15. Liam
CHAPTER 15
LIAM
T he next morning, once again, I arrive before Emma in the hotel lobby. It’s not a competition, but I am winning the count of who arrives first to our meetings.
Our meetings. It sounds so clinical when I think of it like that. Meetings. Hangouts? Dates? They’re definitely not that, even if I’m starting to think I might want them to be.
I stand in the corner waiting for her, my arms folded as I watch people drift in and out. All sorts of people go by, sun hats on their heads, men in vacation polos and women in long sundresses looking pretty.
As the minutes tick past, I glance at my watch and start to get concerned. Emma did remember that we’d agreed to meet today, didn’t she? I don’t know why I feel nervous that she might have forgotten. Maybe it’s coming back to that desire I’m trying to pretend I’m not having.
But I suppose she doesn’t owe me anything. After all, we barely know each other. All we are is two strangers, sharing a weird connection in a place we don’t know, surrounded by other strangers. As soon as this is over, we’ll be back to our normal lives, and this will fade into a vague memory of a pleasant week after a sucky course.
Finally, the elevator doors ding and Emma steps out. She’s wearing a different sundress today, white with a faint floral design, spaghetti straps at the shoulders and a skirt that brushes against her knees.
I breathe in a deep breath and try not to look at her, at the way her body curves beneath the fabric, at her ample bosom and wide hips. The dress fits to her body perfectly, and it makes her look more gorgeous than ever.
She looks around the lobby and smiles when she spots me. She walks over, and even though I know I’m not really her doctor, I notice her gait, how her limp looks a lot better today. It’s hard to turn that part of my brain off, no matter how hard I try.
“Hey,” she says, stopping a few paces ahead of me.
“Hey, you’re walking well.”
“Yeah, it feels a lot better today.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“We should do something fun to celebrate.” She grins, and my heart sinks. She clearly hasn’t forgotten her swimming plan, then.
“Celebrate? Are you sure? Maybe we should just take it easy again.”
“I insist,” she says with a pout. “I’m tired of lying around and waiting for it to be better. It is better. Let’s make the most of it.”
“Well, I still don’t think we should do anything too strenuous. After all, if you’re just feeling better, we don’t want you to start feeling worse again.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Yes, doctor,” she says, bowing ever so slightly to make fun of me.
I purse my lips, holding back the snappy comment. I don’t want to start the day sourly. We don’t have much more time together. “So, what did you want to do to celebrate?”
“Snorkeling,” she says without missing a beat. “There’s a rental place on the beach, and the waters at this hotel are supposed to be some of the best on the island. We’ll be sure to see something fun.”
“No sharks, I hope.” I have no idea if sharks even live around here, but I don’t want Emma to be under any illusion as to how enthusiastic I am about this idea. God help me, I’ll do it for her, but I won’t be happy about it.
“No. No sharks. Just lots of fish.”
I don’t complain further, not wanting to ruin her joy at the idea of it. Together, we head out to the beach — not hand in hand but standing closer together than we ever have. Yet again, the sun is bright and warm, and bugs in the trees chirp like a fanfare as we step onto the sand.
There’s a little hut on the beach by the hotel which rents out snorkeling gear. Emma runs ahead of me towards it, her dress flowing out as she goes like she’s in a movie.
I don’t run, but I do speed up so she doesn’t leave me behind.
By the time I catch up, she’s already speaking to the young man working there, asking him for two sets of gear. She’s smiling so widely that she sparkles as she holds out a mask to me.
The man doesn’t smile and clearly isn’t enjoying his day. “Flippers?” he asks us both.
“Not for me, thanks,” says Emma, waving her hand.
“Yes,” I say at the same time. “I want flippers.” Then, as an afterthought, I add, “Please.”
Emma still shoots me a look, and I ignore it. There’s nothing wrong with wanting flippers. It’s part of swimming.
“What size, sir?” the man asks, and I tell him my shoe size. We go back and forth on deciding if I’m a medium or a large, and eventually I decide I’ll try the large if just to make this end sooner. It’s not the best fit I’ve ever had, but fortunately, we’re not doing anything too taxing, so I take them with a grimace.
We head back out to our spot on the beach; somehow the same umbrella is free again today. It’s starting to feel like a sign. We dump our towels and Emma slips the dress off over her head, revealing a different bikini than yesterday.
This one’s a little more modest, covering up more skin, though it still shows off her curves and doesn’t do a whole lot to disguise her plunging cleavage. It’s a deep gradient of blues and brings out her dark eyes beautifully.
I pull my shirt off and fold it neatly on the chair, resisting the urge to cover my body. I feel like a kid who doesn’t want to be here.
Fortunately, Emma doesn’t notice my awkwardness. “Come on then,” she says, pulling the snorkel mask over her face.
Then she runs for the ocean without a second thought and splashes straight in, giggling as the water hits her ankles, her knees. It takes me a second to kit up, and then I follow her a little more hesitantly, reversing into the water until I no longer need to stand.
Walking in flippers is hard.
I’m really only doing this because Emma wanted to go swimming. If it were up to me, we’d have done almost anything else. But we’re here now, so I suck it up and drift to where she’s diving under the waves.
She surfaces to look for me as if wondering why I haven’t caught up to her yet. “Come on,” she calls, waving. “The water’s so warm.”
“I’m coming,” I grumble. It takes me a minute to figure out how to use my arms and legs to go forward. I go swimming maybe once a year at most, and I’m not used to having people waiting on me to go faster.
I thrash my way towards her, willing my limbs to start working properly. If I don’t start acting like I know what I’m doing soon, this is going to get embarrassing.
When I finally catch up, I can just about make out the curious look she’s giving me behind the hazy swim mask. “You good?” she asks.
I nod. “Yeah. Just finding my feet, as it were.”
“Your flippers.” She giggles at her own joke and I grimace in return, not really having a whole lot to say to that. Any other time, I might have found it funny, but I am so out of my depth right now that I can’t find anything funny at all.
“Come on,” she says. “Let’s go find some fish.”
If she’s noticed my discomfort, she doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she swims ahead again, dunking her head under the water. A few moments later, she spits the snorkel out and yells, “Liam, come and look at this!”
She points to herself and to the sea, and as fast as I can, I swim my way over. But by the time I get there, whatever she was looking at is gone.
“Oh, you missed a really big blue fish,” she says with a frown. “If I’d known you were this slow, I would have gotten you some swimming lessons.”
I know that she’s just joking with me like we have been all week, but I don’t laugh or smile. I know I’m not great at swimming, but she doesn’t have to keep rubbing it in like this.
“Maybe you should have,” I say tersely. “I’ve never had any before.”
At once, her face falls and she realizes she’s gone too far. Her face softens into a pitying smile, and I bristle at the idea that she’s about to start giving me sympathy that I don’t want or need.
But she doesn’t. Instead of giving me platitudes, she says, “I’m sorry, Liam. I didn’t realize you weren’t a strong swimmer. You should have said.”
I make a noise in the back of my throat, not willing to commit to any words. I don’t trust that they’ll be kind if they come out.
“We can go a little slower,” she says, surprising me. I was expecting more teasing or some line about feeling sorry for me, not a solution and moving on like it’s nothing.
Slowly, I say, “That would be good. Thank you.” The words are sticky in my mouth, but the smile she gives me once they are said makes it worth it. She’s not doing this because she’s tolerating me. She genuinely cares.
Being cared about is doing something scary to my heart. It feels like it’s opening for the first time in a long time.
As promised, Emma slows down, and when I can keep up, it’s like she’s tricking me into having fun. She doesn’t comment on my swimming again and doesn’t give me the impression that she’s annoyed by having to hang back for me, even if I’m sure she is.
We swim past a shoal of tiny blue fish and the way they dart through the water is utterly mesmerizing. They’re like a cloud but alive, their scales shimmering from the light that manages to get through the waves. Emma dives down to get closer to them, leaving me on the surface to watch.
I should be looking at the fish, but all I can see is the way her legs move, the way she seems so natural in the water. Her hair flows behind her head, and the muscles in her back ripple as she propels herself forward.
I might be in trouble.
To Emma’s delight and my reluctant pleasure, we do see a couple of larger fish glimmering in the water, swimming lazily past us like they don’t care that we’re there at all. The longer we spend in the water, the more comfortable I feel, in no small part due to Emma’s kindness and understanding.
Eventually, though, I start to get tired, and my improving skills begin waning. I don’t want to admit to her that I don’t think I can go on much longer, especially not when she looks like she’s having so much fun, but when she emerges from another dive, she slips her mask onto her head and smiles. “Let’s head back.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m getting kind of hungry, and I’m a little tired. Aren’t you?”
Just like that, she’s given me an easy way out. “Yes,” I agree, “I am.”
“Let’s go eat.” She smiles and, without another word, turns for shore. Gratefully, I follow her, but it doesn’t stop the dizzying feeling in my chest.
The one that’s trying to tell me something I don’t want to hear.