Page 26 of The Prince's Castaway Baby

“You love me really,” he winks, then dives back under the water like he doesn’t want to see how I react to the comment.

Which is good, because I react with open-mouthed shock. There’s no way he can know, can he?

And then, a fish all but jumps into my net.

I whoop for joy, which brings Jens back to the surface, blinking the water out of his eyes so he can stare at me again. “Oh! You got one!”

Quickly, I pull it out of the net and, as humanely as I can, put it out of its misery. Jens winces, but I ignore him. How else does he think we’re going to eat it?

“Does this mean we have to go now?” he asks, frowning pitifully.

“Not at all,” I grin, leaning back on the grass, tilting my face up towards the sun so I can absorb its warm rays. “Take as long as you want. We’ll go back whenever you’re ready.”

He winks at me again, then heads back out into the lake. I watch him go. I can’t pretend it isn’t a pleasant sight.

And I’d be lying if I said I wanted this to end. Sitting here in the sun, watching my new friend having the time of his life on my favorite island in the world? Yes. I could do this forever.

CHAPTER 13

JENSEN

It’s late when we finally get back to camp. Billie carries the fish in her net, and the second we get back, she takes it into the kitchen and cuts off its head. I force myself to look as she scales it and starts filleting it. It should seem more brutal than it does, but she’s so gentle as she handles it, and I find I can’t look away.

Noticing me hovering, she says, “Why don’t you go light the fire?”

I nod. “Okay.”

“Are you sure you can manage?” she adds, and I roll my eyes.

“Yes, actually. I’ve learned one or two things this week.”

She raises an eyebrow at me, but nods. “Go on, then. I won’t be long.”

I head outside and stack the logs exactly the way she showed me how to do it. I splash a little lighter fluid on them and stuff some tiny dry sticks in the gaps. Then I grin and throw a match into the pit, setting the whole thing ablaze.

Satisfied and more than a little proud, I smile.

Then Billie comes out of the cabin holding two big fillets of fish, some plates, and a skillet. She sits down next to me by the fire and smiles. “Good job.”

My heart swells at the compliment, and I have to stop myself from smiling too widely in case I seem weird.

Billie places the pan on top of the fire, then carefully lowers the fish into it. It hits the metal with a sizzle and starts smoking deliciously.

“Are you okay with canned vegetables?” she asks, holding the can up to show me.

With a smile, I say, “I suppose I’m going to have to be, aren’t I?”

She grins. “Yes, you are.”

The fish crackles and browns in the pan, and we lean into one another to watch it. Billie’s shoulder brushes against mine, and an electric tingle runs all the way up my arm.

Doing my best to ignore it, I ask, “Who taught you to cook?”

She shrugs. “I mostly taught myself. You pick it up quick when you live alone. It’s not like anyone else is going to cook for me.”

“How long have you lived alone?”

She bites her lip, and for a second I think that this is going to be another one of those conversations where we both ask each other things we want to know, but neither of us is quite willing to give any answers.

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