Peeling off my fins, I scurry to catch up. Once I reach him, he slows down and we walk along the waterline in silence, wet sand squishing between our toes. Once we’re a decent way from the other guests, visible but out of earshot, we stop. The water is clearer here and more blue than turquoise.

Dropping his fins on the sand, Graeme unbuckles the yellow belt. “This will help you float. Give you confidence.”

I peer into his face, and his eyes twinkle like sunlight reflecting off waves. He swallows as he steps closer and his Adam’s apple bobs above the neckline of his wet suit. When he extends the belt toward me, his knuckles brush my waist. My heart beats an erratic staccato. With scrabbling fingers, I snatch the belt from him. “Give me that.”

He nods and takes half a step back as I put on the flotation device, making sure the thick, padded part is nestled at my lower back before securing the buckle in the front. He examines my handiwork with knit eyebrows. Reaching for the tail of the belt, he gives it a good tug and it cinches tighter. My breath leaves me in a whoosh.

“Good,” he says with a nod, his smooth black snorkel wagging next to his stubbled jaw. “Ready?”

I position my mask over my eyes. “Like a rock star.”

His lips twitch. Tugging my fins on, I wade into the ocean and he leads me farther from shore. We stop when the waves lap at my chest, sprinkling saltwater on my lips. The belt definitely adds buoyancy; I could lift my feet right now and bob in a sitting position with my head above water. The old panic rattles the bars of its cage but doesn’t get out.

“The trick to snorkeling, I’ve found, is relaxing and breathing,” says Graeme. “Don’t think about anything else, okay?”

I can do that. I nod.

“Okay, now first, I want you to close your eyes and let any tension go.”

Scrunching my nose, I squeeze my eyes shut, but promptly open them again. “Is this really necessary?”

“How were you doing on your own back there?”

“Point taken.”

“Close your eyes. I promise I won’t look at you or do anything weird.” He waggles his fingers and pulls a face like a horror movie villain, and a honk of laughter escapes me before I can suppress it. His shy smile grows wider.

Clamping my lips together, I force my eyelids closed. I sway gently as the surf goes in and out. In and out. Like lungs. Like a heartbeat. I feel my own slowing and my muscles unfurling.

“Good, now put your snorkel in your mouth and breathe.”

I arrange my snorkel and my lips close around rubber. My breaths bluster like wind through a tunnel, but I’m breathing. Deep in, deep out. Bob in the gentle waves. Sun warming my face.