have no logic whatsoever. When he threw me a mask and snorkel, though, I found that they fit perfectly, and he did the same thing with the fins.
“How did you know what size shoe I wear?” I asked, confused, as I tried one of them on my larger foot (hey, everyone has one, right?).
“They don’t really come in sizes,” he clarified. He was trying his own fins on now and was actually hopping up and down in the sand, trying not to fall over. “It’s more of a small-medium-large situation. And it didn’t take much to guess you were a small.”
He fell over at that moment, going down with an oof into the sand.
“And you… had to try your own fins on because you hadn’t worn them in so long?” I guessed, trying to suppress a giggle at the sight of him flailing around in the sand.
He looked up at me, suddenly very serious. “It’s been years since I went out snorkeling. I just haven’t had…”
I dropped to my haunches next to him, my laughter gone. “Why?” I asked intently.
Was this it? Was this the moment when I finally got the full story of who he was and what had happened to make him so… reclusive? To explain why he was on this island all by himself, not working on anything but his culinary dishes and his enormous vineyards and groves?
He met my eyes and stared at me for a long, tense moment, and I was positive that he was going to tell me. Going to confide in me about what had happened that had trapped him there.
One of his hands came up to my cheek, his fingertips running gently over my cheekbone and then further, to cup the back of my head. And then I became sure that he wasn’t going to tell me anything. He was going to kiss me.
Oh God, he was going to kiss me.
But he shook his head sharply, as if he was pulling himself right out of the place he’d gone, and leaned back. And a moment later the serious aspect had left his face and he was forcing a smile to his mouth.
“The last thing you want is to get out in the water and realize that your fins don’t fit right,” he said. “Especially if you’re caught in the midst of an undertow. Let’s go.”
He yanked his fins off and jumped to his feet, then pulled me up to my feet as well, and a moment later we were moving quickly out of the boathouse, our masks and fins in our hands, the sea stretching out endlessly, turquoise and gorgeous in front of us.
“The first rule of snorkeling,” Nikos said as we stood at the water’s edge, adjusting our snorkels, “is to keep your face in the water. Just float on your stomach and keep your face in the water. The moment you come up, the end of your snorkel will dip down into the water behind you. It’ll get full of water and you’ll suck it up and be in trouble. Now this is going to feel funny. It’s going to feel completely counterintuitive. But keep your face in the water, breathe through your mouth, and keep moving. Just force yourself to do it. And before long, it’ll be completely natural.”
“Right,” I murmured. “No problem.”
I mean, I was used to being in the water. But I was also used to… you know, trying not to breathe when my face was under water.
He reached down, took my hand, and squeezed it, leaning over to nudge my shoulder with his. “We’ll practice in the shallows first. And whatever else happens, I’ll be right by your side. I’ll be there to catch you if anything goes wrong.”
I smiled up at him. “Of course you will. You’ve already saved me once. At this point I’d expect nothing less.”
He laughed at that, pulled his mask up over his face, and led me out into the water.
We practiced using the snorkels in the shallows, where I could still stand up. It turned out that Nikos was right; if I put my face in the water and focused on breathing through my mouth, the snorkel worked just fine.
Keep your face in the water, breathe through your mouth. Keep your face in the water, breathe through your mouth.
I just had to remember to do that when we were actually in motion.
After plenty of practicing, we finally got started with the swimming, Nikos holding my hand as we paddled through