Page 27 of The Grumpy Doc's Surprise Delivery

“Yeah, it feels a lot better today.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“We should do something fun to celebrate.” She grins, and my heart sinks. She clearly hasn’t forgotten her swimming plan, then.

“Celebrate? Are you sure? Maybe we should just take it easy again.”

“I insist,” she says with a pout. “I’m tired of lying around and waiting for it to be better. It is better. Let’s make the most of it.”

“Well, I still don’t think we should do anything too strenuous. After all, if you’re just feeling better, we don’t want you to start feeling worse again.”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Yes, doctor,” she says, bowing ever so slightly to make fun of me.

I purse my lips, holding back the snappy comment. I don’t want to start the day sourly. We don’t have much more time together. “So, what did you want to do to celebrate?”

“Snorkeling,” she says without missing a beat. “There’s a rental place on the beach, and the waters at this hotel are supposed to be some of the best on the island. We’ll be sure to see something fun.”

“No sharks, I hope.” I have no idea if sharks even live around here, but I don’t want Emma to be under any illusion as to how enthusiastic I am about this idea. God help me, I’ll do it for her, but I won’t be happy about it.

“No. No sharks. Just lots of fish.”

I don’t complain further, not wanting to ruin her joy at the idea of it. Together, we head out to the beach — not hand in hand but standing closer together than we ever have. Yet again, the sun is bright and warm, and bugs in the trees chirp like a fanfare as we step onto the sand.

There’s a little hut on the beach by the hotel which rents out snorkeling gear. Emma runs ahead of me towards it, her dress flowing out as she goes like she’s in a movie.

I don’t run, but I do speed up so she doesn’t leave me behind.

By the time I catch up, she’s already speaking to the young man working there, asking him for two sets of gear. She’s smiling so widely that she sparkles as she holds out a mask to me.

The man doesn’t smile and clearly isn’t enjoying his day. “Flippers?” he asks us both.

“Not for me, thanks,” says Emma, waving her hand.

“Yes,” I say at the same time. “I want flippers.” Then, as an afterthought, I add, “Please.”

Emma still shoots me a look, and I ignore it. There’s nothing wrong with wanting flippers. It’s part of swimming.

“What size, sir?” the man asks, and I tell him my shoe size. We go back and forth on deciding if I’m a medium or a large, and eventually I decide I’ll try the large if just to make this end sooner. It’s not the best fit I’ve ever had, but fortunately, we’re not doing anything too taxing, so I take them with a grimace.

We head back out to our spot on the beach; somehow the same umbrella is free again today. It’s starting to feel like a sign. We dump our towels and Emma slips the dress off over her head, revealing a different bikini than yesterday.

This one’s a little more modest, covering up more skin, though it still shows off her curves and doesn’t do a whole lot to disguise her plunging cleavage. It’s a deep gradient of blues and brings out her dark eyes beautifully.

I pull my shirt off and fold it neatly on the chair, resisting the urge to cover my body. I feel like a kid who doesn’t want to be here.

Fortunately, Emma doesn’t notice my awkwardness. “Come on then,” she says, pulling the snorkel mask over her face.

Then she runs for the ocean without a second thought and splashes straight in, giggling as the water hits her ankles, her knees. It takes me a second to kit up, and then I follow her a little more hesitantly, reversing into the water until I no longer need to stand.

Walking in flippers is hard.

I’m really only doing this because Emma wanted to go swimming. If it were up to me, we’d have done almost anything else. But we’re here now, so I suck it up and drift to where she’s diving under the waves.

She surfaces to look for me as if wondering why I haven’t caught up to her yet. “Come on,” she calls, waving. “The water’s so warm.”

“I’m coming,” I grumble. It takes me a minute to figure out how to use my arms and legs to go forward. I go swimming maybe once a year at most, and I’m not used to having people waiting on me to go faster.

I thrash my way towards her, willing my limbs to start working properly. If I don’t start acting like I know what I’m doing soon, this is going to get embarrassing.

---