He knows the exact moment she opens them. She gasps. He knew she would recognize it. “The Titanic,” she breathes. “Ohmysweetgoodness.”

He swims them to the hull. She reaches out to brush her fingers along the rail made so famous in movies. “Careful of the rust,” he warns.

“It looks so lonely. Just like in the pictures.”

He heaves them over the rail and supports her body weight so she can touch her feet on the deck. The stirred-up muck floats around them like an apparition. Emma laughs. “Wouldn’t it be funny to leave fresh footprints here? I bet they’d come up with all sorts of ghost stories. It would make headlines.”

“It would only increase the traffic down here. They’re already selling trips to the Titanic to tourists who can afford it.”

She giggles.

“What?” he says, smiling.

“There’s this big glass jug in the back of my closet. Last year when we studied this in school, I started throwing all my change in it to save up for one of those tours.”

He chuckles and lifts her from the deck to move forward. “What will you spend it on now?”

“Probably some of that chocolate Rachel keeps around the house. I hope I have enough.”

Everywhere she wants to go, he takes her. To the port-side deck, to the anchor, to the giant propeller. He pushes them inside and shows her the officer’s quarters, dilapidated halls, frames of windows with no glass. “We can go deeper in if your eyes are adjusting.”

She nods. “It’s like looking at things in the moonlight on a clear night. I can see almost everything if I really focus.”

“Good.” He reaches a hole in the hall floor and points into the darkness. “No human has been down there since the ship sank. You up for it?”

He can see the hesitation in her eyes. “What?” he asks. “You feel bad? Are you low on air? Is the pressure too much?” He clutches her tight, ready to spring up if she answers yes to any of it. Instead, she shakes her head and bites her lip.

“No, it’s not that,” she says, her voice cracking.

He stops. “Triton’s trident, Emma, what is it? Are … are you crying?”

“I can’t help it. Do you realize what this is? It’s a steel coffin for over fifteen hundred people. Mothers drowned with their children here. People who once walked down these halls got trapped underneath them. They ate off the dishes broken everywhere. Someone actually wore that boot we passed. Crew members kissed their families for the last time the day this ship left port. When we studied it in school, it made me sad for all these people. But it never felt as real as this. This is heartbreaking.”

He brushes her cheek with the back of his hand, imagining the tear that would be there if they weren’t twelve miles deep. “I shouldn’t have brought you here. I’m sorry.”

She grabs his hand but doesn’t move it away from her. “Are you kidding? This is the best surprise you could have planned. I can’t think of anything else that could top this. Seriously.”

“Do you want to keep going then? Or have you seen enough?”

“No, I want to keep going. I just felt I should acknowledge what happened here all those years ago. To be a respectful visitor, not just a mindless tourist.”

He nods. “We’ll explore a few more minutes below, then I need to take you up. We need to surface slowly, so your lungs can adjust if they need to. But I promise, I’ll bring you back if you want.”

She laughs. “Sorry, but I think this is my new favorite hangout. We might as well pack a lunch next time.”

Together, they swim deeper.

*   *   *

A warm glow from inside her house illuminates the doorstep. He shuts off the engine, fighting off the urge to back them out of the driveway and go somewhere, anywhere else. As long as they go together.

“Mom’s home,” Emma says softly.

He smiles. Her hair is still damp from the shower she took at his house, and her spare change of clothes—jeans and a paint-splattered T-shirt—are a bit wrinkled from their time spent shoved in a travel bag in the bottom of Rachel’s closet. This cozy look is just as inviting to him as the little purple dress she wore on their human date. He’s about to tell her so when she opens her door.

“Well, I’m sure she heard the car pull up so I’d better get inside,” she says.

He laughs, trying to swallow the disappointment as he walks her to the door. She fidgets with the keys as if she’s trying to decide which one will unlock the dead bolt. Since there are only three keys on the ring—and the other two are car keys—Galen takes delight in the fact that she’s stalling. She doesn’t want this day to end any more than he does.

She looks up then, meeting his eyes. “I can’t even tell you what a great time I had today. The best time, honest to goodness.”

“You know what my favorite part was?” he says, stepping closer.

“Hmm?”

“We didn’t fight. Not once. I hate fighting with you.”

“I do, too. It seems like a waste of time when…”

He leans impossibly closer, holding her gaze. “When?”

“When we could be enjoying each other’s company instead,” she whispers. “But you probably don’t enjoy my company here lately. I haven’t been very nice—”

He brushes his lips against hers, cutting her off. They’re softer than he ever imagined. And it’s not enough. Moving his hand from her jawline to entwine it in her damp locks, he pulls her to him. She tips up on her toes to meet him and as he lifts her from the ground, she folds her arms around his neck. Just as hungry for him as he is for her, she opens her mouth for a deeper kiss, pressing her soft curves into him. And Galen decides there is nothing better than kissing Emma.