“Set it aside for Jose to look at.” As a matter of habit, she moved into the back to fill her tanks before storage. “All the boats are in, Luis. We shouldn’t have too much more business now. You and the rest can go on as soon as everything’s checked in. I’ll close up.”

“I don’t mind staying.”

“You closed up last night,” she reminded him. “What do you want?” She tossed a grin over her shoulder. “Overtime? Go on home, Luis. You can’t tell me you don’t have a date.”

He ran a fingertip over his mustache. “As a matter of fact…”

“A hot date?” Liz lifted a brow as air hissed into her tank.

“Is there any other kind?”

Chuckling, Liz straightened. She noticed Ambuckle trudging across the sand with his fresh tanks. Her other employees talked among themselves as the last of the gear was stored. “Well, go make yourself beautiful then. The only thing I have a date with is the account books.”

“You work too much,” Luis mumbled.

Surprised, Liz turned back to him. “Since when?”

“Since always. It gets worse every time you send Faith back to school. Better off if she was here.”

That her voice cooled only slightly was a mark of her affection for Luis. “No, she’s happy in Houston with my parents. If I thought she wasn’t, she wouldn’t be there.”

“She’s happy, sure. What about you?”

Her brows drew together as she picked her keys from a drawer. “Do I look unhappy?”

“No.” Tentatively, he touched her shoulder. He’d known Liz for years, and understood there were boundaries she wouldn’t let anyone cross. “But you don’t look happy either. How come you don’t give one of these rich American tourists a spin? That one on the boat—his eyes popped out every time he looked at you.”

The exaggeration made her laugh, so she patted his cheek. “So you think a rich American tourist is the road to happiness?”

“Maybe a handsome Mexican.”

“I’ll think about it—after the summer season. Go home,” she ordered.

“I’m going.” Luis pulled a T-shirt over his chest. “You look out for that Jonas Sharpe,” he added. “He’s got a different kind of look in his eyes.”

Liz waved him off. “Hasta luego.”

When the shop was empty, Liz stood, jingling her keys and looking out onto the beach. People traveled in couples, she noted, from the comfortably married duo stretched out on lounge chairs, to the young man and woman curled together on a beach towel. Was it an easy feeling, she wondered, to be half of a set? Or did you automatically lose part of yourself when you joined with another?