His voice rumbles along, because clearly, I should be listening, but my focus isn’t on him.
My focus is on the green.
I’m sure it’s not my imagination.
“Cal,” I say.
“Look. I don’t need an apology.”
“I’m not trying to apologize.”
“Uh—”
“Cal,” I repeat, deepening my tone.
“I’m trying to talk—”
“And I’m trying to tell you something.”
He halts.
“Look to your right.”
“Oh,” his voice rumbles. “Oh. Why didn’t you say anything? I was babbling on and on...”
“You don’t babble.”
He stills.
“You were talking.” I inhale. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen. I didn’t want to get your hopes up about the island.”
“Oh.” His shoulders ease, and I wonder how much pain he was holding in them. I contemplate the width of his shoulders before I force away my gaze.
Obviously, it’s only normal to consider shoulder width when someone is riding behind you on a jet ski.
I steer the jet ski toward the island. “I can’t wait to get off of this.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
A beach stretches before us, and slender palm trees blow in the breeze. I’ve never been so happy to see sand in my life.
Birds fly overhead, cawing to one another.
Fish swarm the water around us, and Cal loosens his grip on my waist, a fact I naturally only vaguely notice.
I reduce the speed of the jet ski, then cut the engine. We jump off, and when we land, the water doesn’t even reach our knees. We’re safe.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Cal
Water swishes around my calves and ankles. Schools of fish dart around my feet, clearly baffled by my presence. How do people normally approach this island?
Jason and I drag the jet ski onto the shore.
My shoes are probably destroyed. Maybe I’ll buy some flip-flops. There better be a gift shop here.
I move my feet toward the pearl-white shore, then collapse onto the soft sand.
