Mac polishes off his pancakes, and sets his fork down on the plate. “Thanks, New York. That hit the spot.”
“Thank you, for all your hard work today.”
“No problem,” he says, standing and taking my plate. “I’ll wash up since you cooked.”
I stand and follow him inside. “No, I’ve got this. You have more important things to do.”
“You sure?”
Nodding, I say, “One-hundred percent. The most important thing is to advertise that we’re here.”
He stares at me for a second, and I’m not sure if he’s worried about me or a little disappointed that I still want to leave. My heart wants him to be disappointed, which is exactly the worst thing it could want right now.
Finally, he says, “Okay, I’ll get going then.”
He starts for the door, then turns back. “Hey, don’t overdo it while I’m gone, okay? Put your feet up and playsome solitaire or have a nap or anything that lets you rest that ankle. Aside from getting rescued, that needs to be our top priority.”
I give him a flirty salute. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
As soon as the door closes behind him, I let out a happy sigh. “I kind of love that man,” I whisper. I don’t, obviously. But if I did, boy, would I ever love him.
After I wash up the dishes, I go outside to lay on the hammock, letting the lazy breeze off the water rock me slowly from side to side. It’s the hottest part of the day and my mind wanders to Mac, wondering where he is right now and when he’ll be back. As much as I wish I could do more, I know he’s right, and that my job is to heal up so I can be back to full strength quicker. The work we did today should give us an excellent shot at getting rescued. Now, all I can do is wait, which means for the first time in my adult life, I literally have nothing to do. Closing my eyes, I let myself doze off, feeling truly relaxed for the first time in years. I dream about Mac. We’re sitting across from each other at the kitchen table eating burgers and fries. He’s giving me that smile and I know when we finish eating, he’s going to take my hand and lead me to the bedroom, where we’ll kiss while we strip off each other’s clothes and then fall onto the bed together and make love all night. I’m hot and satisfied and completely happy in a way I have never been before.
A crack of thunder wakes me from my dream and my eyes fly open. I glance around to see some huge black clouds have moved in. Lightning flashes off-shore, telling me it’s time to go inside. I manage to hold the hammock steady while I get off, then limp back to the house. I stop for a second to gather Mac’s bedding, but some evil part of me stops me from doing it. Well, not evil so much as horny. If I leave them out here and they get soaked, I’ll have nochoice but to offer for him to share the bed. The love seat is far too small for either of us to sleep on.
No, that would be wrong. To manipulate things in order to get Mac into bed. If a man did it, people would say he had no morals. Well, that he was manipulative, anyway, which is true. I can’t. I need to pick up his things before they get soaked. Oh, there’s the first few drops of rain. It’s now or never.
Come on, hands, pick up his pillow and blanket. Do it now. It’s the right thing to do.
But my hands aren’t cooperating. They want to press themselves against every inch of his hard body instead. And now the rest of my body is going along with the idea because I’m hopping right past the lounge chair and into the house. I shut the door behind me, my heart pounding wildly at what I’m doing.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the love seat.
Oh, Paige Chadwick, you wicked, wicked woman. You are going to have the best time of your entire life.
17
An Ode to Meteorologists…
Mac
One of themost underrated things out there is the weather forecast. Now, I know that’s something an old geezer would say, but hear me out because it’s true. Just think of all the picnics that would get ruined, the brides who would end up crying, all the convertibles that would have their interior completely drenched if it weren’t for the good old weatherman.
Back in my regular life, I know how important the forecast is for my job, but in my personal life, I never think about it. But now, that I’m out here soaking wet, carrying the second dummy—Scuba Bob as Paige has nicknamed him—I’m wishing I had known this storm was coming. That way, I wouldn’t have walked this far, and I’d be back in the safety of a warm, dry cottage, probably playing some cards with Paige. Maybe I’d even talk her into a game of strip poker. Mmm, yes...
But instead, I’m drenched to my underwear, with wet sand clinging to me from slipping and falling a few minutesago. My eyes are fighting me on the need to stay open so I can keep moving. They’d rather close and not get pelted with driving rain.
Deciding I’m far enough from the last dummy, I find a tree to string Scuba Bob to, then set to work. A few minutes later, I’ve turned back toward the cottage, knowing it’ll take me over an hour to get back. I’m tired from not having slept much last night and all the exertion over the last couple of days. Those pancakes wore off a long time ago, but my feet keep propelling me forward as fast as possible so I can get back to the house where Paige is waiting.
Today I saw a different side of her—the professional go-getter. The industrious version of her. And she is wonderful. Smart, creative, and talented as all-hell to turn a bunch of nothing into something that could work. I can see why her horrible boss relies on her so much. She’s someone who inspires confidence. Someone who’s going places in life, which is why I should step aside and stay out of her way. Not that I’m in the way right now. After all, we just met, and we’re absolutely not going to start up a relationship. But seeing her potential is one more excellent reason for me to stay at arm’s length.
The sky grows darker as I make my way over some boulders on the shore, and I realize it’s a lot later in the day than I thought it was. I pick up my pace, knowing it’s going to get a lot harder in a few minutes when it’s pitch black out here.
When I come around the bend, I spot the happy little cottage, the cheerful yellow glow of the lights beckoning me home and Paige standing in front of the kitchen window above the sink.
Did I just use the phrase ‘beckoning me home?’ Apparently, I did.
Crap on a stick. The fact that I’ve already started to think of it as home is not a good sign as far as my feelings go. It’s not home, and she’s not the woman I’m coming home to every night. We’re just two strangers making the best of a bad situation, and that’s all this is. And I’m going to have to remind myself of that fact every few minutes until we get off this island.
