“What’s this?” Hunter tugged on a piece of paper with an outdoor shower I had sketched last night after we said goodnight. I tried to smash my hand on it to stop him from pulling it out from under the journal, but he was too quick and yanked it out. Abandoning my chair (and lucid thoughts), I launched for it, but Hunter raised it above his head, then behind it, then out to his right, not letting me catch it.
“Goodness.” He laughed. “What is it?”
I climbed onto Hunter’s lap, reaching for it, my boobs smashing Hunter in the face, his exhaled “oof” skimming my skin. The move brought our bodies flush together. The chair tilted back too far and gave a warning wobble. I squealed, my thighs squeezing his waist, readying for impact with the floor.
“Whoa!” Hunter’s arms went under my butt, and he jerked forward, standing up and saving us from falling backward. The chair tumbled with a loud thud.
Hunter’s body was a hard wall of muscle. Of course, I knew that from observing him for hours, but I’d never imagined how it would feel when one hung on to it like a buoy in the middle of the ocean. The heat radiating from him was enough to burn down this hut, especially where his forearm propped me up under my ass. His gaze was no longer playful, but scorching, yearning. My breaths resembled those of a triathlon winner, and my eyes were trained on his. And his were… on my mouth. From my very center, something spread like warm, soft honey in every direction of my body; the feeling amplified as it reached certain parts of me and turned into throbbing.
Another beat passed before Hunter cleared his throat, and his arms relaxed, releasing me. I didn’t want to let go of him. Iwanted him to touch me more. My legs trembled, but I managed to stand without falling. Hunter bent and reached for the chair, and I used that moment to yank the page out of his hand and flip it face down on the table.
“Wonder Woman, why are you so protective of that?” Hunter chuckled, setting the chair upright. “What is that? Did you figure out the message?”
“It’s nothing.” I smoothed my frizzy hair and sat down, my heart racing at the speed of light. “Just a stupid idea.”
How Edward had lived on the island without proper plumbing forever would remain a mystery, but I imagined what I would have done if this was my place. My dad built a rain barrel watering system for my mother’s garden. During hot days, we used to joke that the sun had heated the water to the point it could be used for showering instead of watering the plants. And that made me think about designing an outdoor shower. On the island, there were plastic bins and an endless supply of fresh water and sunlight. Everything we could need.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Hunter said, swiping one of the bigger journals off the table and placing it on his lap as he sat down. His blue eyes stood out more against the red hues spreading across his cheeks.
“Fine.” I blew my fallen hair off my face and turned the sheet over. “I just thought that you have enough junk here that we could build this.”
Hunter leaned in, pulling the page closer, and studied it. I used the pencil to point at the top of my sketch to eliminate accidental or non-accidental body touching. We’d had enough of that for today.
“That’s the large blue plastic drum you have by the shed,” I said. Hopefully, it wasn’t used for toxic waste and had no holes. I move the pencil’s tip to the bottom of the barrel. “And this is an awful illustration of the watering can toy we could use as a showerhead. We could build it in the open area with a damaged tree halfway between the hut and the waterfall. These are plumbing pipes overhead.”
The “hmmm” Hunter made didn’t sound as if he was all that convinced. But I went on since he asked, and I had nothing else to lose. “We’ll secure this drum on this trunk, stick the hose inside, add the watering can on its end and divert water into it from this pipe.” I circled the bamboo tube. “During the day, the sun will heat the barrel, and voilà, in the evening, we’ll have a warm shower.” Just thinking about it made me ecstatic. I flashed a triumphant smile.
He hummed. “It’s a fine idea, but it won’t work.”
My smile dropped. “Why not?” That came out whiny with a touch of defensiveness.
Hunter was about to lecture me, just like Phill often did, about my inability to assemble even a simple IKEA bookshelf without connecting it to my laptop. And yes, I was sure I’d have figured out how to make an even better outdoor shower if I had internet. There were enough YouTube tutorials available that anyone could build a space rocket in their backyard if they wanted to. In our situation, I would have looked up how to construct a motored raft.
“It’ll leak all day long.”
“I thought about that, too. We’ll use that sticky goo you use on the boat to fix any leaks.”
“Okay.” He tugged on his bottom lip with his teeth as he eyed me. “What about the faucet? You could bend and pinch the hose a few times, but eventually, it will break.”
“Didn’t you study physics in high school?” I teased him with the exact phrase my dad had used on me. “I don’t know the specific law, but it has something to do with the water level always being at the same elevation. With a rope, we’ll lift a hose above the water level in the barrel, and it shouldn’t leak. When we’re ready to shower, we lower it down.” I beamed proudly and wished my father could see me now. At last, I was doing something besides sticking my nose into a computer screen or book. He would be so pleased with my inventiveness. I also pondered, not for the first time, if he would be pleased with me for trying to fulfill his sailing dream, or if he would tell me it was solely meant for him?
Hunter hummed again, nodding. “Okay,” he said, straightening in his seat.
That was all? He did not find it impressive. I knew it was a stupid idea. I wanted to ask (shout), “What do you mean, okay and hmm?” but I was afraid he would turn into Phill and belittle me with cheap and baseless facts, twisting them in such a way that it would crush my self-confidence. I didn’t want that.
Plastering a fake smile, I removed my sketch from his view and added it to the pile of papers with our dismissed ideas about the puzzling message. “Let’s get back to working on these numbers.”
* * *
“I don’t think I can take this anymore,” Hunter said about an hour later, leaning back on the chair and linking his long fingers behind his head. His plain, light green T-shirt stretched across his broad chest and clung around his biceps. “Do you want to go for a swim with me, and then I’ll start on our dinner?”
“I came from a family of robotics engineers and financial modelers. Math is my second nature. Algorithms were my second language. I can’t give up just yet,” I said. “I need to beat this.”
In truth, it wasn’t a genuine excuse for me not going.
Working so close together we frequently touched and leaned on each other more often when it could have been easily avoided, his knee pressing to mine, or my hand resting on his forearm. And I think it was all my doing.
“I’m not in a swimming mood.” I nudged his foot slightly with mine—see, I could have avoided that—while my gaze pointlessly zigzagged across the five diagrams we had created. “If I get tired of this, I might read a gardening book. You have fun.” I saluted him and flipped to a new page.
