Page 17 of The Prince's Castaway Baby

“That’s actually okay,” he says, and somehow that feels like the highest of praise.

We continue through the forest. Overhead, some birds launch from the branch they’re perching on, and Jens stares up at them in wonder, his bright blue eyes wide as he takes in the beauty of the natural world.

“How do you know where to look for what you’re looking for?” he asks as he follows me.

I shrug. “I don’t really. A lot of nature photography is just about getting lucky. There are certain hotspots that I like to hit. I do a full scout of the area I’m staying in before I start shooting, and usually I have a pretty good clue of habitat the animals I’m aiming for like to live in. But knowing… you never can know for sure. All you can do is hope for the best.”

“What happens if you don’t get any good photos?”

“Usually I manage to get at least one or two. But generally, especially if I’m working at the request of someone else, they’ll pay me to come out here, and I’ll charge them a set rate depending on days, location, difficulty, stuff like that. The thing with naturalists is they understand that the animals don’t always want to come out. Often they have lots of stuff on their wish list so that they can get at least something out of my trip. Then sometimes I sell photos independently as well. I like to get funding to go on trips, but I don’t always have to anymore, which feels nice.”

He nods as I talk, taking in all the information. I get the sense that he’s formulating another question, but before he can say anything, a rush of noise overhead startles us both as well as half a dozen more birds who take flight from the bushes.

“Damn,” I mutter. Overhead, a helicopter races past before heading back out into the ocean.

“I take it that’s not a common sight?”

I shake my head. “No, Isla Mostaza is about as as tranquil as an island can get. Sometimes this happens, but usually only when they’re looking for something or someone…” I trail off, realizing what that means.

Jens goes quiet. I reach out as if to take his hand in comfort, but pull away before I make contact. “You can use the emergency phone if you want. Let people know you’re alive.”

He shakes his head. “No. I’m here now. I’ve made my choice.”

I want to say something else, but I can’t figure out what, and then it’s too late, because Jens adds, “I want to go back to the cabin now. Please.”

I don’t question it and lead him back, and I don’t see him for the rest of the day.

The next day, I take Jens out with me again. Despite his general incompetence and bizarre way of thinking, he’s a decent conversationalist, and at the very least it’s nice to have someone to hold my camera case.

I’m a little bit concerned about it raining, but we head out anyway.

“I can always bring umbrellas to hold,” says Jens just before we head out, which makes me giggle.

“I don’t have an umbrella,” I say. “When it rains here, I stay inside.”

“Isn’t that boring?”

“I always have work to do.” I hold back from addingnot that that’s something you would understand, because it feels unnecessarily nasty. “If it starts raining, we’ll just head back.”

Jens shrugs and doesn’t ask any more questions. We head out, skirting along the edge of the tree line on the beach. I’d love to get some pictures of birds in the sea today — the turbulent skies could make for some really dramatic shots. Plus, if it does start to rain, we can run back to the cabin without having to worry about crunching through the trees.

“How do you cope with getting all this sand in your shoes?” Jens whines as we walk, stopping to shake his feet every two seconds.

I turn to roll my eyes at him. “First of all, sneakers really are the wrong kind of shoes to be wearing in this place. Second, I don’t know. You just kind of deal with it. Surely you must have been to a beach before.”

“Obviously,” he scoffs. “I just usually don’t have to do this much walking.”

“Sure — you have your own personal donkey to carry you around.”

His mouth opens and closes like a fish. I probably shouldn’t have said that. “Some of us like to sunbathe, that’s all.”

“If I wasn’t at work, I’d agree with you completely.”

“You would?”

I stare at him, my eyebrows drawing together. “You really think I’m just some kind of scruffy, outdoors girl who doesn’t care about my appearance at all, don’t you?”

Wisely, he decides not to say anything to that, just shakes his head in a way that I can interpret however I want. I decide I’m bored of this conversation and don’t say anything else either.

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