“I should create a class for that.” Katie taps her chin, as if thinking of a new session to add to her business empire. “I could call it Yoga for people who want to get out of their comfort zone.”

  “You should. And if we lived closer, I would absolutely take that class,” I reply. “But for now, I’m going to start with this trip. Let the single-versary adventures begin.”

  The sapphire-colored bikini is a done deal, and so is my brilliant plan for my single-versary celebration.

  2

  Caleb

  Being your own boss has good points and bad, but being your own boss in Maui means afternoon surf breaks, and that counts for a lot. Ocean breezes, the rush of the surf onto the beach—taking a break from answering email when the temptation of the waves becomes too much to resist . . . I have it good.

  I shake the water from my hair and load my board in the back of my Jeep and head back to the house. I start a pot of coffee before I go to change, stripping out of my wetsuit and tugging on board shorts and a T-shirt—Hawaiian lifestyle is the literal best.

  On the way to my attached home office, I stop to pour two mugs of Kona Peaberry and bring one to my buddy Brady at his desk.

  I nod to the spreadsheet on his computer screen and the weather forecast on his tablet. “If you’re trying to make me feel guilty for grabbing a surf break, it won’t work,” I say.

  “Nah. I’d have gone with you if I wasn’t trying to find a guide to fill in for Tom’s tour that starts this weekend. We’re fully booked.”

  I stop mid-sip, lowering the mug. “What happened to Tom? I thought he had a stomach bug.”

  Brady shakes his head. “Nope. Texted from the hospital. Full-blown appendicitis.”

  Grabbing my phone, I check my messages. “Dammit. He’s probably in surgery by now.”

  “Yeah. We sent a nice potted plant, by the way.”

  “Thoughtful of us,” I say, setting a reminder to check in with him, even if things get busy. “But this weekend . . .?”

  He holds up a wait-a-minute finger and then swipes on his tablet. “I just sent you the updated schedule.” My phone pings, and I open the link. “I’ve got everything covered but the five-day adventure tour. I’m busy with surf camp both days.”

  “No worries,” I say. “I wasn’t planning to lead a tour next week, so I can do it.”

  “You sure?” he asks. “I wanted Tom to take this group because he’s good with the haters.”

  “And I’m not?” I make a gimme motion with my hand, ready for him to dish up all the details. “What have you got for me?”

  “A last-minute addition.” He picks up his tablet to read. “Solo guest. Woman named Skyler. Says she’s never snorkeled but, to paraphrase, ‘Knows she hates it with a passion and can’t wait for us to convince her otherwise.’”

  I chuckle. “At least we know what we’re up against.”

  Most guests are eager to do something they can’t in their day-to-day lives, whether it’s the first time or the fiftieth. But every now and then, we get passengers who, for whatever reason, seem determined not to have a good time, no matter what.

  Which is a shame—there’s so much to enjoy about Hawaii.

  A few of the jellyfish will thoroughly mess up your day, but as long as you avoid those, you’re golden.

  “So, you do surf camp, and I’ll take the adventure tour and Ms. I Hate Snorkeling,” I tell Brady, typing my name into the schedule. “I love changing people’s minds about adventure sports. That’s why I started this gig in the first place.”

  Brady leans back in his chair with a smirk. “It’s not so you could surf and hike and get paid for it?”

  “That’s just a perk.” I point to my almost empty mug. “Like locally roasted Kona and sunshine.”

  “Speaking of things that aren’t perks . . .” He sips his own coffee. “Remember that guy you didn’t want to hire because he had an ‘opportunist vibe’?”

  I don’t think my people instincts merit finger quotes, but whatever. “He went to work as a guide for Excursions, didn’t he? What did he do? Hook up with a guest?”

  “Gave her the whole business, apparently. Led her on with romance under the stars, long walks along the ocean, ‘never felt like this before’ sweet nothings—and then cut her loose. She left the mother of all scathing reviews on Travelocity, complaining about the boat, the staff, the facilities . . .”

  “Ouch.” Hard luck for Excursions, but their guy broke one of the cardinal rules of tour-guiding.

  The first is Come back with the same number of people you left with.

  The second is No canoodling on the job.

  “Romance with clients is always a terrible idea,” I say. “The Mia situation taught me that.”

  Brady nods. “You don’t need another koala of a girl clinging to you.”

  I shudder at the memory. “I don’t. But let’s be fair to marsupials— koalas are adorable.”

  Thing is, even when everyone’s on board, a tour hookup is never going to lead anywhere—nowhere worth risking your business or reputation. For one thing, getting cozy with a guest while you should be paying attention to your other clients is dangerous.

  But a vacation romance is only a recipe for heartache. It will mess you up worse than any box jelly, so the only thing to do is avoid them altogether.

  3

  Skyler

  “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Maui,” the flight attendant says as we taxi to the gateway. “We hope you enjoyed your flight. Local time is two-thirty, and the temperature is a balmy eighty-two degrees.”

  Kahului Airport pulls me into the island spirit as soon as I exit the plane. It’s busy with pale tourists arriving, sunburned ones departing, and everywhere I look are explosions of color. Skylights and palms blend indoors and out until I can’t tell the difference.

  I find my suitcase at the baggage carousel and exit the airport, fully savoring the balmy eighty-two degrees the flight attendant promised and drinking in the Pacific air. The breeze toys with my hair and smells entirely different than San Francisco.

  It smells like vacation.

  Hello, single-versary, here I am.

  I hail a taxi that’s making a circuit of the arrival gates. When it stops, I greet the driver, then toss my bags in the back seat and slide in beside them. Gotta love tropical getaways—sundresses and sandals make luggage light.

  “Where you headed?” asks the cabbie as I click in my seat belt.

  “Well, I’m going to a wedding tonight,” I answer cheerfully. “And then tomorrow, I’m going to get out of my comfort zone for my single-versary.”

  “Single-versary?” He glances at me in the rearview mirror, his dark brown eyes crinkling with a grin. “Is that something you do at karaoke?”

  “Nope. It’s a year of being happily single while everyone I know seems to be posting engagement pictures and cutesy save-the-date announcements.”

  “Congratulations.” There’s a honk behind us as we idle, and he smiles widely at me. “But I meant what hotel are you headed to.”

  “Oh.” Of course he did. “The Hilton, please.”

  The taxi pulls away from the airport, and the driver strikes up a conversation. “So, the whole single thing—that’s awesome. Maybe you can have an island fling here. I’m off after six.”

  “Thank you, but no,” I say politely. “The point is I’m trying to not date.”

  “Sure, sure. But seriously, I have a DoorDash shift this afternoon. You want dinner? I recommend Joe’s Surf and Turf for their local halibut. I can have it to the Hilton in less than ten minutes. You change your mind about having company with dinner, just order the ‘something on the side’ special. But I can only stay for twenty minutes.”

  I have no plans to take him up on that, but his salesmanship is impressive. “I’ll consider it. Do I get a promo code?”

  “Sure thing.” His eyebrows wiggle in the rearview mirror. “It’s Double O.”

  That’s a hell of an offer.

  Turning it down has got to be worth at least the price of a halibut dinner added to the reward jar.

  At the wedding that night, my cousin Trish looks amazing in a simple sundress-style wedding dress with a hibiscus in her hair. Blake, her groom, gazes at her with love in his eyes, clearly besotted.

  They trade “I dos” at sunset on the beach, and it’s insanely romantic.

  Even my man-cleansed heart flutters as he kisses the bride like he will indeed cherish her always.

  A little later, the reception is going strong inside the tent on the hotel grounds. Near the dance floor, I catch up with Sierra and Clementine, some friends from San Francisco.

  Sierra’s been making eyes at a strapping, sexy baseball player, and she catches us up on what’s going on with the star closer from the San Francisco Cougars.

  It’s a delish story, and I can’t wait to hear how it all shakes out. “You do have a just-been-fucked look about you,” I tease, gesturing to her glowing skin.

  “I will take that as the compliment it is,” she says.

  Clementine turns to me, all big eyes and eager voice. “And what about you? Will you indulge in some sunset yada yada yada here on your solo vacay?”

  “Nope. I’m sticking to my diet,” I say, then give them the scoop on my resolution.

  “Good luck with that,” Sierra says.

  “You have the doubtful sound of a woman who’s getting a little action,” I tease.

  “Then as long as you don’t get a little action, you’ll be fine sticking to your diet,” she says.

  “Or a big action,” Clementine adds.

  “And really, that’s the best kind,” Sierra puts in.

  “You two are not helpful,” I warn.

  “Were we supposed to be?” Sierra tosses back.

  “On that note, good luck,” Clementine says, and Sierra echoes her.

  Maybe they sound a bit doubtful, but I’m happy.

  After all, I’m in Hawaii, the reception food is amazing, and the wine has me loosened up enough that I cheer enthusiastically when the DJ announces it’s time to toss the bouquet.

  “Who’s going to make that catch?” he calls into the mic. “All the single ladies, raise your arms in the air! Whoop whoop!”

  Trish gets into position with her back to the dance floor, laughing as her bridesmaids shout at her to throw it their way and they elbow each other for a prime spot.

  I get an elbow in my own ribs and see that my mom has somehow managed to be right beside me at the opportune time. “Come on, Skyler! Let’s get out there and go for it!”

  I giggle at her enthusiasm. “You go for it, Mom.”

  “No, we both have to do it. Mother-daughter tag team.”

  There’s no time to argue. Mom and I charge into the throng just as the DJ counts down, “Three, two, one! Here she goes!”

  The bride lobs the bouquet, and the gaggle of women turns into a rugby match complete with high heels and cocktail dresses. We scrabble and gasp, and then someone squeals, “I got it!” and holds the flowers high in victory.

  Mom finds me as the clump disperses, still staggering with laughter. “Sky! You were right there. I thought for sure you had it.”

  “You wanted me to dive for it, Mom? I didn’t want it that badly.”

  “Everybody wants to catch the bouquet.” She blows a fallen strand of hair from her face. “I wanted to catch the bouquet. I trained for months. It was there at the tip of my fingers and then bounced off.”

  “Curses.” I snap my fingers. “Just have to try again at one of the nine weddings for which I’m saving the date.”

  She sighs. “Speak for yourself. You have all the wedding invitations. I just get birth announcements for my friends’ grandchildren.”

  Her emphasis has me raising my hands in surrender. “Don’t even go there, Mom.”

  “I know.” Another sigh. “I just want you to be happy, Skyler.”

  I remind her gently, “I am happy, Mom. I’m happy being single.”

  “But look at all these handsome groomsmen.” She points across the way. “And look at that. That silver fox is Harold Armstrong, your cousin’s uncle’s friend. He’s retired and single. Plus, I hear he can still drive at night.”

  “Quite the catch for a sexy senior citizen.”

  “Hush.” She gives my arm a teasing pinch. “Don’t tell a soul I’m sixty-five. I’m forever forty-nine. In fact, maybe we should pretend I’m your older sister.”

  I choke. “My twenty-years-older sister.”

  “Don’t cockblock me, sweetheart.” She’s target-locked on Harold Armstrong, eligible bachelor. “I’m going in.”

  “Good luck, sis.” She’s ridiculous, and I love her too much to be angry at her nudging me altar-ward.

  I say good night to Sierra and Clementine, wish Trish and Blake well, and go to my room alone.

  It all feels just right.

  In the morning, I’m ready to tackle the day. After I get dressed I make my way to the beach. I FaceTime Katie as I walk across the sand, showing off the view on my phone. “Good morning from paradise! That’s Hawaiian paradise, not the afterlife. Just clarifying, since today I take on the ocean, aka that giant caldron of sea creatures, aka Things That Want to Eat You.”

  “Yes, I’m sure the fish will find you tasty.”

  “I did slather on some coconut lotion this morning, so I’m probably all tropical and yummy.”

  “Then, I hope they enjoy their breakfast of you,” she teases, as I swing the screen to dock where I’m meeting the group. “And that’s the boat that will carry us out over the abyss.”

  “Speaking of tasty, who is that stone-cold fox by the boat? Is he on your tour?” Her eyes go wide as the sky.

  I peer over the screen at the sight in front of me. A tall, tanned drink of man, then I whisper to Katie. “I think that’s the skipper of my Island Adventure Tour. This IS a cruel joke, but I will not be tempted,” I say, wagging my finger.

  She scoffs. “How can you not be tempted? He’s, like, movie star good-looking.”

  “I am strong,” I say, walking closer to the matinee idol.

  Katie looks doubtful. “What if he takes off his shirt to swim? What if you swoon at the sight, and he has to give you mouth-to-mouth?”

  “You don’t give mouth-to-mouth for a swoon.”

  “Well, if he swoons, I suggest you offer mouth-to-mouth.”

  “Enabler,” I hiss, then, flinch, quickly bringing the phone closer, to shield my mouth. Who knows if he can read lips? “He’s waving at me now. And tapping his watch. Time to go. Say nice things at my funeral if I die a watery death.”

  “I’ll say the fish enjoyed the last meal of you.”

  4

  Caleb

  That has to be the snorkel hater on the dock, chatting on her phone. I glimpsed her snapping a selfie or taking a video with the boat in the background.

  I also glimpsed a slim figure, tanned and toned legs under sensible shorts, and glorious red hair that would rival a sunset for color. Her profile shows off a cute, upturned nose, and her animated expressions as she talks are kind of adorable.

  She doesn’t look like a nightmare passenger.

  She looks as intriguing as her challenge.

  But she’s also the last guest to board.

  I get her attention and smile as I tap my watch. She quickly stuffs her phone in her pocket, and I meet her as she steps onto the boat.

  “Hey there,” I say with a grin. “You must be Skyler, the snorkel hater.”

  Her laugh is bright and sweet—not the laugh of someone who’s about to make my week difficult. “What gave it away?”

  “Your T-shirt,” I say. She looks at the design in confusion. It reads: But first, coffee. “Studies show that most snorkel haters are coffee lovers.”

  She cocks her head, hazel eyes lively. “Is the opposite true? Do you hate coffee, since you’re a snorkel lover?”

  Her nose scrunches up. The most adorable freckles are dotted over her cheeks. “Nah. I’m just a lover.”

  “Hey, Caleb!” Jimmy, one of my crew, shouts from the deck above. “Where’d you put that cruelty-free sunblock?”

  A timely reminder—work first.

  “Check under the bench on the deck,” I shout over my shoulder. Behind me, I hear Skyler mutter to herself.

  “What was that?” I ask when I turn back.

  She starts, eyes wide, then clears her throat. “Oh, I was just wondering if you know what to do for swooning.”

  I frown, wondering if she needs reassurance. “You mean for seasickness or . . .?”

  “For lines like”—her voice drops in pitch to mimic mine—“I’m just a lover.”

  Oh, direct hit. I grab my chest like she’s shot me and laugh. She doesn’t seem like a nightmare—in fact, she’s seeming a little dreamier every time she opens her mouth. “Point to you. I’m Caleb, by the way. I’ll be your adventure tour guide.”

  “As you guessed, I’m Skyler.” She gives a snappy, sassy salute. “Reporting for snorkel conversion therapy.”

  I rub my palms together. “I’m ready for the challenge. All the other tour participants are on board. Let me show you where you can stow your tote and then I’ll introduce you to the gear.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  Funny thing is, she sounds like she more than half means it.

  Once we’re underway, headed for the snorkeling site down the coast, I check that the other guests, who’ve all snorkeled before, have everything they need. Before issuing any instructions, I want to give Skyler time to adjust to the feel of the boat skimming across the water, throwing up spray as the hull slaps the surface. She went pale as we left the marina, but her color came back as she focused on other things.

  And since one of those things is me, I’m happy to oblige her.