“Yes,” I say.
The word doesn’t seem strong enough, but it will do.
“Then I’ll be here.”
Before I can change my mind, I lean down and steal a kiss. Nothing crazy, a small peck that lights my chest on fire, before I slide swim trunks on and tie my hair back. She’s watching me, a brow quirked when I reach for the door handle.
“Not brushing your teeth?” she asks, already burrowing back beneath the covers.
“Fish can’t smell my breath,” I reply, slipping out the door to the sound of her laughter. It’s a glorious sound.
The rest of the group, minus Molly and Sofía, is on the second deck, groggily pulling cold, damp wetsuits on. Charlie mutters about the early wake, and Mateo shoves a piece of chocolate in her mouth. Her nose scrunches in pure joy.
“Morning, Blondie,” I say, digging my wetsuit out. “Morning, Ames.”
“Jett Pack!” Amy smiles, her scuba mask nearly the same bright pink as her hair. I offer her a smile of my own, and she whispers, “Where’s Sofía?”
My stomach somersaults. “I—well,” I fumble.
I am a terrible liar.
“I went to see if she had a tampon this morning. I was gonna sneak in, but she wasn’t there.”
“Did she have the tampon? We can find you one if you need.” This is an opportunity to deflect. I search, opening a random bin stuffed with dive gear. “Nope, none in here,” I say. “Maybe check with Charlie.”
“All set, big guy. But I think you know where she is…”
I glance at our friends. Doug is already on the first deck, and Oliver skips down the stairs. Charlie and Mateo are in their own love bubble. Confident no one will overhear, and knowing Amy will keep the secret, I lean in close.
“She’s in my room.”
Amy squeals. The sound draws attention, and Charlie’s head darts in our direction, her scar pulled in concern. “Sorry, stubbed my toe,” Amy says, waving her off.
They grab their gear, and I stand awkwardly, waiting for them to disappear, and once they’re down the stairs, Amy grabs me bythe shoulders and shakes. “This isamazing,” she yells. “Tell me everything.”
“Sofía can share what she’s comfortable with if or when she’s ready.”
I’m not betraying her trust, not when I think there’s more to her previous relationships she hasn’t shared—trauma that led her to ask what I wanted while we hooked up. It wasn’t in a way that felt natural, but like she was expecting me to ask her to do something she wasn’t comfortable with.
The thought still makes me queasy.
I want Sofía far longer than a few weeks, but if that’s all she’s offering, I’ll take it. Having her for a short time is better than not at all. Not when she’s one in a million.
Amy nods her approval. “Right answer.” She grabs her gear. “But at least tell me you kissed her, right?”
I shoo her down the steps, ignoring her side-eye while I slip into the scuba gear. Amy double-checks my gear, and I do the same for her, and then we’re leaping into the water, ready for the first dive of the day. Right before I descend, I look at her.
“Yeah, I did,” I admit, making those my last words before we drop below the surface, the water still dark while the sun rises. I stick beside Doug, holding the camera rig while he unclasps the GoPro attached to his BCD—the vest responsible for buoyancy and holding the tank while scuba diving. He trades it for the larger camera I’m holding, and we slowly descend to the reef, taking a right toward the deeper sections of the drop-off.
The rest of the group takes a left, following a whitetip reef shark, and we hover along the reef edge, searching for schooling fish like barracuda or wrasse and inspecting coral for small invertebrates like nudibranchs. Doug signals to descend lower, and I listen, positive he’s caught sight of something.
Beneath the outcrop of a coral bommie, nearly buried in the sand, the distinct whisker-like barbels of a wobbegong stick out.The white sand disguises its mottled-brown coloring, and I give Doug a shaka while he takes footage of the incredible shark.
We leave the guy to chill in peace and move on, keeping the reef on our left and occasionally glancing out past the drop-off. Colorful snappers and snubnose pompanos dart around nearby. We pause to record a juvenile barramundi cod swimming around an outcrop of rocks and a pair of clownfish weaving through a sea anemone.
A titan triggerfish swims by, and my balls shrivel in fear. I go limp in the water column, waiting for it to pass before we continue on our way. I can tell Doug is laughing from the shake of his head, and I flip him off—a universal scuba signal.
Moving to shallower waters for the remainder of the dive, we each record footage of various coral species. Doug has the better setup for the docuseries, but I record as much B-roll for social media as I can, even a few videos of our friends when we run into them admiring a loggerhead turtle sleeping on a bed of coral.
