My Single-versary (Happy Endings 0.50)

“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.

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 . . .”