“Yes. You’re not an asshole. Mostly.”

“What a glowing compliment,” he says, tone dry.

“I mean, your email etiquette is atrocious and you’re still difficult to work with, but I’m sorry I assumed the worst about you.”

Graeme blinks. “So we’re friends now?”

“Whoa there, slow your roll. I never said anything about friends. We are… professional colleagues.”

“Acquaintances.”

“Friendly acquaintances,” I correct.

“Competing for the same position.”

“May the best person win.” Nodding firmly, I stick my hand out. He gives it a brisk shake. His grip lingers… two seconds, three seconds… He doesn’t let go. Neither do I. Warmth floods my cheeks and my heartbeat kicks into high gear. Graeme’s nostrils flare and I swear he leans closer a fraction.

“Do we have any beginner snorkelers left?” Gustavo booms from the front of the mudroom. “Last call for beginner snorkelers. Those doing the deepwater snorkeling, sit tight. Disembarkation will begin in five minutes.”

Pulling my palm out of Graeme’s hand, I clear my throat. “Beginner snorkeling, that’s me.”

He slides me a sheepish grin. “Me too.”

This is fine. Graeme and I can spend time in each other’s company and act like civil adults, no problem. Lingering handshakes aside, we don’t have to be buddy-buddy. Today I can focus on, you know, not drowning and he can focus on… whatever it is that Graeme thinks about.

We shuffle to the front of the room and get in line for disembarkation. We end up boarding the same Zodiac but sit on opposite sides. I steal a glance at Graeme from behind my sunglasses, but he doesn’t seem to notice; he’s checking settings on his camera.

Engine roaring, we zoom back toward Española Island, this time to Gardner Bay. With every wave we splash through, my stomach knots tighter and tighter. The fact that I’ll be swimming in the ocean—snorkeling—in a few short minutes has my lunch churning in my gut like concrete in a mixer.

When we slide out of the Zodiac and wade through the surf onto the beach, I find a spot on the sand to drop my towel and equipment. With a little salute, Graeme claims a spot on the far side of the passengers, giving me plenty of space. A naturalist separates us into different groups for a basic snorkeling lesson, and after about ten minutes we’re sent into the water to practice.

This is it. Time to face my fear. My mouth turns dry and my heartbeat kicks into a gallop as I sit to slide my feet into my fins at the surf’s edge. The ocean is a clear, picturesque turquoise—vastly different from the blue-brown waters of the lakes at home.