Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
We kicked toward the surface, reemerging into a world of air and sun and sound after the dark, silent serenity of thirty minutes underwater. Cole tugged off his mask. “Great footage, Ruby,” he said. “The parrotfish rocked it.”
“Thanks. I rehearsed with them earlier.”
He laughed. “Always said you were a fish-whisperer, Ariel.”
I grinned at the childhood nickname, and we swam for the dive boat where my friend Lance waited. “You’ll be swamped with bookings after we upload this promo,” Cole said over the lapping of the waves.
“I hope so!”
I needed them.
Lance reached over the side and I grabbed his hand to hoist myself up. He was a longtime friend who ran day fishing tours, and he’d been doing us a favor, manning the boat while we filmed underwater videos to advertise Ariel’s Island Eco-Adventure Tours. Cole was a professional photographer, and I was grateful to have their help.
“Get what you wanted?” Lance asked while we removed our dive gear and stowed it away. “Wait. That was a silly question.” He held up a hand and flashed his catnip-to-women grin. “You always get what you want.”
“Not always.” I’d worked my butt off most of my life, but that wasn’t the same thing. “But from now on, yes. New Ruby”—I tapped my chest and adopted a tough glower—“takes no prisoners. The new me is merciless.”
Lance chuckled as he started the engine. We sped toward the skyline of South Beach, my wet hair whipping behind me. After I’d almost lost my business a year ago, I didn’t take the bliss of working outdoors for granted. Thanks to my mother’s help, and favors from people like Cole and Lance, I’d started anew.
We reached the marina, and Lance slowed the motor, navigating around other vessels returning to the beach.
Cole ran a hand through his hair, golden from years in the sun, like mine. “When do you leave for your next adventure tour?”
I rubbed my hands together. “About a week and a half. I’m so excited for this one. I’m running a rock climbing and diving gig in Flamingo Key.”
“Nice. First job there in a while, right?”
Crossing my fingers, I nodded. “Took me months to get this one.” Business in Flamingo Key had been hit hardest by my ex-boyfriend Duke’s slash-and-burn departure from my life. But I’d been steadily rebuilding my tour company’s presence.
I turned to include both guys when I said, “I can’t thank either of you enough for your help. Not just today, but over the last year.”
Cole raised a closed fist and knocked it against mine. “Here’s to success and saying fuck you to the asshole who tried to tank you.”
“I second that,” Lance said as he steered Sally into her slip.
I jumped to the dock as soon as it was close enough and helped tie the boat to the cleat.
“See you in a few hours, Captain,” I told Lance with a salute before I headed for my car. I had a sunset snorkel tour off Key Biscayne and had hired Lance’s boat for the trip. More work tonight meant no cocktails now, but no complaints.
“Roger that,” he said.
“Say hi to Mom for me!” Cole called, and I waved him off with a smile before I took off for South Beach and parked in a nearby lot, then found our mother at her favorite fish taco joint on the main drag.
“You’re too tan, sweetheart,” Mom said when I reached her. “You need to wear sunscreen. Or a hat.” Her own wide-brimmed headgear was large enough to provide a landing pad for creatures from outer space.
“The tan is kind of an occupational hazard.” I sat in the empty stool next to her, then gestured to my getup—a green bikini covered by blue swim shorts and a loose tank. “I can slather myself with the stuff, but even then, the sun leaves its mark.”
“Slather yourself more,” she instructed, as if telling me to do my chores. But I was thirty-two, not twelve, and didn’t have to be told to clean my room. I kept it, and my condo, quite neat, thank you very much—even before I’d kicked out my ex.
“The mojito and virgin piña colada?” a waiter asked, two tempting drinks on his tray.
“I took the liberty of ordering in advance.” Mom touched my arm, then waved her hand in the air. “And the mojito’s for me, please.”
Once our drinks were placed on the table, Mom leaned closer then paused. “Hello,” she said, lowering her sunglasses and peering from under her floppy hat. “Incoming hotness at two o’clock,” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth as a muscular man in board shorts and flip-flops strolled by.
“Mom,” I admonished.
“Not for me. For you. You deserve a little fun,” she urged. “Go say hello.”
Thanks but no thanks. “I don’t have time for romance. It’s distracting.”
She dropped a hand to my arm, squeezing gently. “But it can also be wonderful,” she said, ever the romantic, in spite of the screwing she got in her recent divorce and her ex’s cheating during their marriage. “Romance can be worth the trouble. And it’s been a year for you.”