Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
I blew on my nails and rubbed them on my sundress.
“What about you?” he challenged. “Are your dive tours just a cover for your secret identity as an underwater treasure hunter?”
I laughed. “If I had gotten my wish as a kid, then yes. I used to dream of discovering Spanish doubloons at the bottom of the sea. My mom and stepdad used to bring us here a lot when my brother and I were growing up.”
“Oh?” he asked as he took a sip of his beer. “Do you still spend time on the island together?”
“Mom stays pretty close to home,” I replied, saving talk of my stepfather for another day. “But my brother visits out here sometimes. Now, though, we look for the real treasure—coral and marine life and tranquility,” I said, and he studied me with a look I couldn’t decipher. Maybe I sounded cheesy to him. “That probably sounds so hokey,” I said, a little embarrassed.
“No. It sounds really…nice,” he said, sounding genuine.
Still, nice was probably another word for “hokey.” Time to change the tone of the convo. “There are actually some great shipwrecks offshore here on the islands. Do you dive?”
He nodded. “I have.”
“Maybe you’d like to go with me to check out some sites?” I asked, hopeful. I liked his company. I wouldn’t mind spending more time with him.
“Maybe,” he said in an I doubt it voice.
Well, that was disappointing. Had I read him wrong after all? After today’s kiss—not to mention last night by the beach—a date to go diving didn’t seem that boundary-challenging to me. I wasn’t suggesting we go look at china patterns.
But maybe he didn’t like diving. “I’ll take it off the list,” I said, trying to sound cheery, like his comment hadn’t thrown me.
“Do you lead a lot of dive tours here?” he asked.
“Some snorkeling, some diving. I’ve been a certified dive instructor since I was twenty-one,” I said, and maybe that would reassure him. I fiddled with my napkin as I shared more. “I love the islands. When my family came here, we’d go kiss stingrays. Someone told me it was good luck.”
“Your stepdad?”
The guess surprised me. I tilted my head, trying to figure him out. “What makes you say that?”
“You mentioned he and your mother brought you here,” he said, nonchalant. But almost too nonchalant. “So I figured it would be something you—your family—would do together.”
That was one explanation for his quick reply—and it was a logical answer but somehow sketchy at the same time. The vibe between us had shifted in the last few minutes, and I wasn’t sure why. But I didn’t think the issue was his like or dislike of diving anymore. Something was off. I wanted to move on and return to our easy banter, so I answered simply, “It’s fine. And you’re right. It was him. My stepfather.”
“Is your family still close?” he asked, then filled in the conversational blanks. “Since you traveled together when you were younger.”
“Mom and Cole live in the Miami area too,” I said with an affectionate smile. “They’re super supportive.”
Jake picked up his glass and drank the rest of his beer, nonchalant once again. “And your stepdad? Is he in the picture?”
And there we were again.
We weren’t talking about my mom and brother. He was back on the topic of Eli.
If Eli’s move to the island wasn’t suspicious, I might not have minded him being part of a getting-to-know-you chat. But since I was questioning if I’d ever really known my stepfather at all, Jake’s queries didn’t sit right. Especially after the strange shift between Jake and me. So I seesawed my hand in the international sign for kinda-sorta-and-I-don’t-want-to-talk-about-it.
“What about you?” I asked, eager to change the subject. “You don’t look like an IT guy.”
Jake leaned back a bit, tilting his head warily. “What do I look like?”
Like a guy who’s suddenly…skeptical.
But I tried once again to return to the easy way we’d had yesterday, and all throughout lunch too. “Hmm…” I tapped my cheek thoughtfully. “I could see you as an adventurer, like Indiana Jones. Or like Humphrey Bogart in The Treasure of the Sierra Madre. So, when you say recovery expert…”
He groaned, an exaggerated protest, as if he wished he’d never told me his occupation. “It’s really so dull compared to snorkeling with sea turtles. Or with literally any other animal.” Then he reached across the table and covered my hand with his, tracing his thumb over my suddenly racing pulse. That sure felt nice. And warm. “Or compared to other things we could be saying or doing.”
Okay, so now he’d returned to familiar flirting terrain. Maybe my first guess was the right one after all—he didn’t like diving, and, typical man, didn’t want to own up to it.
Fine, I wouldn’t push him. And if he wanted to play more flirting games, I was up for that.