6. Ellie
Six
Ellie
Kissing a mysterious woman on a questionable pier was not technically against company policy.
I checked.
Not because Reef Rascal had an employee handbook. Hank considered written procedures evidence that civilization had become too comfortable.
But I had looked through the binder beneath the register while he was outside loading tanks, and nowhere between BOAT FUEL RECEIPTS and THINGS TODD HAS ASKED ABOUT SHARKS did it say anything about kissing customers.
Which meant I was probably safe.
Professionally.
Personally, the situation was less clear.
I had slept badly.
Not because I regretted kissing Annie.
That would have been sensible.
Instead, I had spent most of the night remembering the exact expression on her face when I asked permission, the way her hand had settled against my jaw, and the small, surprised sound she had made when I kissed her again.
At two in the morning, I decided that sound was none of my business.
At two-oh-five, I replayed it anyway.
By seven, I was at Reef Rascal filling out boat logs while Captain Pancake lay across my feet, preventing circulation below both ankles.
Hank walked in carrying a bag of ice.
He stopped when he saw me.
“You’re early.”
“I work here.”
“You’re never early.”
“I’m frequently early.”
“You’re frequently present.”
“That’s similar.”
He dropped the ice into the cooler.
Hank had known me long enough to understand that direct questions made me slippery. Usually, he waited until I talked myself into a corner.
This morning, he lasted eleven seconds.
“You kissed the tourist.”
My pen slipped across the page.
Captain Pancake opened one eye.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Rosa told me.”
“Rosa wasn’t there.”
“Rosa doesn’t require proximity.”
That was unfortunately true.
“She said the dress was nice,” Hank added.
I looked up.
“She mentioned the dress?”
“She mentioned you stared at it like you’d never seen knees before.”
“I’ve seen knees.”
“Good.”
“I teach scuba. Knees are involved.”
Hank nodded as though that had settled the matter.
Then he reached for the coffee pot.
“Tourists leave.”
The comment was quiet and annoyingly well aimed.
I looked back at the boat log.
“People leave.”
“Tourists have plane tickets.”
“Annie has options.”
“You know that?”
“No.”
“Then she probably has a plane ticket.”
“Hank.”
He poured coffee into a chipped mug that said WORLD’S OKAYEST CAPTAIN.
“I like her.”
“You spoke seven words to her.”
“Enough.”
Captain Pancake shifted his weight and crushed my left foot completely.
I nudged him.
He sighed as if I had interrupted an important meeting.
Hank leaned against the counter.
“You going to see her today?”
“She booked another lesson.”
“Convenient.”
“It was booked before the kiss.”
“More convenient.”
I looked at him.
He looked at his coffee.
Nobody in the room respected me.
The bell above the front door rang at exactly eight.
My entire body reacted before I could tell it to behave normally.
Annie stepped inside wearing denim shorts, a loose white shirt tied at the waist, and sunglasses slightly less aggressive than the ones she had worn at the café. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she carried two coffees.
She saw me and smiled.
Not the cautious smile she offered strangers.
The other one.
The one from the pier.
“Morning,” she said.
Hank glanced at me.
I ignored him.
“Morning.”
Annie held up the cups.
“I come bearing a peace offering.”
“For what?”
“I’m preparing in advance.”
“That’s concerning.”
“One is black. One has enough milk and sugar to legally qualify as dessert.”
“You remembered.”
“You gave a twelve-minute speech yesterday about coffee not feeling like punishment.”
“It’s one of my core beliefs.”
I took the sweeter cup.
Our fingers touched.
A tiny, ridiculous spark moved through my hand.
Hank watched the exchange.
“This is Hank,” I said, because apparently I had panicked so thoroughly that I was introducing them after they had already met.
“We met,” Annie said.
“Seven words,” Hank added.
Annie looked between us.
“Was I being audited?”
“Always,” Hank said.
Captain Pancake emerged from beneath the counter and walked directly to Annie.
He sat on her foot.
She looked down.
“Is this a greeting?”
“He’s checking for contraband.”
“Food,” Hank clarified.
“I don’t have any.”
Captain Pancake stared up at her.
Annie shifted.
“I suddenly feel like I’m lying.”
“He has that effect.”
She crouched and scratched behind his ears.
Captain Pancake leaned into her hand with the full weight of a dog who had spent years perfecting emotional manipulation.
“Traitor,” I told him.
He ignored me.
Annie looked up.
“So. What terrifying aquatic challenge have you planned?”
“Boat dive.”
Her smile flickered.
“Boat?”
“Small one.”
“How small?”
“Bigger than a bathtub.”
“That wasn’t the reassurance you thought it was.”
“You did well yesterday. We’ll stay shallow, but I want to show you a better reef.”
“I thought yesterday was a reef.”
“It was a gateway reef.”
“That sounds like something a cult would say.”
Hank carried two tanks toward the back door.
“Boat leaves in fifteen.”
Annie watched him disappear.
“Does he always sound like the trailer for a disaster movie?”
“Only before breakfast.”
“Has he had breakfast?”
“No.”
“That feels unsafe.”
The boat was called the Reef Rascal II, though no Reef Rascal I had existed within living memory.
Hank claimed the number made customers trust it more.
It did not.
The boat had benches along both sides, a canvas shade, racks for tanks, and an engine Hank maintained with the tenderness most people reserved for pets or grandchildren.
Captain Pancake stayed behind because he disliked boats, water, wind, engines, and any activity that interfered with lying down.
Annie sat near the stern while I checked the equipment.
She looked calmer than she had the previous morning.
Still watchful.
Still noticing every person on the dock and every phone held too high.
But the tightness in her shoulders had eased.
There were no other students. Just Annie, Hank, and me.
Hank started the engine.
The boat pulled away from Pelican Key, cutting through water bright enough to look digitally enhanced.
Annie held the side of the bench when we hit the first small wave.
“You okay?” I asked.
“I’m deciding whether I trust this boat.”
“It’s reliable.”
“What happened to Reef Rascal One?”
“It knew too much.”
She looked toward Hank.
He gave no indication that he had heard.
“That answer made things worse.”
“It usually does.”
I sat beside her.
For several minutes, we watched the shoreline shrink behind us.
Pastel cottages.
Palm trees.
The café.
The old pier where I had kissed her while a gull supplied unsolicited commentary.
The memory returned with inconvenient clarity.
Annie turned her face toward the sun.
Her sunglasses hid her eyes, but the corner of her mouth lifted.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“That looked specific.”
“I was thinking about last night.”
My stomach performed a small, unnecessary flip.
“Which part?”
“The music.”
I stared at her.
She kept a straight face for two seconds before laughing.
“That was cruel.”
“I’m learning from you.”
“You’re progressing quickly.”
“The instructor is excellent.”
I took a sip of coffee to give my mouth something responsible to do.
“Any regrets?”
Her smile softened.
“About the music?”
“Annie.”
“No.”
The answer came without hesitation.
“No regrets.”
I looked toward the horizon before my face could become too informative.
“Good.”
“What about you?”
“I regret the second sauce.”
“That was your choice.”
“You distracted me.”
“With what?”
“The dress was alarming.”
Her laugh blew away in the wind.
Hank increased the speed, and Annie’s shoulder bumped mine.
Neither of us moved.
The reef sat twenty minutes offshore, marked by a white buoy and a patch of water that shifted from deep blue to clear turquoise.
I gave Annie the abbreviated safety briefing. She remembered the signals, the descent procedure, and the importance of breathing without needing the full beginner lecture again.
She was nervous.
She admitted it this time.
“You don’t have to prove anything,” I told her as I adjusted the strap at her shoulder.
Her expression changed for half a second.
“I know.”
There was enough history inside those two words to make me curious.
I left it alone.
We entered the water.
Annie was better immediately.
Still cautious. Still a little too stiff. But she trusted the equipment now, and maybe me too.
The reef opened beneath us.
Coral fans moved in the current. Silver fish flashed through the light. A spotted ray rested in the sand as though waiting for someone to bring it a drink.
Annie stared at everything.
That was always my favorite part of teaching: the exact moment fear gave way to wonder.
Her whole body changed.
The tension left her shoulders.
She stopped checking every few seconds and started looking around.
When a large turtle glided over the coral, Annie pressed one hand to her chest.
I pulled out the small slate attached to my vest and wrote:
MAYOR IN SESSION.
She took it from me.
Her underwater handwriting was almost impossible to read, but after several seconds I made out:
STRONG LEADERSHIP. QUESTIONABLE TRANSPARENCY.
I laughed hard enough to release a storm of bubbles.
She added:
WOULD VOTE AGAIN.
I shook my head.
Democracy was doomed.
When we surfaced, Annie pushed her mask onto her forehead.
“Oh my God.”
“Good?”
“There was a turtle.”
“I noticed.”
“She was huge.”
“Never comment on a public official’s body.”
“I think she liked me.”
“She tolerates tourists.”
“That felt personal.”
Hank helped her onto the boat.
She sat on the bench, dripping and smiling, and looked lighter than she had that morning.
Not younger.
Just less burdened.
I climbed aboard and sat beside her.
She handed me a towel.
“I understand it now.”
“What?”
“Why you do this.”
The words landed somewhere unexpectedly tender.
“You saw one turtle.”
“I also saw a ray.”
“Very persuasive ray.”
“And I didn’t think about anything else.”
I knew exactly what she meant.
Underwater, the brain could only hold so much.
Breathe.
Watch.
Move.
Stay here.