Page 87 of Hot Saltwater Kisses

“Sure.” I set my coffee down and got up, stretching dramatically. “Places to be, people to do. Later, suckers. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Is there such a thing?” Milo asked, and ah, the man had half a point. I pretended to think for a second.

“Furries. Unless, you know, they’rereallyhot.”

“Please leave,” Logan said, sounding pained. There was a smile sitting around his eyes, though, one that was mirrored by Milo. Yeah, they’d be fine. Thanks tome.

After a flippant wave, I headed out, hands in my pockets. Part of me felt… What was the word—nostalgic? Nah, too sappy. Maybe just a twinge of ‘end of an era’ vibes. Logan and I, we’d been through some stuff. He’d put up with my bullshit, and I’d been… well. I’d been an absolute delight.

But hey, nothing wrong with change. Meant I could finally get that bachelor pad with the revolving bed and mirrored ceiling.

Kidding.

Sort of.

4. Milo

It was… wow.

Sure, I preferred the real thing—diving put me in the middle of it all, swimming right through a school of fish so abundant that they flooded my whole field of vision. It meant zipping up my wetsuit and actually getting in the water. Becoming part of a world that moved at a different pace, my bubbling exhalations the only noise.

Still. This was beautiful.

“Turned out great, didn’t it?” Logan asked in a murmur. A faint smile quirked his lips, hands in his pockets and his figure bathed in the refracted glow of the sea. Correction—hewas fucking beautiful.

“Yeah,” I agreed, equally low. Wrestling my attention away from him, I took in the curved panels of transparent acrylic that framed the dining area below us, the restaurant something like a half-submerged dream. Where we were waiting to be seated, panoramic shots that I had taken stretched along the arched walls—sunlight that streamed through the water in long, silvery beams, illuminatingpatches of deep blue and coral pink. A preview of what lay beyond, so to speak.

He shifted slightly closer, his knuckles brushing the back of my hand. “Can I pull the ‘proud boyfriend’ card, or is that too cheesy?”

I shot him a smile. “It was your idea.”

“Yeah, but it’s your pictures.” Blue shimmered on his face, and God, I’d missed him. Silly—it had been only a week. While I’d been chasing aggregations of whale sharks and manta rays some eighty miles northwest of Malé, Logan had taken the chance to visit the Prescott Resort in the southernmost atoll of the Maldives.

“I wouldn’t even be here without you,” I said.

I didn’t feel weaker for admitting it. Logan had a way of nudging me out of my comfort zone—hey, what about this?Ever thought about that?But he never pushed, let me sit with whatever idea he had until I was ready to put it into action. Entering a prestigious nature photography competition and taking second place? Freelancing for a travel magazine in between running photography courses for Katie? Offering my pictures to this restaurant as soon as the building permits came through? His ideas. My decisions.

He claimed it went both ways, that I grounded as much as challenged him, made him want to do ever better at combining profit and people. He’d thrown himself into his role with the Prescott chain like he had something to prove. Which—he still felt he did.

Not so. His aunt and uncle kept expanding his list of responsibilities and trusted his judgment while his cousin had taken to bouncing strategy off him. As for his parents… Lovely people, just not the emotionally vocal sort. But every time Logan left the room, they were damn near bursting with pride.

“Careful, man.” Logan’s shoulder pressed against mine. “That’s my boyfriend you’re putting down.”

“Oh?” I bit down on another smile. Logan kind of had that effect. “You’re gonna do something about it?”

“Not in public.” His grin turned slow and wicked. “I think this calls for a private demonstration.”

I was about to reply when a waitress came to collect us. Dressedin a long robe of velvet blue, she sashayed down the spiral staircase that led to the restaurant’s main floor. Our sleek, minimalist table reflected the undulating water, the menu leaning toward fresh seafood. Around us, quiet conversations blended in with the gentle sound of waves from hidden speakers.

We placed our orders before Logan leaned back in his chair and studied me. I did the same, bumping our feet together under the table.

Damn, he lookedgood. His white shirt contrasted with a golden tan, hair the perfect length for me to bury my hands in later.

Yeah. I really had missed him.

It wasn’t blind dependency, though. It was trust and mutual support, knowing he’d be there to catch me after a bad day and that I’d do the same for him. So…

“I missed you,” I murmured.

---