Page 10 of Match Made in the Maldives

Tomorrow. I’ll enjoy my time after an exhausting journey today, and tomorrow I can pull out my laptop and get some work done on the down-low.

The marine biologist, a bleach-blond Brit who traded London fog for Maldivian sunshine four years ago, explains the currentsand points out the best reefs around the island. We get to hang on to the snorkel gear, including the aquatic belts and life jackets, until the end of our stay.

Aaron and Melissa return to the villa to drop off the extra items we grabbed for Cass and Carmen, so my parents, Finn, and I enter the water at the dive center. The island’s small enough that we could swim around the whole thing in one go if we wanted, but the best reef with the most active wildlife rests in the restaurant’s direction.

“That’s a cute swimming suit, LouLou,” my mom says as we wade to a sandy spot where the ocean reaches my hips. “Is it new?”

“Yeah, don’t think I’ve seen that before,” Finn adds.

I shoot daggers at him, grateful that Mom and Dad have busied themselves with wetting their masks and don’t pay attention to Finn’s smartass remark.

“Yup, bought it for the trip.” I prep my mask, catching Finn’s maroon swim trunks out of the corner of my eye. Whoever brought shorter men’s swimsuits back into style deserves a Nobel Peace Prize. “Oh, shoot. Your phone.”

“Waterproof,” he replies.

“You two stick together, okay?” my mom says in a nasally voice, her gear already on her face.

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“You’re the babysitter, LouLou,” my dad jokes, swishing his mask around in the sea water before suctioning it to his eyes and nose. “He’s the one we’re worried about.”

Finn laughs. “It’s true. Who’s going to protect me from the sh—”

“No.” I point my finger at him. “You better not saysharks.”

“Shells. I was about to sayshells. They’re pointy in these parts, I’ve heard.”

I splash him with water, unable to contain my growing smile.

Meanwhile, my parents giggle at how silly they look in their masks. With their snorkels in place, they dunk their heads underwater and float toward the reef. Seeing them enjoying life together squeezes something in my chest. When I turn to Finn, he has his phone out, snapping a photo of them.

“Good idea,” I say. “They’re cute.”

“Let’s get one of you and me.”

“Sure.” I think little of his request until I slip an arm around his waist. Rather than stiffen, Finn melts into my side like he belongs there. One of his arms slinks over my shoulder, and he holds the phone in front of us. My breath catches in my chest at the sight of the two of us staring back at me. We look kind of cute together too.

I’m glad Finn’s here, otherwise I’d be lonely. But not just that—I’d miss him. He’s part of the family, and he belongs here. Maybe nothere—close enough that I can smell the spice of his deodorant or feel every ripple in his torso.

Althoughhereisn’t that bad…

“Ready?” He pulls away, and despite the pleasant temperature and sunshine, I shiver.

My first peek at the world underneath the surface steals my breath. I want to spend as much time as possible on this trip experiencing this kind of magic. Sea plants sway with the push and pull of the waves, and schools of fish dart left and right. The muffled hum of the ocean gives me an instant sense of peace, and the coziness of the water envelops me. Just like the marine biologist mentioned, I catch an occasional lightcrunch crunch crunch—the sound of a fish scraping algae off nearby coral to eat.

A tap on my shoulder directs my attention to the left, and Finn points to a group of iridescent purple fish that shimmer in the sunshine. My eyes go wide at the sight of what must be hundreds of them dancing in unison.

The buddy system works well for the two of us. Every time Finn sees a crab crawling along the seafloor or a brilliantly bright orange coral, he taps my shoulder or side to get my attention. Whenever I see something—an eel hiding with its creepy, dead-eye stare or massive leafy pieces of coral that are bigger than a chair—I grab his arm and point it out. We fall into a joyful back and forth, both of us in awe of the surrounding nature.

When we reach the edge of the coral, everything below us drops off into a dark blue abyss. The marine biologist mentioned the floor of the island itself plunges into a near-vertical drop. While I can’t fall down there—I’m suspended on the surface and snug in an aquatic belt—the visual makes me dizzy. Without hesitation, I turn around and redirect myself toward the heart of the reef.

A rapid tapping on my calf gets my attention, and Finn beckons me to his side. I shake my head, but he points with urgency below. His phone must have slipped out of his pocket, but I don’t know what he expects me to do about that. With my stomach twisting, I return to the edge of the coral where the island disappears into nothingness.

Nothingness, except for the sea turtle swimming our way.

I suck in air through my snorkel as the majestic, graceful creature glides toward me. The turtle moves like an elegant ballet dancer in slow motion, with simple yet powerful movements. As the animal cuts to my side, floating into the reef, I admire its dark eyes the size of boba pearls and its mighty fins with a pattern like cracked, drying lava. The shell is longer than my torso, longer than Finn’s, even. This sea turtle has seen some years.

Once the creature swims out of sight, I pop above the surface with an enormous smile etched on my face.

---