowed along his cheekbones. “It’s like...” I glanced away. “I think, as kids, if we’re lucky enough to have a good childhood... Well, we believe we’re invincible. And until something strips that away, we’re sort of stuck in la-la land.”

He made a low noise of acknowledgment, studying me in a way that made heat itch along the back of my neck. I sipped my coffee.

“Look,” I said after a second. “I obviously don’t know the first thing about your life. Just because it looks easy doesn’t mean it is.”

“Well.” Logan gave a self-effacing shrug, subtle tension tucked into the corners of his eyes. “No massive trauma, I guess. Nothing that’d hold up in a court of my-drama-is-bigger-than-yours.”

Now that the caffeine had kicked in, so had my ability to observe details—like the unhappy curve of his mouth or the undercurrent of hurt in his tone, how his gaze slid away from mine. Was this about… How had Tom put it? Something about Logan’s parents reading him the riot act. If that had triggered Logan’s response just now, it must have been quite the clash.

“Sorry,” I said gently. “It’s none of my business. Just casually overstepping, don’t mind me.”

“No, it’s fine.” Logan’s reassurance came quickly. It didn’t sound like a line, but then, some people didn’t mind others traipsing all over their private lawns. He tipped his face into the sun and shot me a look from underneath his lashes. “What did it for you?”

“What forced me to grow up?” I asked when of course that’s what he meant. Look at me—playing dumb to buy a couple of seconds.

“Yeah.”

I weighed my words. He’d let me stick my nose where it didn’t belong, and while that didn’t entitle him to do the same, shutting him down would feel ungracious.

“I forgot who I was for a while,” was what I settled on. “Took me a bit to rise from the ashes.”

Open curiosity lit Logan’s eyes. “Like a phoenix?”

“More like a drunken seagull fleeing from a dumpster fire.” Time to stop this runaway conversation. I gulped down the last of my coffee, melting ice cubes clacking together, and got up with a smile. “All right, thanks for the coffee. Ready to make a move? ”

He looked up at me for a silent beat, sunlight catching the thoughtful crease of his forehead. In the end, all he said was, “Sure.”

I turned away from the contemplative expression in his eyes. Considering he’d just learned more about me than most people did in a year, I figured that was my quota for today. Or the rest of his stay.

The best dives were like meditation. I emerged from the water with my breathing slow and even, my mind wide open, draped in a deep sense of calm.

It felt just like that when Logan and I finished our dive. We hadn’t even seen anything special, but other than showing him a camera trick here and there, I’d been able to just be, to drink it all in and enjoy details that I was usually too busy to notice. Garden eels that swayed like blades of grass and tiny gobies peeking out from their coral homes, an intricately patterned nudibranch crawling slowly over a rock.

Gravity reclaimed me as I rose from the water. Next to me, Logan pulled off his mask and shook wetness from his hair.

I shielded my eyes against the rain of droplets. “Dude. Little warning?”

“Why? You’re already wet.” He squinted at me, lashes clumped together, sunlight bringing out the green hues in his irises. “You haven’t had breakfast, right?”

“My stomach wasn’t in the mood.”

“How about we find a bite and go through my pictures?” Crinkles radiated from the corners of his eyes. “You can tell me all the things I did wrong.”

“How long are you here for again?”

“Ha fucking ha.” He didn’t sound upset. “So—wanna come over to my cabin? I can order whatever you feel like, just let me know.”

With my attention caught by the line of his throat, it took me a moment to work through the implications. I shook my head. “Not a good idea. Resort hierarchies, remember? ”

A frown ghosted across his features before he smiled, his tone just the slightest bit off. “Right. I forgot.”

Brief silence settled as we waded onto the beach. I kept glancing at his profile, edged in light by the sun. Damn. I didn’t usually get all nice and chummy with guests—I wasn’t much of a people person to begin with, and why invest time in someone who was only passing through?

But Nia had told me to live a little. And I couldn’t exactly pick from a lineup of hot guys. And I actually liked Logan, although maybe it would be simpler if I didn’t.

“How about,” I said with only a short glance at him, “I grab us something from the staff kitchen? It’s simple food but not too bad. We can sit outside the dive shop.”

“Sounds great.” His face brightened as he waved for me to precede him up the stairs. ‘So you can check out my ass?’ I almost asked, but nope, not there yet. I’d need a splash of liquid courage to cross that line.

We hauled our gear up to the dive shop and carried it into the shadowed interior. “I deal with this, you get breakfast?” Logan asked.

It didn’t conform to protocol either. I agreed anyway.

The staff kitchen was a compact, utilitarian space with worn countertops and cabinets of a faded white. The daily morning buffet was set out on one side, a lingering aroma of coffee and burnt toast pervading the air. After last night’s party, more stragglers than usual were picking through the offerings with the kind of enthusiasm suited to a funeral. Their own, specifically. Since that had been me a couple of hours ago, I was in no position to judge.

I grabbed just one plate and loaded it with enough food for two. “Hangover remedy,” I told anyone who asked. “Soak up the leftover booze, you know?”

The fact that I was lying through my teeth should have served as a warning. If only I could bring myself to care. Or, I did care—just not enough to adjust course.

I returned to find Logan sprawled on the same bench as before, eyes closed. Tree-filtered sunlight cast stark patterns across his torso, his relaxed pose highlighting the long, lean lines of his body.

Hot damn.

Portrait photography had never been my thing. I’d tried a few times, with lukewarm results, and had decided to stick with what I loved—life below the surface. Logan made me want to try again.

“Ever considered modeling?” I asked him as I put down the plate and cutlery, along with the thermos jug of what I knew would be tragically weak coffee.

He blinked his eyes open. “Thanks, I think. And the only modeling I’ve done is naked in bed.” The impish quirk to his mouth told me he knew exactly what kind of images it would evoke—sheets twisted around his body, revealing more than they covered. I dropped onto the second bench.

“Exes with an artistic vision?” I hoped I sounded unaffected.

“Just one, but yeah. Photography major.” Logan sat up, looking perfectly at ease. His smile widened to showcase a dimple, and since I couldn’t quite meet his eyes, I busied myself with positioning the plate at a precise halfway point between us.

Logan wasn’t anything to me—I had no cause to be jealous.

I strove for a light tone. “Sounds like he was willing to put in some good, hard work.”

“Hmm, yeah. Lots of hours, unafraid to get his hands dirty.” One corner of Logan’s mouth hitched up just a hint. “Shame he wasn’t a one-model kind of guy.”

Ah, shit.

“I’m sorry,” I offered, and Logan shrugged.

“Nah, it’s been years, and we weren’t together long. I got lucky I found out early, before I could do something stupid like fall for him.” Logan reached for a slice of toast and the knife, watching me from underneath his lashes. “Anyway, the point is—I may still remember some of those model poses.”

This was… flirting. Definitely. Problem was that while others had been hitting clubs and parties, I’d been falling headfirst into Michael’s gravity. I’d never learned how to angle my head just so, an in viting smile dancing around my lips, or how to bounce flirty lines like it was a tennis match. The scant few times I’d hooked up with strangers, I’d mostly relied on shirts with the top three buttons undone and jeans that showed off my ass.

“I’m not very good at people photography,” I said. Ugh.

“Yeah, I guess it’s quite different from what you do.” Logan’s tone was relaxed as he buttered his toast, no obvious sign that I’d kind of shot him down without really meaning to. I just hadn’t known how else to respond. “So it’s always been underwater for you?”

“Just about, yeah.” I helped myself to some diced-up mango. “Funny enough, it kind of started here.”

“Oh, really? With what little I’ve seen of your stuff, I’d have guessed you started taking pictures much younger.”

“I did, yeah. About ten years ago. It was my first time here—as a guest, back then. Did a few dives and loved it.” Fruity sweetness burst on my tongue as I chewed and swallowed. “No camera just yet, couldn’t control my buoyancy for shit. But I tried to take some photos from the pier, went chasing sea sparkle at night. Unsuccessfully so.”

“Wasn’t that around when the resort was all shiny and new?” Logan asked.

“Because it’s such a dump now?”

“I suffer quietly,” he said around a mouthful of melon.

“I’m under the impression there’s not a lot you do quietly.”

As if to prove my point, Logan gave a burst of laughter. “Valid.”

“At least you’re honest,” I said, tucking a smile into the palm of my hand. “And yeah. I was here a few weeks after the resort opened. Just when the Blueberry Seas got christened.” That made it sound like I came from money, which was exactly what I’d teased him about. “My parents aren’t wealthy, more… comfortable. But it was some kind of early-bird discount—a golfer friend of my dad’s knew the family who owns this place.”

This, and several others. The Prescott chain operated about a dozen luxury hotels and resorts worldwide, all owned by the Prescott family. It was no wonder they rarely visited. In my three years here, the owner couple had stopped by just once, for a nice if somewhat generic pep talk to us lowly minions as they’d introduced Richard as our new boss. Not their best choice in terms of staff morale, so I wasn’t a fan.

Logan’s expression flickered, his gaze darting away for a second before it returned, almost contemplative. “You were here when the Blueberry Seas got christened? Me too. But I don’t think we crossed paths?”

“You were here for that?” As soon as I’d asked, something snagged in my mind.

It was like a picture shifting into sudden focus—my last night at the resort, chasing memories with my camera. A dark beach, torches like drops of gold, and a dark-haired boy with his head thrown back in wild laughter, reaching for a friend.

Wow. What were the odds ? But it sure explained that fleeting sense of familiarity when Logan had first shown up.

“Yeah.” His brow furrowed. “So you were at the launching ceremony?”

“No, I missed that. My parents insisted on a hike.” I chewed my honeyed toast and washed it down with some coffee, gaze on Logan’s hands. Should I tell him? But what could I say? ‘Hey, I remember you. Took a picture of you, in fact, down at the beach. Why? Uh. So.... the weather?’

Yeah, best not.

“Listen, Milo.” Logan’s voice dipped on my name, his face serious as he placed his half-eaten toast back on the plate we shared. “There’s something I should?—”

“Coffee?” Nia asked right at that moment. She set down a box with snorkeling gear. “ Please tell me there’s coffee.”

I hadn’t noticed her coming up the stairs, and the same appeared true for Logan as he blinked before his expression eased into a smile. “There is,” he said.

“It’s from the staff kitchen, though,” I added. “So more like a weak attempt at mildly caffeinated water.”

“Don’t care.” She sagged onto the bench next to me and made grabby hands for my cup. “ Gimme . ”

Logan snorted, not unkindly. “You two really do spend a lot of time together, huh?”

“We’re like an old married couple,” I said, handing Nia my coffee. She ducked her head over it and inhaled deeply, lids fluttering shut. Drama queen.

“Yup. Except Milo’s gay and I don’t do commitment.”

“What’s wrong with relationships?” Logan asked.

“Look, it’s like with pets.” She shot him a lopsided grin, sunlight catching flecks of amber in her dark eyes. “I’ll happily give them a head scratch or take them for a walk—but at the end of the day, I’d rather someone else cleans up after them.”

Logan’s soft whistle blended with the high-pitched chirp of a hummingbird. “Seems like you killed romance and buried the body.”

“I’ll believe in love when I see it,” Nia said. “So far, the evidence seems shaky.” Unlike me, she couldn’t point to a bad experience that had made her wary—she’d tried dating a few times and no one had held her interest.

“Kind of like quarks?” Logan asked.

Nia tilted her head to study him, one arched eyebrow suggesting he’d just climbed a few rungs on her ladder of respect. I resisted the impulse to kick the side of her foot—even if Logan weren’t gay, she’d never mess with my messes. Not that Logan was mine .

“No, that’s science. Love, though?” She took another quick sip of my coffee before handing it back. “I think it’s mostly chemical reactions and social expectations masquerading as something deeper. If it wasn’t for Hollywood and romance novels spoon-feeding us, most people wouldn’t know love from a hole in the ground.”

“But it resonates.” Logan leaned forward, a playful glint dancing in his eyes. “Across time and cultures. So maybe it’s art imitating life, and not the other way around?”

Jesus, how had we landed ourselves in the middle of a philosophical debate that much smarter people than us hadn’t been able to settle? If my vague recollection of high school lessons was anything to go by, ancient Greeks had about a million different words for love. Also, I was pretty sure the painkiller was starting to wear off .

“Shall we get back to real problems?” I asked. “Like, say, the true meaning of pineapple on pizza.”

“It’s a tropical vacation for your palate,” Logan said without missing a beat.

I considered this. “But it makes the base go soggy. Tragedy , Logan.”

“You know,” Nia said with a sudden smile, “maybe we should settle this over a pizza dinner in Roseau. The three of us and Tom—what do you say?”

Hot damn, she was sneaky .

“How about something a little more local?” Logan replied before I could recover from the prospect of a double date. “We can do pizza any day at home. Stewed frog, though? Now we’re talking.”

“Mountain Chicken?” Look at me, actually taking part in this conversation. Using words . “Afraid you won’t find that quite so easily anymore—the frog’s endangered, so it’s off the menu.”

“Eh, we’ll find something else. Too bad for the frog, though.” Logan pursed his lips in apparent sorrow, and God, I just… liked him. Which made a double date a terrible idea. Especially when this was a small island and anyone could see us. And, just— terrible idea, yes.

So why couldn’t I bring myself to stop this madness?

It didn’t occur to me until much later—after we’d finished breakfast and Logan and I were done sorting through his photos, after he’d left to work on his thesis—that he’d been about to tell me something right as Nia arrived.

Well. It probably wasn’t important.