* * *
I stirred, then awoke abruptly, alone in bed. The sun spilled into the room. Breeze tugged at the journal pages on the desk and played with pink and purple flower petals in an aluminum mug. This was a déjà vu. Only now I knew where I was, and the enormity of my gratitude for the handsome man who lived here was impossible to encapsulate.
Ignoring the throbbing headache that drummed beneath my temples, I slowly sat up and looked at four small red openings with purple outlines on my ankle. Hunter had saved my life for the second time. I had to thank him, but a wave of nausea pushed me back onto the bed. This could wait. I closed my eyes and tried calming the feeling of sickness by listening to the birds and the ocean. The porch step creaked, and familiar footsteps approached.
Hunter perched next to the bed, holding a cup. “Hey,” he said in a low voice. “How are you feeling?”
“This feels like déjàpooof how we met.” I gave him a weak smile. “How many days have I been out again?”
“One. I brought you some water.” He helped me lift my head and held the mug to my lips. After a few sips, he lowered me back down. He placed his hand to my forehead, the cool touch of his palm bringing short-lived comfort, and heat blossomed in my chest like a flower at his attentiveness. “No fever, that’s good.”
“Aren’t you going to lecture me?” I squinted one eye at him.
“Maybe later.”
“Did I dream it or does your boat have a huge…?”
Hunter’s face creased with pity. “Sorry.”
My initial reaction was to jump out of bed and work on the plan of what we could do to get the hell off the island, but a tidal wave of fatigue held me down.
Before my mind whisked me into nothingness, I whispered, “Thank you for saving my ass.”
Hunter was silent for a moment then his hand cupped the side of my face. His calloused thumb gently traced the corner of my mouth, tugging at my bottom lip. His eyes tracked his movement, then he leaned in, saying, “Anytime,” and pressed a kiss to my brow.
For one, two seconds.
At the touch of his warm lips every pressure point in me became a living pulse as if someone poured pop rocks candy into my bloodstreams. When Hunter pulled away, his eyes held shock, like he had done this on impulse, and it had surprised him. It had sure as hell surprised me.
“I…” he said, closed his mouth, and opened it again. I eyed him quizzically, waiting for an explanation. The act was sweet. It was kind. It was sincere. It meant nothing but a friendly gesture. “I was double checking for fever.”
“I understand.”
He backed away and quickly left the room, and as I watched him leave, I couldn’t stop a smile from pulling at my lips.
* * *
Aside from the light discomfort in my ankles the next day, I was back to normal. At noon, judging by the sun directly above, I found Hunter in the kitchen. I leaned against the tree and surveyed the soft-spoken man, removing fish wrapped in leaves from the hot coils. Hunter was a reserved, manly man, yet if he lowered his guard, he could be funny and, at times, flirtatious. But most of all, he was a kind, gentle man. The flutter in my chest accelerated at the thought of yesterday’s tender kiss. My chest expanded with the warmth of appreciation, and then guilt gutted me open, letting out all the warmth. I shouldn’t have climbed the black rocks and made him worry.
I felt dwarfed by my ignorance. “I’m sorry I went there.”
Hunter looked up. “You should have taken my advice and let the snakes bite you while I was present,” he said calmly, raising his eyebrows as if to sayI told you so. “I thought you were going to die.”
“Am I immune now?”
“Immune to what? The snakes or your stupidity?” A smile teetered on the edge of his mouth.
“Hey.” I scowled at him. “Don’t be an asshole. Tell me you never did stupid shit someone warned you not to do?”
“Sorry. You’re right.” Hunter crouched beside me, and his fingers gently glided over my sores, then his hand followed the bruises up my calf and to the back of my knee, making them go weak. “You are not exactly immune to the venom, but you’ll handle it better next time. One or two more bites, and you should respond the same as you would to a bee sting. It will hurt for a while. Luckily, they didn’t strike your heel. It happened to me once. It didn’t heal properly for a long time. I limped for weeks.” He stood up and inclined his head toward the table. “Let’s get some food in you.”
Not having eaten anything for two days turned me into a growing teenager. Hunter was halfway done eating white flaky fish with mango salsa when my plate already had no evidence of lunch.
“Do you want some of mine?” He slid his plate to me, the compass on his forearm reminding me of my strange dream. Without asking for permission, I reached for his arm and rested it on the table between us, peering closely at his tattoo, noticing details on the sundial that I could swear weren’t there before.
“I think I know the answer. Well, not the answer, but I know primers that could help us to find answers.” I gently traced the dial on the tattoo, Hunter’s skin warm and soft under my fingertips. “This sundial was never meant to be used to tell time. Think of any horizontal sundials you have seen. The numbers are grouped mostly on the top half, with a large gap on the bottom because the shadow never crosses that part during the day. On this compass, the digits are arranged like a regular clock. Notice that each cardinal point is precisely under ‘12’, ‘3’, ‘6’, and ‘9’, and only the ‘2’ in ‘12’ has the same thickness as ‘3’, ‘6’, and ‘9’.”
Hunter peered at his forearm as if seeing the tattoo for the first time. “I’ll be damned.”
