She nodded, fixing her eyes back on her marshmallow. The lightly browned crust looked perfectly golden, but she kept it over the coals, appearing lost in her thoughts. “You know how they say your life flashes before your eyes when you have a near-death experience?”
“Yeah.” His marshmallow started to bubble and slide off the end of his stick, but he didn’t dare disrupt her next words.
“Well… it’s partly true. Unless you don’t have many experiences to reflect on.” She turned toward him, a slight smile curling her lips. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying I’ll become a daredevil like you. But Iwouldlike a few more adventures under my belt for the next end-of-life montage.”
She held his gaze, her features an alluring array of newfound fortitude and fragile vulnerability.
His fingers ached to smooth back the wayward strands of auburn hair, crimped and wild after the confines of her French braid. Every single detail of her physical appearance seemed fashioned from his unspoken ideal. And yet, it wasn’t her outward beauty that made him breathless.
Her quiet strength had captivated him, heart and soul.
And taught him that being fearless is far less noble than doing the things that make you afraid.
He swallowed past the roughness in his throat. “Then let’s make sure that montage is Oscar-worthy.”
His gaze instinctively fell to her mouth, and every nerve in his body tingled as she slowly parted her lips, giving him a subtle green light.
With bated breath, he inched forward, his heartbeat hammering in his ears.
Penny’s eyelids fluttered closed.
As he lowered his head, a sudden hiss and sizzle dragged their attention to the fire.
Both their marshmallows had plopped onto the coals and burst into flames.
Much like their perfect moment.
Chapter 16
For most of the night, Penny lay awake, staring up at the canopy of colorful tapestries draped above her bed. The soothing hum of ocean waves caressing the coastline emanated from her sound machine, but it did little to calm her restlessness.
Every time she drifted off to sleep, she had the same terrifying nightmare.
The river’s tumultuous current swept her toward a thundering waterfall, fallen tree branches shattering against sharp rocks jutting from the deep, murky pool below.
Colt appeared by her side and grasped her hand. But rather than lead her to safety, he whooped in excitement, assuring her the ride over the falls would be the biggest thrill of her life.
As the water swelled, pushing her toward the edge, she glanced at Colt for reassurance. But he’d disappeared, leaving her utterly alone.
She woke in the fetal position, the cotton sheets tangled around her legs.
Even after the third rendition, the dream ended the same exact way—Penny sailing over the edge; her petrified scream her only companion.
After wiping beads of sweat from her forehead, she rolled over to check the time on her phone—4:00 a.m.
With a frustrated sigh, she clicked off her sound machine and wrestled free from the covers.
There were only two more activities left. Despite her brave proclamation that she needed more adventures under her belt, she must be getting cold feet. That had to explain the dream, didn’t it?
Slipping out of bed, she padded barefoot into the kitchen to put on the teakettle—sans the steam whistle since she didn’t want the loud screech so early in the morning.
While she waited for the water to boil, she slumped over the counter, gazing into her favorite photograph.
Normally, she focused on the peaceful imagery of the azure sea hugging the pristine shoreline. But today, her focus drifted to the sandcastle, dwelling on the conflicting symbolism.
On one hand, a castle could be a fortress or a sanctuary—an indomitable means of protection. And yet… it could also be a prison, where captives were either locked in a tower or thrown into a bleak dungeon.
Penny squinted at the photograph, visually tracing the outline of the high walls and cylindrical turrets. What washercastle? A sanctuary or a prison cell?
