Hauling some of the fins out of the chest, I set them on the deck in front of her, the rubber slapping loudly. “Choose your poison. We’ve got your basic fin here,” I say, picking it up and pointing to the next. “Then this is a sport fin, and we’ve got those performance fins there.”

  Skyler stands with her arms folded and her hip cocked. “What’s a performance fin? More to the point, how does the fin improve your performance?”

  Straight-faced, I tell her, “Fish do appreciate when you make the effort to act your best.”

  “Oh, sure. I want to give the fish a good show.” A sexy, cheeky grin curls her luscious lips. “Except isn’t the idea that the fish are the attraction? I could watch boring fish in my dentist’s office—shouldn’t they be putting on a show for me?”

  “They will if you wear the performance fin.”

  “Then performance fin it is. I’d hate to go through all this trouble for nothing.”

  I put away the others, and when I return, she’s at the rail, looking at the island as we circle it. Normally, I’d leave a passenger to their thoughts, but, as Brady says, newbies need a lot of hand-holding.

  But not that kind of hand-holding.

  That kind gets you scathing reviews online.

  Only, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have her hands on any part of me, full stop.

  I focus on my job, which is to keep her safe and comfortable, as well as to show her and the others a fun time.

  “Why didn’t you want to snorkel?” I ask without teasing, joining her at the railing. “Did you have a bad experience?”

  She gives me a sidelong look as if checking my sincerity, then she sighs. “Don’t laugh.”

  I hold up my hand. “Scout’s honor.”

  Another sigh, even deeper than the first. “I tried it once before. I dated this guy in college, and we went snorkeling in Miami. And . . .”

  She pauses like this is tough for her, and I give her time.

  “He was big into water sports, so he insisted I go. But I had no clue what to do, and when I asked, he told me to just get in the water and I’d figure it out. ‘Nothing can go wrong,’ he said.”

  “Plenty of things can go wrong,” I say calmly, despite my anger on her behalf. “What happened?”

  “I got nervous and put my feet down on some coral.” I hiss in sympathy, and she winces. “Slashed my foot and wound up in the hospital.”

  “Ouch. Coral is vicious. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “I had no idea. Which, I suppose, makes me foolish.”

  “Nah, you’re not foolish.” I lighten my tone. “Coral appears pretty, like a lovely ocean friend, but it can hurt like the dickens.”

  “Right? I had no idea it would sting so badly. And then I suppose you add in my instinctive fear of sharks.”

  I nod solemnly. “Understandable.”

  “And those currents that pull you under or sweep you out to sea.”

  “Not too many of those out here.”

  She scoffs. “I bet you say that to all the nervous tourists. Anyway, that’s how I became an anti-snorkeler.”

  “I accepted your challenge, didn’t I? My job now is to make you love snorkeling as much as you love coffee.”

  “Good luck with that,” she says dryly. “Because I really love my coffee.”

  “Have a little faith. I know what I’m doing. And snorkeling is awesome. It’s peaceful and beautiful and eye-opening. And I understand the ocean can be terrifying if you don’t spend a lot of time around it. So how about I just stick by you when you go underwater?”

  She glances at me in surprise, as if sticking by her would be a hardship. “You’d do that?”

  “Of course.”

  “What about the others?” She glances toward the bow where a majority of the guests are gathered around Jimmy, who’s pointing out various sights on the horizon.

  “I’ve got assistants here. I’ll keep an eye on you. I want you to have fun, Skyler, and to enjoy the ocean in a whole new way. And I’m not going to let you go into the water without any instructions.”

  Her shoulders drop from where they were hunched around her ears. “Thanks. I mean, I didn’t think you would, but . . .”

  “Hey, you’re in the hands of a professional snorkel-lover now.” I flash a grin, which she returns. “Let’s start with some general tips.”

  I give her the dos and don’ts of snorkeling, and she’s focused in like I’m giving her the answers to Final Jeopardy.

  She’s a quick study, though, and by the time we’re anchored and ready to go in the water, and she strips down to her swimsuit—holy shit, that bikini—her nerves seem as much from excitement as fear.

  Obviously, I need to give myself some tips of my own.

  Do focus on the job.

  Don’t stare at your guest, no matter how good she looks in that bikini.

  Trouble is, rules only keep you on course if you follow them.

  5

  Skyler

  A fish as shimmery as a sapphire wiggles past me. It’s so gorgeous I want to gasp here in the serene cool waters. Instead, I manage a snorkel smile, flashing it at my hunky tour guide, but I don’t linger on him for long, because a school of butterfly fish zips past us at Mach Speed.

  A few feet away, a quartet of bright yellow tangs swims in and out of the rocks.

  It’s official. I’m converted. Sebastian the crab was right—it’s better under the sea.

  Serene and beautiful, and so out of my comfort zone, but Caleb sticks near me the whole time, and that’s all I need to feel safe.

  We surface with a splash. I want to crow with excitement, but I still have the snorkel in my mouth. I might cry with relief too—not so much that I survived but that I loved it. I feel bigger somehow with this new experience.

  I remove the mouthpiece and slick my hair back from my face as I grin at Caleb bobbing beside me. “That was incredible.”

  His smile is dazzling, even after the spectacle of the reef. “Amazing, right? Easily a few thousand white-spotted damsels.”

  “That’s what they’re called?” I ask. It’s charming. “That’s a great name for a fish.”

  “And we just swam right through them.”

  “It was just like you said—beautiful and somehow both peaceful and exciting at the same time.”

  He beams like I’ve made his day. Maybe his week. “I’m glad you liked it. I’m glad you tried it.”

  “You know what?” I confess. “I am too.”

  “So . . .” He tilts his head, exaggerating the delay. “That’s score one for the snorkel lover?”

  “I thought it was just”—I wiggle my eyebrows—“the lover?”

  I mean for it to be teasing, and it is.

  But it’s flirty too.

  He meets my gaze, still grinning, all confidence, all in with the flirt. “That works too.”

  I pile into the tour’s shuttle bus with the rest of the group and flop onto a seat near the front. We are a tired, happy gang. People compare notes on the fish they spotted, chattering until Caleb picks up the microphone.

  His grin is contagious as he meets the eye of each guest. “Hope you all enjoyed the snorkeling. I know it was new to some of you, so thank you for being . . . ocean-minded.”

  Lots of groans at that, as there should be. Then a man from the back pipes up, “Well, they do say happiness comes in . . . waves.”

  More groans, and then I top it off with “All you need is vitamin . . . sea.”

  I get boos and hisses too, so I count that as a win. Especially when Caleb looks at me and smiles warmly before he gazes out at the group again. “And that concludes our afternoon trio of ocean-centric puns. Thank you very much. We’ll be here all week.”

  We will. And as Caleb shoots me one last smile before he turns his focus to the road, I couldn’t be happier about that.

  6

  Caleb

  I park in front of the Marriott, the first drop-off, hopping out to stand at the bottom of the steps as most of the guests shuffle off. “See you all tomorrow. I’m expecting you all to be prepared for zip-lining.”

  A man on his way out says, “I’ve done a lot of zip-lining, but I’ve never had to prepare for it. How should we do that? Practice hanging in trees on the beach?”

  “Absolutely,” I tell him. “That’s one of my top three tips for zip-lining.”

  The man laughs and says, “See you tomorrow.”

  I jump back on, close the door and slide behind the wheel. There’s still one guest left—Skyler’s hotel is the farthest out, so she’s the last stop.

  She moves up to the first seat as I put the bus in gear, and we drive in comfortable silence as if we’re both enjoying the quiet after all the excitement of the day. After a few minutes, she says, “Seems like everyone had a good time.”

  I glance at her from the corner of my eye. “And did you have a good time?”

  “Absolutely,” she says, heartfelt. “Except that now I want to know—what are your top three tips for zip-lining, Mr. Tour Guide?”

  “Easy.” I count them off by lifting my fingers from the wheel. “Know how to use the brake, don’t put anything in your pockets you wouldn’t want to lose, and ask yourself if you truly want to livestream your ride . . . or if you’d rather, I dunno, enjoy it in real time.”

  “So much to contemplate on the ride to my hotel.”

  “Don’t get too deep. I’ll have you back in ten minutes.”

  “Super.” There’s a private-joke spark in her mood. “If I return before six, I can order the DoorDash special.”

  “Oh no. Let me guess—you met the cabbie who moonlights as a delivery driver?” I ask, cringing.

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “He’s infamous around here. He’s pretty harmless, but he does like to put himself out there.” I shake my head. “What’d he offer you? The island special? An eggplant with a serving of sausage?”

  Her laugh lights me up. “He apparently can get me the most amazing fish and”—she lowers her voice, all faux sexy—“a little something on the side.”

  This time, I laugh. “I am not allowing you to risk a rendezvous with the infamous DoorDash cabbie. We’re taking the scenic route.” I pretend to slow for a turn. “Ah, look at the side road. Time for a detour up the hill. The views are great.”

  Skyler laughs. “Stay on course, Mr. Tour Guide. You don’t have to worry about that. I’m actually on a man-batical.”

  This woman just keeps getting more intriguing. “I presume a man-batical is exactly what it sounds like?”

  “You got it. It’s like fasting, but with dates.”

  That sounds terrible, but then I remember Mia. “Huh. That doesn’t sound like a bad idea, actually.”

  “Oh? You could benefit from getting off the wagon, romantically-speaking?”

  “I think I defaulted into a dating detox.”

  “How come?” she asks, and it’s all too easy to answer her—all too easy to tell her things about myself.

  “My last girlfriend wanted too much, too soon. See, I have this theory that a relationship should follow a certain pattern. You should date. You should take your time. You should see how things develop.” I catch Skyler smirking at me like I’ve said something funny. “What?”

  “You’re a rules guy,” she says, definitely amused.

  “What? Me?” It’s only been one day. How does she know this?

  She sits back, folding her arms, all smug and adorable. “I’m calling it. You’re totally a rules guy. Reading people is part of my job.”

  “And what job is that?” I ask, curious. “Are you a matchmaker? A librarian?”

  “No, although I do like the idea of combining the two and setting people up on blind book dates,” she says. “I’m a personal stylist. I read people, size them up, and figure out what’ll look good on them.”

  “Intriguing. What’ll look good on me?”

  She studies me, tapping her chin, then says, “Ask me after a drink and I’ll have a better answer.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” I reply, but I’m not interested in clothes. I am interested in that drink, however. “By the way, I’m not really a rules guy. I just like strategy and preparation.”

  “Exactly. And you have rules you go by for those things, right?” she teases.

  “I’d call them more like procedures . . .”

  She laughs.

  “Protocols, maybe?” I ask, trying it on for size.

  “Okay, Mr. Thesaurus,” she says.

  “Fine. If I am a rules guy—is that a bad thing?”

  She shrugs. “No, but I think you like to do things by the book. I bet you always follow a recipe. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “Well, obviously. Because that’s what a recipe is for—steps to make the food turn out and the cake rise.” I glance her way. “You don’t follow recipes?”

  “I do not.”

  “How do you cook?”

  “I don’t.”

  I wrap my head around that, then point out, “Then, you’re not not following a recipe.”

  “Oooooh,” she says, like I did something naughty. “You just broke the double negative grammar rule. Maybe you’re not such a rules guy after all.”

  We’ve reached her hotel. The drive went by too fast.

  I stop the shuttle to drop her off, set the brake, and turn in my seat to face the intriguing former snorkel hater. “On that note, I will see you at eight a.m. sharp.”

  She does another of those sassy salutes. “Aye, aye, skipper. O-eight-hundred hours. On the dot.”

  But she doesn’t move.

  Neither do I.

  I want to linger in this moment where it’s just her and me and all this potential stretching out between us.

  “Well, thanks for the ride,” she says at last. “I mean, I know you had to give me a ride. It’s sort of part of the package. But thank you. I appreciate it.”

  “It is part of the package, but you’re welcome. I also enjoyed it.” I’m damn glad she isn’t staying at the same hotel as the others. “It’s fun talking to you, even if you like to give me a hard time.”

  “But you can take it.”

  “I can indeed.” Another pause, and then I make myself say, “Good night.”

  “Good night, Caleb.” She slips out of the bus, and I watch until she’s through the doors into the hotel.

  Then I drop my forehead to the steering wheel with a thunk.

  Why? Why, oh why, does she have to be pretty, witty, and totally endearing?

  I thunk my head again, hoping to knock some sense into myself.

  I know better than to enjoy her company this much—in this way.

  It’s one simple rule, man. Just follow it.

  7

  Skyler

  Thanks, universe.

  For testing me like this.

  For dropping a hottie tour guide IN MY PATH.

  I flop down on my bed, groaning in . . . frustration.

  But is it true annoyance? It’s more like frustration meets lust. What’s that called?

  I grab my phone, click on my texts with Katie, tap out a note.

  Skyler: Is frust a thing? Lustation?

  * * *

  Katie: Ah, so you are hot for the tour guide and it’s driving you crazy!

  * * *

  Skyler: It’s like you speak my language.

  * * *

  Katie: Yes, language of the weird and wonderful. Also, since you’re texting me, you’ve clearly not been eaten by sharks or fish. Yay!

  * * *

  Skyler: It’s a vacation miracle.

  * * *

  Katie: And how did it go? You’re not dead, but were you hooking up with your movie star tour guide? If so, I expect a FULL report.

  * * *

  Skyler: I won’t be hooking up with anything but a zip line. But I had so much fun today. Everything was amazing. The snorkeling, the reef, the fish . . .

  * * *

  Katie: And the sexy skipper? Sidenote: Skipper sounds silly.

  I laugh, then read her question again. Yes, Caleb is easy on the eyes, but he’s also easy to talk to. And that counts for something.

  Skyler: Yes, it does. Actually, I really enjoyed his company. Maybe my vow of singlebacy takes the pressure off so I can just enjoy talking to him. He’s interesting and fun.

  * * *

  Katie: Or, crazy idea, maybe you like the guy.

  She’s not wrong. I kinda do . . .

  Skyler: There’s a lot to like. But I’m also exhausted, and Caleb is picking me up at eight sharp. Tomorrow is zip-line day. I’m excited and terrified.

  * * *

  Katie: You’re going to have fun. And I’m really proud of you for doing something that scares you, sweetie.

  * * *

  Skyler: Thank you. I’m proud of me too.

  * * *

  Katie: And have fun when Caleb picks you up

  * * *

  Skyler: The SHUTTLE BUS is picking me up.

  * * *

  Katie: Whatever you say, sweetie.

  * * *

  Skyler: I say GOOD NIGHT, Katie.

  I wait for the shuttle bus under the portico in front of the Hilton. The butterflies in my stomach are for the zip line, not Caleb. I am not dating, this is not a date, and so these can’t be date butterflies.

  So why am I disappointed that the guests from the other hotel are already aboard the bus when it pulls up?