Page 11 of Leave Before I Love You
Leaving the water slowly, I make my way back onto the sandand turn to sit, lying back on my elbows to expose my stomach. I look up to the bright sun and mutter, “Might as well get a tan.” Even laughing at the absurdity of it all as I adjust my body into an optimal sunbathing position.
This is all so fucking insane.
I close my eyes and imagine I’m at a five-star resort, laid out on a lounger and waiting on my butler service to arrive with a perfectly curated drink. Unfortunately, the silly little fantasy only reminds me how dry my mouth is, and I huff out a sigh of frustration and squeeze my eyes tighter.
How the hell did I go from having a five-hundred-dollar lunch at Selatare, my favorite Italian fine dining in Miami, two days ago…tothis?
Something taps me on the arm, startling me into a frightened jump, but Henry’s voice is quick to follow.
“Here. Drink some water.”
The thing I felt isn’t a giant spider, thank God, but the hydration pack I vaguely remember pressing against last night in the tent. Still half full of clear liquid, it’s a large mercy. I snag it quickly and put the straw to my mouth, sucking heartily for several long, deep gulps until I notice Henry watching me. It’s only then that I realize this is probably all the water we have for both of us and that there are no quick trips to the store to get more when we run out.
Shit.
“Sorry,” I say with a wince, more than three-quarters of the bag already on its way to my stomach. I force myself to focus on the ground, on the trees—anywhere but Henry. Because,holy hell, does he look good.
Sun-kissed skin, damp, dark hair, broad shoulders that taper into a sculpted chest and abs—every inch of him looks like he walked straight out of a cologne ad. I can practically hear the dramatic voice-over now, “Masculine. By Versace.”
“It’s fine,” he refutes, running a hand through his hair. “I already had some, but I just realized how thirsty you had to be. I’m going to set up a water collection system today, so we’ll have more if it rains.”
“A water…collection system,” I repeat slowly, trying to ignore the way his abs flex as he shifts. Between that and the tent we slept in last night because of him, I’m starting to think he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life.
“Yeah,” he replies, a smirk lifting one corner of his mouth. “With some sea grape leaves and stuff. Not sure what container will be easiest to funnel it into, but I’ll figure it out.”
I squint at him. “How do you know so much about being stranded on an island? Seriously. Are you a prepper? Some kind of survivalist freak?”
Henry shrugs, his blue eyes flashing with amusement. “Would you believe I was obsessed withGilligan’s Islandas a kid?”
Realistically, it’s a perfectly viable reason, but I know for a fact after spending so much time growing up around him that his body language is all wrong. He’s lying—though, I have no clue why.
“No.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Actually, I don’t believe that at all.”
“Well…” He shifts slightly, rubbing the back of his neck, and for the first time since we crash-landed on this godforsaken island, Henry Callahanblushes.His normally hard jaw softens into something much more boyish as red creeps up his cheeks.
“I guess it could also be because I was—am—a Boy Scout leader for a troop in Miami.”
“Wait…” My eyes widen. “You’rea Boy Scout?” My voice goes up at least three octaves as a giggle bubbles out of me.
“Ascout leader,” he corrects, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I haven’t been a Boy Scout since I was a kid.”
“Well, well.” I grin, tilting my head. “I guess Beau isn’t the only one with secrets, huh? This is fantastic news. I’m stranded with a professional camper.”
Henry sighs, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like that. My dad signed me up after…” His voice is even, but it trails off for a moment, leaving something unspoken in the space between his words. “He wanted to find something for us to do together. Give us something structured, somewhere to go. And I liked it. I liked learning how to build things, start fires, tie knots. It felt…useful. So, when my old troop leader asked me to come back and help, I did. And I just never stopped.” He shrugs. “Feels equal parts obligation and something I actually enjoy. The kids are great. The parents, too.”
I blink, caught off guard. I expected something ridiculous—maybe some Henry-style bullshit about preparing for the apocalypse or training for some kind of survivalist reality show. Not…that.
Before I can process the full weight of what sits between his words, Henry nods to the water still in my grasp. “Have as much as you want. I’ll go work on the collection system, and then we can go for a hike around the island to see if there’s anything useful.”
“A hike?” I question, shaking my head. “Henry, you must be forgetting my clothing rant from yesterday and the tale of the girl with one shoe.” I wiggle my bare feet in the sand for dramatic effect, as the one shoe I do have is still up by the side of the tent with my waist pack.
He smiles. “Your other one just washed up on the beach a minute ago.” I turn to follow the point of his finger and see my shoe, my missing Golden Goose, floating and rolling carelessly at the very edge of the lapping water.
It’s surely waterlogged and mostly destroyed, but the joy I feel at seeing it is almost overwhelming.
“Oh my God! My shoe!”
“See that?” Henry says victoriously with a pump of his fist and a waggle of his eyebrows. “Things are looking up already.”
