I snatched the paper off and carried it with me.
Hunter stood next to a stone stove that resembled something I’d seen during tours of historic buildings in Savannah, GA. One side had an open area for roasting, and the other had a firebox with a door and a flat cooktop. He moved a skillet aside, picked up a well-used saucepan, and poured brown liquid into two tin cups. Fire pit smoke mingled with the warm tropical air, but I also recognized the distinct aroma of?—
“Coffee?” I stopped at the wooden picnic table under the kitchen tent and inhaled deeper.
“Morning.” He glanced at me. “I fixed the bean grinder. It’s not Starbucks, but it isn’t terrible.”
My fingers clutched the page I found on the porch, my lips curling up. “Is this a text message?”
“Yes.” Hunter rubbed his brow, appearing a bit shy. “I left it in case you woke up before I returned and couldn’t find me. I didn’t want you to get scared. I drew a speech bubble around itto make it fun.” He ran his palm over the beard stubble. And I wondered—for not more than a microsecond—if it would feel soft under the tips of my fingers.His. Not mine. I meant to thinkhis. Hunter sheepishly smiled and said, “I know, it looks stupid.”
I’d known this man only a matter of hours, but after a much-needed sleep, my gut feeling was that it was a good thing I’d stuck with him. Hunter knew how to fix things, had a sense of humor, and maintained a positive mood in this shitty situation. If I were here with Phill, he would have no doubt sulked for days, blaming me for the sailing trip’s misfortune, for hiring the insufficient captain (as if he would’ve done a better job choosing one), and most likely, somehow, the dreadful storm would have been my fault too.
“It’s a cute idea. I like it.” I smiled, then ran my fingers through my greasy, tangled hair. If I waited any longer to take a proper shower, a family of lice could soon become my pets. Just the thought of the wingless parasite worsened the prickling of my skin.
He offered me the mug. “I might have some sugar. Would you like some?”
“Yes, please.”
Hunter disappeared into the hut and soon returned. He retrieved a teaspoon from an aluminum jar on the shelf and presented me with an Organic Brown Coconut sugar paper bag.
I wrinkled my nose. “Coconut flavor is my least favorite.”
“Take it or leave it, Wonder Woman.” He left everything on the table and moved around me.
Wonder Woman?My mouth twitched at its corners. Phill always called me a Silly Ducky, which he usually followed up with, “You’re book smart, but you aren’t clever.” I hated when he said that to me. Where did that nickname come from? And a better question was, why had I allowed him to use it? Hunter’s nickname for me was much better. I wished I were Wonder Woman. I could have saved Bambi.
“Why did you call me that?” I asked, trying to hide my reaction that I liked it.
“Because Iwonderwhere you came from.” He turned away but not before I caught a kind smile on his face that gave away that it wasn’t the only reason. Many people have commented over the years that I resemble Gal Gadot. I felt an unexpected curiosity about whether he found her attractive.
I added some sugar to my coffee and then took a sip. It was flavorful—a bit weak—but had no trace of coconut grossness. All things considered, it was superb.
Hunter placed plates with scrambled eggs and cut-up mangoes on each side of the table and gestured for me to take a seat. “How is your leg?”
“It hurts if I press on it, but overall, I feel great.”
After long minutes of us eating in silence, stealing curious glances at each other, he asked, “You made a hell of a mess on the table back there.” He peered at me over his mug, then nodded at the hut. “What were you doing?”
“Decoding messages in the magazines. I’m not sure how long I was up. I fell asleep while working on a phrase from a movie from 1995.”
“What movie?”
“It doesn’t say.”
“What words do you have so far?”
If he wasn’t interested, he wouldn’t be asking. Or maybe he was just trying to be polite. Either way, this was an excellent opportunity for us to bond, get to know each other, and make thiscastaway situation less tormenting.
Stuffing the last bit of food into my mouth, I held up an index finger and went inside to grab my notes. On my return, I pushed aside my empty plate and spread the sheets on the table, pointed at the magazine page, and then at the paper with my scribbles. “I think these are correct: ‘a box of chocolates’, ‘you’, ‘you’re’, but the rest of the words I partially guessed.”
Hunter picked up the sheet and twisted his lips to one side, reading my chicken scratch. My handwriting was never beautiful, especially when I rushed or was tired.
“My momma always said life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get.” He handed me my notes back. “Forrest Gump.”
I couldn’t believe I didn’t think of it. My eyes matched his words to the scripted ones. The length of each word equaled the number of letters in each scripted word. “You’re right.” I beamed. “You were quick to break this code.”
“I just guessed the movie.” Hunter flipped through the rest of the pages with my decoded puzzles, taking in every note and chart. His eyebrows went up and his eyes flicked to me, questioning. “What was your job again?”
