It has something in it.
Something treasure-chest shaped.
“Oh. My. God,” I breathe.
I blink.
Blink again.
Rub my eyes and peer harder at the box illuminated by Davis’s flashlight.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
That’s a treasure chest.
“You afraid of tight spaces?” he asks.
“Yes. No. No. I mean, sometimes. It depends on the space.”
“Hold this.”
He hands me his flashlight, and then he crawls over the rock into the even smaller little cutout.
Seeing him in the tight space makes sweat break out on my hairline. “Please don’t die,” I whisper.
I get a grin in response. “All good here.”
He’s not just grinning.
He’s smiling like a kid who’s just been told he gets an entire birthday cake for himself.
“Is that it?” I breathe.
He flips the lid, and while I gasp, he sucks in an audible breath too.
Gold coins.
There are freaking gold coins in that chest.
It’s not a huge chest—maybe a foot wide, not nearly as long, and just a couple inches high—but it has gold coins inside.
Davis is still wearing his work gloves as he runs his hands through the coins.
They clink like real coins.
He holds one up, and I gasp again.
I recognize that coin.
It’s old.
Oldold. Likely British.
If it’s real—if it’s real, we’ve just found an actual, honest-to-god pirate treasure.
He pauses, and a moment later, he’s pulling a book out from beneath the coins.
It’s leather-bound.
