Page 111 of Banter & Blushes #1

brIELLA

I don’t know what I expected when Reid said we were going scuba diving, but it definitely wasn’t this.

“This wetsuit is eating me alive,” I mutter, tugging at the neck. “Why do people do this for fun?”

“You look great,” Reid says, trying and failing to zip his own suit. “Like a stylish sea cucumber.”

I burst out laughing. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Bennett.”

He grins and holds out a hand. “Ready to live a little?”

I want to be. I really do, but I’m nervous. I’ve never been scuba diving before, and the instructor Reid found is giving us a crash course before our first dive. Doesn’t seem safe to me, but the man assured me it is.

Once we are suited up and on the boat, the captain takes us out into a small cove and drops anchor.

The boat rocks gently beneath us as our instructor gives the safety briefing.

Air tanks, breathing regulators, hand signals .

. . At first, I nod along, faking confidence.

But the moment I slip the mask over my face and try to breathe through the regulator, panic tightens around my chest like a vice.

I do my best to power through it, getting used to the unusual feel of sucking in breaths.

After a few minutes, the instructor helps me into an air tank and off the side of the boat for the in-water portion of the crash course.

He demonstrates what I’m supposed to do next by pulling his mask away from his face, letting it fill with water, blowing the water back out and sucking in a breath to reseal the mask. He makes it look so easy.

He points to me, motioning for me to give it a try.

Here goes nothing. I pull the mask away from my face, watching as water fills the once dry space.

I blow hard, pushing the water away, and snap the mask back down, inhaling .

. . a bunch of water. That’s it. I can’t do this.

I kick to the surface, ripping the mask off and making my way back to the boat.

I’m having a full-on panic attack.

“Hey,” Reid says as I reach the boat. “You okay?”

I shake my head. “No. I almost died!”

The instructor chuckles. “You didn’t almost die. Take a minute, and we’ll try again.”

I shake my head. “No way. Sorry. I’m out. I’m a land mammal for a reason, apparently.”

The boat captain laughs as he helps me back on board.

“Bri?” Reid’s voice filters through my anxiety. “Hey, it’s okay.”

I drop the mask, and take off the flippers, my heart pounding. “I—I can’t. I’m sorry.”

He steps closer, eyes full of concern. “You’re okay. You don’t have to do it.”

The captain offers to stay on the boat with me, so I wave Reid away when he offers to cancel this excursion. I didn’t want to ruin his dive because I can’t handle it.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, sinking onto one of the benches. “Go be a majestic merman or whatever.”

Reid hesitates. “You sure?”

I nod, forcing a smile. “Positive.”

Once they’re gone, the silence and bobbing waves don’t help. My stomach churns in that warning way, and I glance at the boat captain nervously.

“Um . . . if I were going to be sick, where should I…?”

“Over the side,” he says casually, pointing. “But maybe not when they’re directly under the boat.”

My eyes widen. “I’m not about to throw up on Reid!”

The captain just chuckles and offers me a ginger chew. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone threw up out here,” he says.

I survive somehow. And when Reid comes back on board talking about the sea turtles and coral gardens, I pretend I’m not miserably jealous that my brain didn’t let me enjoy it with him.

“Hey,” he says gently when we get back to the resort. “You okay? You’ve been quiet since the boat.”

“Yeah. Just embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. I’m glad you tried.” He nudges me. “Besides, We can try snorkeling tomorrow instead. I’ve been told it’s more ‘sea cucumber-friendly.’”

I laugh, and he smiles like making me laugh was the best part of his day, not the underwater wonderland he got to see.

“I’m worn out. I think I could use a nap,” Reid says once we’re back in the room and changed .

“Me too,” I say, pulling back the covers on my bed and climbing in. “Want to leave the balcony door open a bit and let the breeze through?”

“Sounds good to me.” Reid goes over and opens the door some, allowing a soft ocean breeze to move through the room. “Get some rest,” he says, climbing into his own bed.

Exhaustion from the day, and the panic attack, has me falling asleep in minutes. When we wake up, it’s almost time for the luau we booked.

“What are you looking forward to the most?” Reid asks, buttoning his light blue shirt. He looks so handsome in his laid-back resort wear, his skin bronzed from the last few days in the sun.

“The fire dancers, I think. I’ve always wondered about that since I saw Lilo and Stitch.”

Reid laughs. “Only you would think of Disney movies in Hawaii.”

I shake my head and pin him with a fake glare. “Not true. Didn’t you see the Disney store at the airport?”

He shakes his head. “Okay, so, you and a bunch of little kids.”

I stick my tongue out at him. “I’ll never be too grown for kids’ movies.”

I grab the coral sundress I plan to wear and pop into the bathroom. After I’m dressed, I touch up my makeup and pin a white flower behind my ear. Now I look luau-ready.

Reid knocks on the door. “You about ready? We’re running late.”

“Coming,” I call, taking one last look in the mirror before joining him.

We make it downstairs and check in at the hostess stand, where soft ukulele music drifts through the open-air patio. The hostess wears a flower tucked behind one ear and a dress printed with plumeria blossoms, and she greets us with a warm “Aloha!” before leading us to our table.

It’s near the front, close to the stage, and I can already tell the view is going to be unforgettable.

“Help yourselves to the buffet,” she says, handing us woven lauhala menus. “And the tiki bar’s open all evening.”

I thank her, then nudge Reid. “This is incredible.”

Colorful lanterns hang overhead like floating stars, and long white linen-clad tables stretch across the sand.

Tiki torches flicker in the breeze, lining the walkway all the way down to the ocean.

On one side of the space, the tiki bar glows like a beacon, bartenders shaking drinks into tall glasses layered with fruit and paper umbrellas.

And then I spot the buffet.

“Is that a pig?” I whisper, pointing to the center of the table.

Sure enough, a whole roast pig—apple in its mouth and everything—rests on a carved wooden frame above banana leaves and trays of grilled pineapple, coconut rice, and teriyaki-glazed everything.

Reid ch uckles beside me. “It appears to be.”

We fill our plates with a little bit of everything—kalua pork, lomilomi salmon, purple taro rolls, and poke that looks almost too pretty to eat. Back at our table, we sit quickly because the emcee announces that the show is beginning.

A group of female hula dancers sway onto the stage, their grass skirts moving in rhythm to the beat of the drums. Their hands tell stories with every motion—graceful, elegant, mesmerizing.

Hula is definitely an art form. Behind them, the sun begins its slow descent over the water, casting everything in golden light.

Then the male dancers take the stage, bare-chested with tribal tattoos spiraling over their shoulders and down their backs, their movements are sharp and powerful in contrast to the women’s softer ones.

They chant as they stomp, their feet kicking up small bursts of sand.

The crowd cheers when the fire dancers follow, spinning torches that blaze orange and red as they leap and twist with breathtaking precision.

I can’t take my eyes off them.

It’s like watching magic.

“Better than watching it in a movie?” Reid leans in and asks.

I nod my head, unable to make the words come.

As the night moves on, a band takes the stage playing lively music. Couples are moving to a makeshift dance floor where they are swaying to the rhythm.

Reid and I sit close, our knees brushing under the table. Every time he laughs at something I say, he leans just a little bit closer. And every time he does, I feel it—this ache in my chest that’s getting harder to ignore.

His hand drifts toward mine once, hesitating like he’s not sure if he should. Like he wants to, but doesn’t know what will happen if he does.

I don’t move. I don’t breathe. I can’t. Instead I look out over the dance floor, at the couples who look so in love and comfortable swaying in each other’s arms.

Without meaning to, I start swaying too—just slightly. Barely noticeable.

But Reid notices. His knee presses gently against mine.

And neither of us pulls away. The silence between us feels louder than ever.

I want to believe it means something.

But I’ve known him for years. And if I’m wrong—if I’ve misread all of this—what happens to everything we’ve built?

I sit perfectly still, heart pounding in my ears, trying to hold on to the dream a little longer.

Later that night, when we get back to the room, we both hover just inside the door, standing in the soft glow of the b edside lamp like neither of us knows what to do next.

I clutch the strap of my purse like it might anchor me, but it doesn’t. Not with Reid looking at me like that.

“Today was . . .” I start, but the words get lost somewhere between my heart and my mouth.

He nods, his voice low. “Something else.”

We stand there, inches apart, both unsure what to do now.

The silence hums between us like static.

My fingers twitch at my sides. I want to say something. Anything. Ask him what tonight meant. Ask him if he felt it, too—that invisible pull drawing us closer with every second that passed.

But I don’t know how to risk it. Not with him.

Because what if I’ve imagined it all? The looks. The almost-touches. The softness in his voice when he says my name like it means something more.

What if I say it out loud, and he doesn’t feel the same?

What if I lose him?

My throat tightens. The question’s there, begging to be spoken.

Do you love me?

But I can’t ask. I’ve waited so long. Wanted him for so long. And I don’t know if I can handle hearing anything but yes.

So instead of speaking, I take a step back, heading for my side of the bed. I grab my pajamas and retreat to the bathroom, trying to blink away the sting in my eyes as I wash off my makeup.

When I come out, Reid is already under the covers, facing the other side of the room like he’s already gone to sleep.

I climb into my bed slowly, careful not to disturb him with a lot of noise.

I stare up at the ceiling, my chest aching, the ceiling fan casting soft shadows on the walls.

We’re seconds away from something.

Falling apart.

Falling in love.

I honestly can’t tell which.

And that might be the scariest part of all.