“Okay,” I answer, not sure why she wants to look at that.
“Remember how I wanted to take a quick peek around the corner but you said it wouldn’t be worth wasting the energy?”
“Yeah,” I answer, having no idea where she’s going with this.
She gives me the mother of all glares. “There’s a cottage there.”
12
I’m the Captain Now…
Paige
“What?”he asks, scrambling to his feet.
“A … cottttaaggge,” I say, speaking slowly in lieu of yelling it at him, which is what I want to do. “Directly around the corner from where we crashed.”
I adjust the focus, taking in the sight of a small white house with a red clay roof that has been fitted with solar panels. It’s sitting on the beach with an extremely inviting hammock strung between two palm trees. Letting out a puff of frustrated air, I hand him the binoculars, then narrow my eyes at the idyllic scene that suddenly seems impossibly far away.
Mac looks at it, remaining perfectly still. For one brief second, I imagine him pretending he knew it was there all along. I think I’d deck him if he did that. Honestly. Not that I’ve ever decked anyone before, but I swear to God, I would punch him right in his gorgeous face.
Finally, he lets out the tiniest sound, somewherebetween a gulp and a groan. “Well, fuck me, New York. You were right. There is a house down there.”
“Yeah, no. Not going to fuck you,” I tell him, even though it’s been on my mind since I first laid eyes on him. “If you had listened to me, we’d be rescued by now.”
“I doubt it,” he answers, peering through the binoculars some more. “I don’t think anyone is there.”
“You doubt it?! Mr. Totally-Wrong-But-Thinks-He’s-Right-About-Everything doubts it,” I say, fury flowing through my veins.
“I have very good reason for what I’m saying.”
“Of course you do,” I say, laying the sarcasm on thick.Okay, Paige, calm down. Getting all wound up will do you no good.I glance back at the tiny house, my rage returning instantly at the thought of being down there in the shade of those palm trees rather than boiling hot up here in the sun after a five-hour hike to nowhere. “I forgot you’reSuperman, which means you must have x-ray vision. You can obviously see through the roof that no one’s home.”
He gives me a deadpan look. “No, I can see very clearly what’s on the outside of the house. Or rather, what’snotout there. A boat or a plane, meaning whoever was here is now gone.”
No. That can’t be true. Therehasto be someone there. Someone who can save me from being with this horrible, awful, stupidly handsome man. Maybe a couple of nice women who got so sick to death of mansplaining that they built a house way out here and are living in harmony on the shores of the Caribbean. Sounds delightful to me. If that’s the case, maybe I’ll leave the world behind and join them. “You don’t know that for sure,” I say. “Maybe they got dropped off.”
Shaking his head, he says, “All these private island guys have their own means of transportation.”
“Well, maybe this one doesn’t. Maybe they have someone they hitch a ride with.” My ladies would totally hitch a ride to avoid things they’re sick of dealing with, like boat insurance and buying gasoline.
He stares at me for a second, and I can tell he’s trying to decide whether to let me have it straight or let me go on believing an idea that is sounding more and more far-fetched by the second. Finally, he gives me a quick nod. “Yeah, maybe.”
“So? Let’s go then. The daylight is burning.”Oh, the daylight is burning. That was good. Totally sounds like something a survivor-type person would say. Something those fabulous independent, don’t-need-no-men women down there would say if they were stuck up here with a total jackass that convinced them to climb a damn mountain in the blistering heat instead of taking a short stroll to civilization. Okay, I’m reaching here, but between the heat and the exhaustion and the heat exhaustion and missing my sister’s wedding and being stranded with someone I wouldn’t want to share an elevator up one floor with, I’ve reached the end of my rope. The very end. It’s frayed and about to snap, as am I.
I turn to start back the way we came but he stops me with his voice. “Hang on. I think we should rest up a bit and refuel. It’s a long way and it’s the hottest part of the day.”
“Or we could hurry up and be rescued today.”
“A few minutes won’t make any difference,” he says, digging around in his backpack. He takes out a couple of protein bars, a star fruit and a knife. “Let’s go sit under that tree.”
My shoulders drop while I watch him make his way over to a tall cypress tree. He’s right about this. I know he is, but I don’t want him to be right. Or reasonableand calm. I want him to be filled with self-blame for the situation we’re in. I want him to be sheepish and deferent. I want him to tell me he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing and he’s just winging it and that he doesn’t know anything about anything. I guess hedidtell me I was right about the house, but still, I need more than that little admission to be ready to absolve him of the sin of not listening to my ideas. I drag my feet while I walk over to join him, wishing like hell I had my own backpack with my own snacks because having to rely on Mac Gamble is about as appealing as finding a hair ball in your oatmeal.
Taking one of the protein bars from him, I offer him a quick and unenthusiastic thank you, then scarf it down to show I mean to get going as soon as humanly possible. He watches me for a second with one eyebrow raised before returning to the task of cutting up the star fruit into sections. An uncomfortably tense silence fills the mountain top while we eat. As soon as we finish, I stand up, wiping my hands on my pants.
I wait for him to get up, but instead he stretches out his legs and lays down, using his backpack to prop up his head. Crossing his arms over his chest, he closes his eyes.
“Are you … napping?” I ask.
