Page 25 of Better than Yesterday
“You’re the definition of brooding.” She grabbed a clean glass and polished it, clearly settling in for an interrogation. “Which means either something happened, or something didn’t happen that you wanted to happen.”
Both, I thought, but didn’t say it out loud. Instead, I focused on the temperature gauge for the undercounter fridge, willing the numbers to require my immediate attention.
The past two days had been an exercise in controlled torture. I’d been diving with Tessa and her team while Eli finished his class, exploring the reef systems she was documenting. Watching her work with that fierce, focused intensity that made her eyes light up and her whole body come alive. She found a section of reef where the coral polyps were showing unusual stress patterns, and her excitement underwater had been electric.
But on the surface, we maintained the boundaries. Professional. Distant. The exact opposite of how that kiss on her doorstep had been. How it hadfelt. Today the team was back to a site that didn’t require a resort presence on board, and I was back to Tidal Hops.
“It’s complicated,” I said finally, the understatement of the century.
“Complicated how? You like her, she clearly likes you. You’re both adults. Where’s the complicated part?”
“She’s leaving in eleven weeks.”
“Ah. An expiration date. That always sucks.” Maria set down the glass with a soft clink and watched me for a long moment, her gaze sharp and perceptive. “But it’s more than that, isn’t it? I’ve seen you navigate temporary before. This looks different.”
I let out a long breath and leaned against the back counter, the fight going out of me. “We have history.”
“Okay.” She didn’t press, just waited, giving me the space to continue.
“She was my high school girlfriend. My first... everything. Then she got a full ride to a big university. She left to build this incredible life, and I stayed here.” I gestured vaguely at the fermentation tanks and the whole brewpub around us. “And I’ve spent the last twelve years building this and picking up the pieces she left behind.”
Maria was quiet for a moment, absorbing that. “Nowthatsounds complicated. But the boy she left behind isn’t the man standing in front of me now.”
I glanced up, surprised by her perspective.
“You’ve built this,” she said, her gaze sweeping around the room with pride. “A business. A life. Maybe she needs to see the man you’ve become. And maybe you need to let yourself be him.” She walked over and tapped me on the chest with her index finger. “So instead of counting downthe days until she leaves, maybe you should focus on making them count.”
I snorted. “Now you sound like my mom.”
Before she could respond, the door to the brewpub opened, flooding the interior with afternoon sunlight. I looked up automatically, then froze as the oxygen was sucked from the room.
Tessa stood in the doorway, practically vibrating with energy. She was still in her work clothes—khaki shorts and a faded Scripps T-shirt, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail—but something about her was different. Her whole face was lit up, her eyes bright with excitement that made my chest hurt.
“Braden!” She rushed across the empty dining room, her flip-flops slapping against the polished concrete floor. “I need to talk to you.”
Maria gave me a pointed look and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving us alone.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, coming around the bar. “Did something happen on the dive?”
“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s right.” She grabbed my arm, her fingers digging into my bicep. “I found an anomaly. A survivor.”
Her words tumbled out in a rush. I stared at her, trying to process the shift from our careful distance to this—her hands on me, her face inches from mine.
“A survivor?” I repeated.
“At the west slope site this morning. We were mapping the extent of the die-off, swimming over a section of rubble. It’s supposed to be a graveyard, right?”
I nodded. “Has been for years. A patch here and there that aren’t dead, but no one goes there anymore.”
“Well it’s a good thing we did! Because right in themiddle of the desolation, there is a beautiful colony of Elkhorn coral that is perfectly, impossibly healthy.”
She listed a bunch of technical terms that flowed together, but I caught the gist. I stilled as I focused intently on her words.
“It makes no sense,” she continued, barely pausing for breath. “The conditions there are abysmal. But this colony? It’s thriving. It’s a genetic outlier. A super-coral.”
“A super-coral?” A fluttering took off in my stomach at the term.
Her eyes shined with hope. “If we can figure outwhythis specific colony is immune—if we can map its genetic profile—we could use it to re-seed the damaged areas at Marker 22. Elsewhere too. It’s not just data anymore. It’s a blueprint for a cure.”
