Chapter 25 Iris #2
“I’m ready!” he announces, wearing his hockey jersey over thermal underwear and holding his winter coat.
“Can we go now? Please?” I catch Collin’s eye, and he gives me a look that’s equal parts amused and frustrated.
I bite back a laugh and give him a lopsided grin as I move toward Jamie.
Timing, kid. Your timing is absolutely something else.
“Let me just get dressed,” I tell Jamie. “And then we can go see some fish.” As I walk past Collin toward the hallway, I feel his eyes on me, and I can’t help the small, satisfied smile that tugs at my lips.
Collin had slipped away after breakfast to shower and change, promising to meet us at the aquarium in an hour.
Now, standing in the Ocean Pavilion’s central atrium, I’m grateful for the distraction of this underwater world because every time I catch his eye, my mind drifts back to tangled sheets.
The space around us pulses with life. Massive video screens stretch from floor to ceiling, transforming the walls into living ocean currents where schools of tuna spiral in endless loops.
The floor beneath our feet becomes a coral reef, virtual fish darting between our steps as we move.
Jamie bounces beside me in his Ice Hawks jersey, the one I’d bought him at that first game months ago, his winter coat unzipped and hanging loose, forgotten in his excitement.
“Look, Mama! The fish are swimming under my feet!” He stomps deliberately, watching digital creatures scatter and regroup around his snow boots.
We drift toward the Life on the Edge habitat, where Jamie immediately gravitates toward the tide pools like a magnet.
I push up the sleeves of my cable-knit sweater and lean over the edge beside him, the rich scent of seawater filling my lungs.
“Can I touch them?” Jamie asks, eyes wide.
“Gently,” I tell him, dipping my finger in the cool water before guiding his hand toward a sea cucumber.
“Like this.” Jamie squeals when the creature responds to his touch, recoiling slightly before settling back into place.
Collin moves to the other side of the tank, rolling up his sleeves to join us.
“Your turn,” he says to me, nodding toward a cluster of sea urchins. “I dare you.”
“A dare?” I raise an eyebrow. “What are we, twelve?”
“Sometimes.” he shrugs, and that smile—the one that’s been undoing me for months—spreads across his face. I reach into the water, letting a sea urchin’s spines brush against my palm. The sensation is bizarre, and I make a face, giggling despite myself. Collin’s laughter is immediate and warm.
“What’s it feel like?”
“Put your hand in and find out,” I say, grinning at him.
“Absolutely not,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “I’ll stick to watching, thanks.”
“Collin King.” I raise my brows at him. “Are you telling me you’re afraid of a little sea urchin?”
“I’m not afraid,” he says, but there’s something almost defensive in his tone that makes my grin widen. “I’m just... cautious. There’s a difference.”
“Uh-huh.” I let the skepticism drip from my voice, enjoying the way his jaw tightens slightly.
“Very cautious. So let me get this straight—you’re six foot four with all those muscles, and you’re intimidated by something the size of a tennis ball?
” His eyes narrow playfully, and I catch the exact moment he decides to turn the tables.
“Oh, so you’ve been checking out my muscles?” The corner of his mouth quirks up, the dimple on the left side peeking through. The flush that spreads across my cheeks is immediate and mortifying.
“That’s not—I wasn’t—” I stammer.
“Because if you want a closer look again,” he continues, clearly enjoying my flustered state, “all you have to do is ask.”
“Oh my god,” I mutter, covering my face with my hands as Jamie’s delighted giggle echoes around us. “You’re terrible.”
“But you like my muscles,” he says with smug satisfaction, and I peek through my fingers to find him grinning at me.
Jamie tugs on Collin’s sleeve then, effectively ending my mortification by demanding his attention for some urgent crab-related discovery.
I take the opportunity to breathe, to let the heat in my cheeks fade as I watch Collin crouch down beside Jamie, pointing out the hermit crabs shuffling across the sandy bottom of their habitat.
He’s been so sure. So certain he wants this from that very first day.
The memory surfaces unbidden—his persistence and determination to break through every wall I’d built.
Part of me had found it overwhelming then, that single-minded focus.
Part of me still does. But what happens now?
The question curls in my chest like smoke.
Now that he has me, will the chase lose its appeal?
Jamie’s laughter pulls me back to the present.
“Look!” Jamie points to a corner where several hermit crabs are clustered together. “They’re having a meeting.”
“Probably discussing very important crab business,” Collin says solemnly. “Shell real estate prices. The best spots for algae.” I snort at his deadpan delivery, but Jamie just looks confused for a moment before his attention shifts entirely.
“Can we see the sharks now? Please?”
“Lead the way, captain,” Collin tells him, and Jamie bounces on his toes with excitement, tugging on my hand.
“This way, Mama! This way!” He pulls me toward the exit, his small fingers wrapped around mine with the kind of determined grip that suggests he’s not letting go until we reach our destination.
We follow his eager pace, weaving through clusters of families.
The aquarium is busier now, the post-lunch crowd settling in for the afternoon.
As we navigate around a group of teenagers taking selfies, Collin’s hand finds the small of my back, guiding me gently to the left.
The touch is brief and sends warmth spiraling through me.
“You know,” he says, “I’m glad we came here.” I glance up at him, a smile already pulling at my lips.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His fingers brush against mine as we walk. “Good call on my part.” I laugh softly.
“Modest, as always.”
“One of my many virtues.” He winks.
“Right up there with your humility, I’m sure.”
“Exactly. Also my incredible good looks and sparkling personality.”
“Don’t forget your shocking lack of ego.” I smirk, dodging a toddler who’s escaped his parents and is now running full speed toward the jellyfish exhibit.
“That too. Really, I’m a catch. You should feel lucky.” The words hang between us for a beat, and I catch something shift across his face, like he’s suddenly aware of what he just said, how it might sound.
“I do,” I say quietly, and watch surprise flicker across his face.
“Mama! Collin! Hurry up!” Jamie’s voice echoes from somewhere ahead, impatient and excited.
We hurry along, following Jamie through the maze of exhibits.
Hours melt away in shades of blue and green, surrounded by the soft glow of tank lights that transform ordinary moments into something luminous.
Jamie presses his face to glass after glass, leaving behind a constellation of fingerprints and breath marks that speak to wonder in its purest form.
Collin crouches beside him at every stop, never rushing, never showing anything but genuine interest in whatever creature has captured my son’s imagination.
After we’ve wandered through the tropical exhibits—Jamie pressing his face against every conceivable surface while Collin and I trail behind, he suddenly stops in front of a sign that makes his eyes light up.
“Look!” he shouts, bouncing on his toes.
I follow him down the curved staircase to the underwater dome, Collin right behind me.
The stairs are wider than I expected, and there are a few other people making the same trek.
A family with toddlers moves slowly ahead of us, the parents pointing out details to their kids.
When we reach the bottom, I have to admit it’s pretty impressive.
The space opens up into a circular room with big windows all around, and you can see into this massive tank from underneath.
The concrete overhead is arranged in these radiating beams that frame the windows, showing a 360-view of water on all sides, housing the marine life of the Puget Sound.
“Whoa,” Jamie whispers, wide eyed and awe struck.
He heads straight for the closest window where there’s a decent view of some fish swimming around.
It’s busier down here than I expected. There are probably fifteen or twenty other people scattered around the circular space, families mostly, and a few couples.
The lighting is dimmer than upstairs, washing everything in a muted blue tint.
I position myself at the railing beside Collin, the cool metal pressing against my forearms as we watch Jamie dart between windows like a pinball.
The blue light filtering through the water casts shifting patterns across his face, and I can’t help but smile.
“He’s having the time of his life,” I murmur, my voice barely audible over the ambient sounds of the aquarium—the hum of filtration systems, the soft chatter of other visitors, the occasional excited squeal from a child.
“Can’t blame him,” Collin says, his own voice pitched low.
“This place is pretty amazing.” He shifts slightly, moving closer under the pretense of getting a better view of Jamie, who’s now crouched at the base of a window, trying to get eye-level with a lingcod that’s gliding past. I’m hyperaware of Collin’s proximity, the way his shoulder almost brushes mine, the warmth radiating from his body.
After this morning—and last night—everything’s shifted between us.
“Thank you,” I say quietly, not looking at him. “For today. For breakfast. For...” I trail off, not quite sure how to articulate what I’m grateful for without sounding ridiculous.
“For what?” His voice is soft, genuinely curious. I turn to meet his eyes, finding them already focused on me with that intensity that makes my breath catch.
“For making it easy,” I say. “This.” I motion between us. “I thought it would be more complicated.” Something flickers across his expression. Surprise, maybe, or relief.
“It doesn’t have to be complicated.” But it is, I think, even as I nod. Everything about this is complicated. I’m carrying around enough baggage to fill a cargo ship. But watching him with Jamie today makes me want to believe that maybe complicated doesn’t always mean impossible.
“I know you think I’m overthinking it,” I say, turning back to watch Jamie.
“I don’t.” He shakes his head. “Are you?” I feel his pinky finger brush against mine on the railing, my pulse immediately kicks up a notch.
“Maybe,” I admit. His finger slides closer. “It’s just... this is new for me. The what-comes-next part.”
“What do you want to come next?” His pinky curls over mine now, such a small gesture that anyone watching would probably miss it entirely.
But it makes my heart do cartwheels in my chest. I’m quiet for a long moment, watching Jamie press his palms against the glass as a harbor seal glides past, its whiskers twitching.
I look up at him again, those warm brown eyes scanning my face with an expression I can’t quite read.
“I don’t know, I—”
“MAMA! COLLIN!” Jamie’s voice explodes across the dome, bright with excitement and completely obliterating whatever I was about to say.
“COME SEE!” I jerk slightly at the sudden volume, the moment between us fracturing like glass as we both turn toward Jamie, who’s practically vibrating with excitement on the far side of the dome.
He’s hopping from one foot to the other pointing at the seal who keeps doing flips beyond the glass.
“Rain check?” I ask, already knowing I’m going to spend the rest of the day wondering what I would have said. What I wanted to say.
“Always,” he says, releasing my hand as we push off from the railing.
“Come on. Can’t keep little man waiting.
” As we make our way back through the aquarium toward the exit, I notice something shift in Collin’s demeanor.
The easy confidence he’d worn all morning, the same relaxed presence he had in Mackinac, the comfortable way he’d moved through my kitchen earlier, seems to tighten around the edges.
His gaze sweeps the space more carefully now, taking in the scattered families and couples around us.
Then his hand finds mine, warm fingers interlacing with mine in one fluid motion, and the simple contact dissolves my worry like sugar in water.
His thumb brushes across my knuckles, and suddenly all I can focus on is the way my pulse jumps at his touch, the way everything else fades to background noise.
The tension in his shoulders eases the moment our hands connect.
“Hey!” Jamie’s voice cuts through the moment, indignant and loud enough to make a nearby family glance our way.
“That’s not fair! I want to hold Collin’s hand too!
” I bite back a laugh at the outrage in my son’s voice, the way he’s looking between our joined hands like we’ve committed some grave injustice.
Collin’s grin is immediate. Whatever had been weighing on him moments before completely forgotten.
“You heard the man,” Collin says, releasing my hand without hesitation and extending it toward Jamie who pushes between us, holding both our hands.
The air hits me like a slap, sharp and cold after the warm humidity of the aquarium.
Jamie doesn’t seem to care, too busy recounting every detail of our underwater adventure to Collin, as if he hadn’t experienced the same exact thing.
It dawns on me then how you could spend a whole day with someone, and have them just be happy to be around you.
No criticism about how I’d hesitated at the railing earlier, unable to give him the answer I knew he wanted.
No complaints about Jamie’s boundless energy or the way he’d dragged us from exhibit to exhibit.
No subtle suggestions about how things could be better, different, more convenient for him.
I’m happy. Content. When was the last time I felt this way?
When was the last time I walked through an ordinary afternoon feeling like everything was exactly as it should be?
I’m still scared—terrified, actually, of getting hurt again, of letting Jamie get too attached, of building something beautiful only to watch it crumble.
But standing here in the gray afternoon light, I realize that maybe being terrified doesn’t have to mean saying no.
Maybe it just means being brave enough to say yes anyway.