Risky Business

fact…”
    “A hot date?” Liz lifted a brow as air hissed into her tank.
    “Is there any other kind?”
    Chuckling, Liz straightened. She noticed Ambuckletrudging across the sand with his fresh tanks. Her other employees talked among themselves as the last of the gear was stored. “Well, go make yourself beautiful then. The only thing I have a date with is the account books.”
    “You work too much,” Luis mumbled.
    Surprised, Liz turned back to him. “Since when?”
    “Since always. It gets worse every time you send Faith back to school. Better off if she was here.”
    That her voice cooled only slightly was a mark of her affection for Luis. “No, she’s happy in Houston with my parents. If I thought she wasn’t, she wouldn’t be there.”
    “She’s happy, sure. What about you?”
    Her brows drew together as she picked her keys from a drawer. “Do I look unhappy?”
    “No.” Tentatively, he touched her shoulder. He’d known Liz for years, and understood there were boundaries she wouldn’t let anyone cross. “But you don’t look happy either. How come you don’t give one of these rich American tourists a spin? That one on the boat—his eyes popped out every time he looked at you.”
    The exaggeration made her laugh, so she patted his cheek. “So you think a rich American tourist is the road to happiness?”
    “Maybe a handsome Mexican.”
    “I’ll think about it—after the summer season. Go home,” she ordered.
    “I’m going.” Luis pulled a T-shirt over his chest. “You look out for that Jonas Sharpe,” he added. “He’s got a different kind of look in his eyes.”
    Liz waved him off. “Hasta luego.”
    When the shop was empty, Liz stood, jingling her keys and looking out onto the beach. People traveled in couples, she noted, from the comfortably married duo stretched out on lounge chairs, to the young man and woman curled togetheron a beach towel. Was it an easy feeling, she wondered, to be half of a set? Or did you automatically lose part of yourself when you joined with another?
    She’d always thought of her parents as separate people, yet when she thought of one, the other came quickly to mind. Would it be a comfort to know you could reach out your hand and someone else’s would curl around it?
    She held out her own and remembered how hard, how strong, Jonas’s had been. No, he wouldn’t make a relationship a comfortable affair. Being joined with him would be demanding, even frightening. A woman would have to be strong enough to keep herself intact, and soft enough to allow herself to merge. A relationship with a man like Jonas would be a risk that would never ease.
    For a moment, she found herself dreaming of it, dreaming of what it had been like to be held close and kissed as though nothing and no one else existed. To be kissed like that always, to be held like that whenever the need moved you—it might be worth taking chances for.
    Stupid, she thought quickly, shaking herself out of it. Jonas wasn’t looking for a partner, and she wasn’t looking for a dream. Circumstances had tossed them together temporarily. Both of them had to deal with their own realities. But she felt a sense of regret and a stirring of wishes.
    Because the feeling remained, just beyond her grasp, Liz concentrated hard on the little details that needed attending to before she could close up. The paperwork and the contents of the cash box were transferred to a canvas portfolio. She’d have to swing out of her way to make a night deposit, but she no longer felt safe taking the cash or the checks home. She spent an extra few minutes meticulously filling out a deposit slip.
    It wasn’t until she’d picked up her keys again that she remembered her tanks. Tucking the portfolio under the counter, she turned to deal with her own gear.
    It was perhaps her only luxury. She’d spent more on her personal equipment than she had on all the contents of her closet and dresser. To Liz, the wet suit was more exciting than any French silks. All her gear was kept separate from the shop’s inventory. Unlocking the door to the closet, Liz hung up her wet suit, stored her mask, weight belt, regulator. Her knife was sheathed and set on a shelf. After setting her tanks side by side, she shut the door and prepared to lock it again. After she’d taken two steps away she looked down at the keys again. Without knowing precisely why, she moved each one over the ring and identified it.
    The shop door, the shop