We pass the Whitsundays, Doug filming the unique sand swirls, a different pattern every day, depending on the shifting tides. Sofía snaps a few photos of her own, and the tension in her shoulders fades with each minute.
“How you doin’, Sofía?” Doug asks, pointing the camera at her face.
Her smile steals my breath away.
She gives him two thumbs-up, jerking them around with enthusiasm. Doug pans to me, and I mimic Sofía. Molly throws up a rock-and-roll sign, tongue hanging out.
The awkward silence chasing us this morning is gone, and by the time we reach the heart coral, the air between us feelsdifferent, like there’s a level of trust that wasn’t there before. She leans into my shoulder, something in her bag digging into my side with the added pressure.
I push a hand against it, but it doesn’t budge. “What’s in this thing?”
The contact ends, and I regret asking.
“Oh, everything we could possibly need.”
She pulls apart the opening, and I peek inside. It’s like a Russian doll. Inside her large bag are a series of smaller ones. I’m afraid if I choose one, it will unzip to reveal an even smaller bag.
I point at one, a checkered red. She pulls it out. “First aid.”
Next I choose a massive green one. She rips the zipper open with pizzazz. “Snacks!”
Granola bars, candy, crackers, and half a dozen other options are packed tight. It’s not lost on me that they’re all options I enjoy.
“That one?” This time I select a tiny pouch with an embroidered seashell.
“Oh, um, let’s not talk about that one.”
“Why not?”
“If I said it crosses professional boundaries, would you let it go?”
I raise a brow, and she sighs.
“I didn’t think so. This has condoms.”
I make an incoherent noise, and a low snicker sounds from in front of me. I kick the back of Molly’s seat.
“Right. Safe sex. Super important.” I’m bobbing my head.Why am I doing that? And why can’t I stop?“Oh, look, it’s the heart coral.”
Her focus flies back to the window, and I take a deep breath.
I did not nail that interaction.
When Sofía’s occupied, Molly turns in her seat with a shit-eating smile. I shake my head, and she chuckles to herself, spinning forward.
“Got the footage, Doug?” I ask after the pilot does a handful of turns around the reef.
He gives me a thumbs-up, and the pilot informs us we’re heading back to land. Sofía takes dozens of photos and videos, while I glare at the bag between us. It’s haunting me, knowing what’s in the tiny seashell bag.Why did she bring them?Does she plan on using them?
These are not appropriate questions to ponder and likely against Sofía’s mental list of things that cross professional boundaries. Seems like most things I do probably cross those imaginary lines, whether or not I intend to.
“What’s the plan for the rest of the day?” I ask once the helicopter returns to the marina.
“Well, the plan was to take a half-day tour on a catamaran,” Sofía says, looking at her notebook. “We have time to return to the hotel and change.”
Molly and Doug exchange glances.Oh, I know that look. I’ve seen it dozens of times when I try to third wheel with them. They’re about to ditch us, and I think they’re gonna steal our boat.
Instead of saying anything, I bite my tongue, wanting to witness how Sofía handles the coup.
