Shipped(22)

I whip around, and sure enough, Graeme is strolling down the street, a compact black backpack hitched on his shoulders. My intestines squirm. He has a selfie stick with his phone attached to the end—he’s either taking a video or FaceTiming someone because his mouth is moving.

“Graeme. Hey, Graeme!” Walsh calls.

His head jerks around in an attempt to track who yelled his name. When he spots us, Walsh motions for him to come over. He offers a tentative wave back before lowering his selfie stick and stowing it in his backpack.

“What are you doing?” I hiss at Walsh.

“What do you mean?” Her round eyes gleam with mischief. She’s calling him over here to annoy me on purpose, I know it. Like how, when she was in middle school, she’d blast Miley Cyrus directly at the wall between our bedrooms whenever I was trying to study. I’d eventually lose my shit, storm over to her room, and she would giggle and shriek as I tried to wrestle the Bluetooth speaker out of her hand.

Some things never change.

Graeme’s long legs eat up the sidewalk, and a few seconds later he’s standing right next to our table. He motions to the chair on my left. “Anyone sitting here?”

“Yes,” I say at the same time Walsh says, “No.”

“Great.” Flashing his teeth at me, he drops his backpack on the ground and settles into the empty chair.

Graeme must know from my frosty expression that I want him to leave, so why is he sitting with us? Oh right, because getting under my skin is one of his favorite pastimes. It looks like two people have decided to hop on the Let’s Annoy Henley express.

Leaning forward, Walsh stirs her milkshake with her straw. “What have you been up to in town?”

Graeme stretches his legs out under the table and folds his hands on his stomach like he doesn’t have a care in the world. I glare at him in silent disapproval.

“Let’s see, I bought some souvenirs. Took pictures. Interviewed the owner of an art gallery I discovered the other day. His family’s lived in the Galápagos for four generations. He has some great stories. Good material for our blog.” He shoots me a pointed grin.

Pushing his sunglasses into his windswept hair, he glances at Walsh’s milkshake and our phones sitting on the table. “What have you guys been doing? Enjoying a snack?”

“Working,” I grate.

“All work and no play makes Henley a dull girl.”

“Or it makes her your boss.”

He raises an eyebrow. I incline my chin in challenge.

Walsh clears her throat in an apparent effort to cut the tension that’s swelled like a balloon. “Graeme, did you see the sea lions on the boardwalk? So cute.”

“I did. Amazing how they’re not afraid of people. Snorkeling tomorrow is going to be killer. You’re both snorkeling, right?”

Walsh’s phone trills and she picks it up after glancing at the screen. “I am. Henley’s probably not. She hates deep water.”

“Oh yeah?” Graeme raises his eyebrows.

I glare so hard at Walsh that I’m sure laser beams are about to shoot out of my eyeballs, but she doesn’t notice because she’s too absorbed in responding to her latest texts.

“Yeah,” she says without looking up. “I haven’t seen her swim since we were teenagers. Not since—”

I aim a kick at her under the table and miss.

“What?” Graeme presses, looking entirely too eager.

“Since she almost drowned,” she finishes. When Walsh finally looks up, she stiffens at the death glare I’m throwing her way. Yeah, thanks for divulging my personal weakness to the competition, Walsh.

Graeme squints at me. “Did you have a swimming accident or something?”

I wave him away. “Walsh is being dramatic.”

“Dramatic? You weren’t breathing. Dad had to give you CPR.”

Graeme looks between us, elbow resting on the table, chin in hand. All he needs is a bag of popcorn. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Just a minor waterskiing incident.”

“Minor,” she scoffs.

“I was waterskiing without a life jacket, my leg cramped, and I went under,” I explain to Graeme in my best no-big-deal voice.

“Sounds traumatic.”

He has no idea. I still vividly remember the fingers of seaweed imprisoning my foot. The violation of water in my lungs, the crush of darkness. The absolute fear, the panic. I didn’t venture into a large body of water after that for nearly four years, and even now I stick with the shallow end of a swimming pool or frothy ocean surf. Deep water? No, thanks.

“Nah, not really,” I lie. “It was a long time ago.”

“And you took a job working for a cruise line… with boats?”

“Yeah, we were all shocked,” says Walsh.

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.”