I shrug. “I took the job because I was looking for a career change and I wanted to market something that brings people joy. And hey, I work in an office. It’s not like I’m on the ships every day. But like I said, I’m over it. I’m going snorkeling tomorrow and it’s going to be great. So fun.”

Graeme studies me. “You don’t have to snorkel, you know. There will be glass-bottomed boat rides for guests who don’t want to snorkel.”

“And miss out on up-close-and-personal encounters with all that endemic marine wildlife? Nice try.”

Over 90 percent of our passengers opt to snorkel, so I won’t get a full sense of the experience if I don’t do it at least once. It’s about time I faced my fears anyway. And if it gives me ideas to help me land this promotion? It’s worth it.

Crossing my legs, I flip my braid over my shoulder. Time to turn this magnifying glass around and see how Graeme likes being scrutinized. “So what’s the deal with you and public speaking—or is it crowds you don’t like?”

Walsh sits up straighter.

Gripping an armrest, Graeme shifts in his seat. The metal chair squeaks in protest.

“Come on, don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You were all red and sweaty after Gustavo introduced you at the safety briefing. Not exactly a normal reaction.”

Now it’s Graeme’s turn to play it casual. “Remote employee, remember? There aren’t many opportunities for public speaking in my living room. I’m out of practice, that’s all.”

I don’t buy it. His voice is so tense you could pluck it like a guitar string.

The sound of a blender floats through the open door to the café’s kitchen. Graeme peers over my shoulder, then jerks his chin at Walsh’s milkshake just as she takes another sip. “Don’t drink that.”

“Why?” she blurts.

“There’s a woman inside making a milkshake and I just saw her add ice to the blender.” At Walsh’s questioning stare, he continues. “Ice is frozen tap water, and the water in Galápagos isn’t safe to drink. You might be ingesting contaminated water.”

I knew not to drink the water here, but ice in a milkshake never crossed my mind. Apparently, it hadn’t crossed Walsh’s either.

“Come on,” I scoff. “This is the main town on San Cristóbal, the political capital of the Galápagos. I’m sure they serve tourists all the time and know to make ice with purified water.”

“Do you see any other tourists around here? This area is off the beaten path. All locals.”

Sure enough, all the other patrons in this café—and the coffee shop next door—are Ecuadoran. Not a tube-sock-wearing tourist in sight.