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“I’d been diving for a long time and had my instructor license. When I got out, Steve offered me a job. I’ve been here ever since.” He shrugged, aware his voice became flat like it did anytime he talked about that time in his life.
And that is all the reason you need not to get more interested in her.
Hope smiled. “You don’t like to talk about yourself, do you?”
“Not much to say. I’m pretty boring.”
Her eyes grew warmer as she looked at him. “Well, I’m not sure I believe that, but I do believe I’m ready to learn to scuba dive. I work with Patti most mornings, and you’ve got the dive trips. Could we do it in the afternoons? I’m sure I could carve some time out.”
Alex relaxed, back in safe territory once again. “Works for me. We can juggle it around if any guests want to do an afternoon dive trip. Most only want to do the morning trip, but once in a while we get some hard-core divers who want to dive all day. And I don’t have any other classes scheduled for the next couple of weeks.” He sat up straighter. “I’m off tomorrow, but we could start in a few days if you’d like. I’ll get you the materials.”
“Yes, I would like that. Let’s go ahead.”
Alex nodded and held her gaze once again until he turned. As he walked back to his apartment, he was conflicted. Despite wanting to keep things purely professional, he couldn’t deny he felt more than friendly toward her. That was a change for him, for sure. But after their conversation, he was more convinced Hope was trying to deny the same sort of feelings—that she wanted to avoid it as much as he did.
So why is that only drawing you more toward her?
* * *
Several days later, Hope enjoyed an afternoon drink on her porch as she thumbed through the scuba textbook Alex had handed her earlier. She smiled, remembering their conversation.
“Wait a minute,” she’d said. “You never said anything about homework.”
Alex raised a brow. “I said there were classroom sessions—that implies homework. Read the first three chapters and complete the quizzes at the end. You need to understand the concepts for the first classroom session before we meet, Ms. Collins. I have high expectations of you.”
She saluted him. “Aye aye, captain.”
Hope set the book aside with a smile before taking another sip of wine, thinking about Alex. Despite her best intentions, it was more difficult to remain aloof as she got to know him better. He had a charming, confident manner that was hard to resist, and though he’d gotten defensive about his past, Hope had known extended family members who had been in the military and weren’t eager to discuss their experiences. She was curious about him but didn’t want to pry.
She returned her attention to the scuba textbook and read over something called Boyle’s Law. Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, Hope looked to her left. A medium-sized, thin yellow dog stood at the edge of the jungle. It stood there silently, tail straight behind and on alert. “Well, hello there. I haven’t seen you before.”
The dog cocked its head at her. She slowly rose and made her way to the stairs. “Come here, boy . . . girl . . . ok, boy.” When she reached the top step, the dog huffed and bolted back into the jungle. “Hmm, fine. Be that way.”
She frowned and returned to the couch. “I guess there’s no escaping Boyle’s Law.” She picked up the textbook and read.
CHAPTER 19
Hope sat in the lobby office, staring at an invoice. Her fingers grew whiter as she clenched it. She darted her gaze back and forth between the invoice she held and a nearly identical one on the desktop before her.
Both were from F.P. Walker, Fishmonger.
She had received his latest invoice earlier that day for February’s seafood deliveries. On the table was January’s. She had also dug out the previous six months of invoices just to confirm her suspicions. His prices had held steady and unchanged—until this invoice, after she’d arrived, when the price for every variety of seafood he delivered to the resort increased, some nearly doubling.
Mouth pressed in a grim line, she picked up the phone and dialed a nearby resort, speaking with Constance, their food and beverage manager. After exchanging pleasantries, Hope asked who delivered their seafood.
“Oh, we’ve used Central Seafood Supply in Frederiksted for years.” Constance nearly sang the words in her lilting accent.
“Did you notice any sudden increases in price on your February invoices?”
“No, the prices are exactly the same as they’ve always been.”
Hope closed her eyes. “I’m curious, how much do you pay for wahoo?”
“Hmm, oh, here. $9.99 per pound. Everythin’ ok, Hope?”
“Yes. I just wanted to verify whether our pricing was correct. Thanks for your help.” Hope glared at her own invoices. Wahoo in January and the previous months was $9.50 per pound. In February, it was $16.99 per pound.
She gathered up the invoices and opened her lower desk drawer, now perfectly organized with separate folders in hanging files. She placed all the invoices in the correct file before rising. Hope walked through the lobby and entered the kitchen, eyes blinking at the blinding cleanliness of Gerold’s domain.
