Page 26 of The Spirit of Love
I blush and drop my eyes, but I like the feel of his on me as I unclip my life jacket until I’m wearing just my red bikini.
“Staring contest it is,” Sam says.
“No,” I laugh. “Let’s snorkel. I need to meet your friends the garibaldi so they can give me the dirt on you.”
He shakes his head. “They’ll never tell. You have no idea the dirt I have on them.”
While Sam reaches into the compartment under the seat for the snorkeling gear, I face the water and dive in.
The cold braces me and fills the space around me with buoyant light. I can’t remember the last time I totally submerged myself in the ocean. It feels inaugural, like I’m ushering in a new season of life. I break the surface, grab some air, and wipe my eyes to look up at Sam. He’s watching me. He’s smiling.
“Fenny?”
“Sam?”
“I’m glad you stayed,” he says, and before I can answer, he tosses me a snorkel set. “Keep staying, okay?”
My face mask stretches as I grin. “Okay.”
I feel a pulse of water come toward me when Sam dives in. He meets me underwater, hooking his fingers through mine. His mask magnifies his eyes, which makes meeting his gaze even more intense.
I want to spit out this snorkel and kiss him like he’s my oxygen source. But he’s tugging my hand toward the reef and then the two of us are flitting between schools of luminescent fish.
Reaching the reef is like crossing into another world, a hive of activity—golden garibaldi, turquoise sea anemone, pink and golden coral clusters. I’ve been to Catalina Island half a dozen times, but I’ve never snorkeled here. I never knew all this wonder was hidden away.
When we’ve snorkeled enough, Sam shows me where to climb the rock next to the Jet Ski. He takes out his backpack, unfolds a small blanket, and starts unpacking a picnic he’s made.
“I’ve got turkey on white or…turkey on white.”
“You said you could only make two dishes,” I tease, taking a big bite. It’s just bread and meat and mayonnaise, but it’s unequivocally delicious, as beach sandwiches always are. “You used just the right amount of sun, salt, and snorkel-induced hunger.”
“Your palate is very sophisticated,” Sam says after a bite. “Those are the secret ingredients.”
I’m happily chewing my second sandwich half when Sam pulls out a nylon bag and starts assembling something made of narrow aluminum poles.
“What’s happening now?” I ask.
“We’re fifty percent through with lunch,” he says, “which means it’s time to start thinking about dinner.” He twists one aluminum pole to fit inside another.
“Is that what I think it is?”
Sam holds out what appears to be a two-foot-long dart with a trigger attached to one end. “You’re about to throw your first spear.”
He places it in my hands and then leans behind me to help me position my fingers.
“I’ve never done anything like this before,” I say, feeling the electric sensation of warm water dripping off his skin and onto mine.
“All you have to do is see the fish, picture me grilling it tonight on our secret beach, and pull this trigger. Easy.”
Sam holds the spear as I slip back into the water and lower my mask again, fitting my snorkel in my mouth. He hands over the spear carefully. I dip beneath the surface. I’d feel more confident if I had my viewfinder to frame the shot of all thesehalibut gliding before me, but my viewfinder is tucked away with my clothes under the seat of Sam’s Jet Ski. Besides, it probably would not love the salt water, so my snorkel mask will have to do.
See the fish, Sam said. Easy enough; they’re everywhere.Picture me grilling it tonight on our secret beach. I try to imagine Sam’s face lit by the glow of a campfire, and a warm swirl passes through me. What will it be like between us when the sun sets and the stars come out and there’s still just one bed in his cabin? I can see us laughing. I can see us inching closer to each other. I can see the moment when I decide I can’t wait anymore to kiss this guy.
I pull the trigger, and the next thing I know, I hear Sam’s whoop above the surface, shouting “Bull’s-eye! That’s my girl!”
Sunset on thesecret beach. We showered back at his cabin and changed into warmer clothes. I’m wearing Sam’s Taj Mahal hoodie, which I’m hoping he understands is now mine. We took a second thrilling zip line down the cliff. I’m watching Sam, who builds a fire with his hands.
“So, you’ve found your passion for zip-lining,” he says, his heather gray hoodie unzipped just enough to reveal a tempting triangle of dark chest hair. “And jet-skiing. And snorkeling and spearfishing and watching me build this fire. Very soon, you’re going to be overwhelmed by my grilled fish. I don’t think you’re going anywhere, Fenny. I think I get to keep you.”
