Chapter 10 #2
He helps lower me toward the water, his grip steady and sure, and I realize that drowning in four feet of water while being held by the hottest man in the Pacific is probably not the worst way to go, though it would make for a very embarrassing obituary.
Against all survival instincts, I lower my face into the ocean and immediately see a world that makes every nature documentary look understated.
Coral formations in impossible colors, fish that look like they were painted by someone with a serious addiction to neon, and water so clear it doesn’t seem real.
I hit the surface with a triumphant gasp. “I did it! I survived! I’m practically Jacques Cousteau!”
He tips his head. “You held your breath the entire time.”
“Of course, I held my breath! I’m not insane!”
“The point is to breathe through the snorkel.”
“The point is not to die while looking at pretty fish!”
A green sea turtle, the size of a microwave, chooses this moment to glide past us with a casual grace as if showing off the fact he’s mastered this whole underwater breathing thing. It pauses to look at me with ancient, patient eyes that clearly suggest I’m overthinking the entire process.
“Even the turtle thinks you should try breathing through the snorkel,” Koa says.
“The turtle doesn’t have to worry about drowning in paradise because it trusted a plastic tube and the power of denial.”
Eventually, through a combination of patience, gentle encouragement, and the type of physical support that makes me forget why I was scared in the first place, I manage a few successful attempts at actual snorkel breathing.
The underwater world that opens up is like stepping into an aquarium designed with unlimited imagination and a serious addiction to tropical colors.
“Come on,” Koa says, taking my hand with a casual intimacy as he tries to guide me through this watery version of paradise. “I want to show you something.”
His fingers intertwine with mine as he floats me through the shallow water, pointing out treasures I never would have noticed on my own.
A school of bright yellow fish that move like liquid sunshine.
Purple sea urchins tucked into coral crevices.
A moray eel that looks significantly less terrifying when viewed from a safe distance through crystal-clear water.
“Look,” he mumbles from his snorkel, stopping and pointing to a coral formation that looks like an underwater castle. Tiny fish dart in and out of the coral towers—electric blue ones, striped ones that look like underwater zebras, and something that resembles a living jewel with fins.
For the first time since arriving in Hawaii, there’s not a rooster or cat in sight. Just endless fish, warm water, and one heck of a catch swimming beside me, who happens to know exactly where to find the best underwater real estate on the island.
“This is incredible,” I say, surfacing for a moment and treading water next to him once I realize I can no longer touch the bottom. “I had no idea this was all here.” I pant as the sun kisses my face, and the balmy breeze warms my skin.
“Most people don’t take the time to really look,” he says, pulling off his mask as the water dripping from his hair catches the late afternoon sun. “They’re too busy getting to the next thing on their itinerary.”
Like a murder investigation, I think, but don’t dare say out loud. Something tells me we’ll get to that part soon enough.
His hand finds mine again under the water, and, suddenly snorkeling lessons have become something entirely different—something that feels suspiciously like the sort of perfect first date I thought only existed in romance novels.
Okay, so it’s technically not a date, and if it was, it may not even be our first, but it’s something.
Learning to breathe underwater was harder than solving murders, but floating in paradise while holding hands with the hottest detective in the Pacific made every moment of panic worth it.
The drive back to the resort passes too quickly, filled with comfortable conversation about island life and an easy silence that suggests this afternoon was more than just snorkeling lessons. As we pull into the parking lot, Koa’s expression shifts back to work mode.
“I need to speak with Giselle Fontaine,” he says, scanning the resort grounds. “Have you seen her around?”
As if summoned by the mention of her name, Giselle appears from the direction of the lobby, wearing a flowing cover-up and carrying what appears to be a very expensive beach bag, brown leather with lots of Ls and Vs stamped all over it.
“Ms. Fontaine,” Koa calls out, stepping from the truck. “Could I ask you a few questions?”
Giselle tosses up her hands with exasperation.
“Mon Dieu! I already spoke to your partner,” she says, nodding toward me with a look of frustration.
“She will tell you whatever you need to know—I told her everything. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am late for a hot stone massage at the resort next door, where I probably should have stayed to begin with. ”
I gasp, partly because I’ve just been outed as conducting unauthorized interrogations, but mostly because my entrepreneurial brain just latched onto something brilliant.
Hot stone massages!
Why don’t we offer spa services?
We could build an entire wellness center! The revenue possibilities are endless!
Koa’s eyes narrow on me with laser focus. “What are you smiling about?”
I try to arrange my features into something resembling innocence. “Thinking happy thoughts?”
“Stay out of my case,” he growls, his voice carrying an authority that doesn’t invite discussion.
“Or else what?” I ask, unable to resist pushing the boundary. “You’ll punish me by way of your lips?”
Okay, fine, it was more of a suggestion than a question.
His frown deepens into something that could carve granite. “Or else you might be next to face the working end of a knife. Jinx, this isn’t a game.”
The way he says my name—with genuine concern wrapped in professional frustration—makes me realize that flirting with a murder investigation might not be my smartest move, even if the detective conducting it makes me forget basic survival instincts every time he takes his shirt off.