Page 35 of The Prince's Castaway Baby

I wake him up on the morning of our departure by knocking hard on his door a bunch of times. I open it slowly and peer around it to see a pair of groggy, puffy eyes staring up at me. “It’s already time to go?” he groans.

“Yes. Get your things.” He blinks at me until he comprehends then pulls the covers up over his head. “You’ve got five minutes or I’m leaving without you.”

I close the door behind me to give him some dignity as he gets dressed, then spend the next few minutes pacing the living room, worrying that I’ve forgotten something. I haven’t. I packed last night, and I’ve double-checked everything about four times now.

Passport, laptop, camera. Nothing else really matters.

To Jensen’s credit, he does emerge five minutes later, clean and dressed. I’m glad he didn’t have anything to pack because I don’t imagine he’s much of a night-before packer. I’m not sure he ever does his own packing at all.

“Morning,” he mumbles, looking distinctly like he hasn’t slept at all.

“You ready to go?”

He shrugs an affirmative. That’s probably the best I’m going to get, so I don’t bother pushing it any further.

“We have a little time for breakfast, if you want.”

“Nah, I’m not hungry.”

“Okay,” I say, raising an eyebrow and feeling like the mother of a petulant child. “But I’m not listening to you if you complain about it later.”

“Okay,” he says, not even putting up the slightest bit of fight, which seems kind of strange for him.

Actually, his whole aura seems off. Subdued, like he’s bummed out about something. Which is almost definitely wishful thinking on my part, but the idea that he’s sad to leave fills me with a kind of fond feeling.

And it lets me believe it might bemethat he’s going to miss.

Without a word, I lead him out to the boat, my big rucksack slung over my shoulders and my small one strapped to my chest. I’m waiting for the comment, to tell me I look like a turtle or an idiot, but nothing comes. He just gives me a funny little smile and follows me.

Just like that, the connection between us has snapped.

When we get to the boat, I throw my bags on board, then gesture for Jensen to get on. He looks between me and the boat, then, with all the grace of a newborn deer, drags himself aboard. It’s all limbs and flailing, and when he finally flops onto the deck, he grins up at me like he just performed a great feat.

I shake my head at him and try my best not to smile back.

I nimbly climb aboard and begin raising the anchor. I did all my checks and inspections yesterday to make sure we were good to go, so I don’t have much to do today. “Make yourself at home in the cabin,” I say, gesturing to the small door that leads below deck. He gives me a dubious look.

This is not a big boat. I wouldn’t want to keep two people on here for any longer than a few days. It’s simply not designed for that. But one person can get along just fine.

I enjoy it, actually. Sure, it’s cramped and you can barely sit up in bed, and the control deck is only just covered from the elements, but on a good day, alone at sea, I can be perfectly content.

So, as long as Jensen stays below deck and leaves me to sail, this should work fine.

As long as I stop having thoughts about him down there, alone in my bed. The single bed, the one that is good for one person, but that would require snuggling up real close if there were two of you…

That part of all of this is over. I have to let it go.

It’s evening by the time I see Jensen again. I’ve been enjoying the day, snacking from the little lunchbox I prepared. The sun is just dipping below the horizon, making the whole ocean blush a rosy pink when Jensen pops his head out from the cabin.

“Stupid question,” he says sheepishly, “but what’s for dinner?”

I want to snapfigure it out for yourself, but I don’t. “There should be some protein bars and snacks in my backpack. Feel free to look. Sorry — there won’t be anything better until we hit land.”

“That’s okay.” I’m expecting him to retreat back under the deck, but he lingers like he’s trying to formulate something to say. “Can I use your phone? Just to text my friend George. I feel bad; he’ll have been worrying.”

“Sure. It’s in my bag. You might not get signal, though.”

“That’s okay. Are we still on track to arrive by morning?”

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