Then, like a mirage materializing from a fever dream, a small wooden structure appeared through the blur of greenery and shadows.
"Thank God," she gasped, never more grateful to see some sign of civilized life. A cabin stood there, solitary but promising refuge. It was rustic, sure, more "primitive shelter" than "charming cottage," but it was real, and that was all that mattered.
Relief flooded through her chest, loosening the knot of anxiety that had been tightening with every passing minute. Someone was here. Someone could help. Someone could explain exactly how her beach vacation had turned into a wilderness survival episode.
Her hand barely grazed the weather-worn door when it swung open abruptly. A man who could only be described as ruggedly academic—if there was such a thing—with tousled dark hair and sharp blue eyes stared her down with barely disguised irritation.
He was tall, maybe six-one, with the kind of stubbled jaw that suggested he hadn't seen a razor in days and didn't particularly care. His blue eyes—okay, really blue eyes, the kind that probably made lab assistants trip over their own feet—narrowed at her like she was an invasive species he was considering cataloging under "nuisance."
"Can I help you?" His tone was icy, an arctic chill that contrasted sharply with the tropical heat.
"Hi! Yes, I'm so sorry to bother you. I think there's been some kind of mistake—I'm supposed to be at Isla Paradiso?" Lily's voice lifted at the end, her sentence morphing into a question against her will.
"Paradiso?" He crossed his arms over his chest. The movement pulled his faded t-shirt taut across shoulders that looked more "man who hauls equipment through jungles" than "man who sits behind desk." "You're not even close. This is Ilot Serenite. You're about fifty miles off course. How'd you get here?"
"Um, a boat," Lily answered dumbly, still processing the astounding mistake. "My assistant booked the travel details and I didn't think to check."
"Well, that's too bad for you because the next supply boat isn't scheduled for another two weeks."
"Two weeks?" The words splashed over her like a bucket of cold water. "What does that mean?"
"It means that unless you're an Olympic swimmer who's going to swim fifty miles to your original destination, you're stuck."
Lily's heart fluttered in her chest like a wild thing as panic clawed at her throat. "No, I can't believe that theywould just leave a human being stranded here with no resources. What if there's an emergency? Who do you call?"
"This isn't a tourist destination, sweetheart,” he said bluntly. "This island is protected. Off-limits to casual visitors. I spent two years jumping through hoops for SPECA—budget reviews, environmental impact assessments, three rounds of permit denials—just to get six weeks here. Six weeks I've already started burning through."
His jaw tightened, frustration radiating off him in waves.
"And now you're telling me someone just... dropped you off? No permits, no approvals, no documentation?" He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Do you have any idea how much red tape I waded through while you apparently just waltzed onto a protected ecosystem because your assistant can't read a map?"
"Research?" Lily blinked, scrambling to keep up. "But... there's supposed to be a resort here. With Wi-Fi. And cell service. And Mai tais."
"None of that exists here." He shook his head, something between disbelief and disgust crossing his features. "No service. No tourists. Just me and the marine life I'm trying to study before some bureaucratdecides my funding isn't worth renewing." His eyes hardened. "You need to leave."
"Leave?" She laughed, though the sound came out hollow. "And go where exactly? The boat that dropped me off has disappeared into the sunset."
"Sounds like a personal problem." A flicker of something—maybe pity—crossed his gaze before vanishing.
"Personal problem?" Lily repeated, incredulity lacing her tone. What a colossal jerk. She tried a different tack. "Look, I'm really sorry about the mix-up, but clearly I can't leave so we need to figure something out."
"Such as?"
"Well, um, is this the only cabin on the island?" she asked, hoping against hope it wasn't. But his confirmed nod snuffed out that ember of hope. "Okay, so I guess we have to share until the next supply boat comes."
"Nope."
"What do you mean 'nope'?"
"I mean I finally—finally—got approval for this research after two years of being told no." His voice rose, the calm facade cracking. "Two years of grant rejections and permit denials and some jackass at SPECA tellingme my work wasn't a 'funding priority.' I'm not giving up the only shelter on this island because some influencer's assistant booked the wrong coordinates."
He saidinfluencerlike other people saidcockroach.
"I'm doing important work," he continued, "and I have a limited window to get it done. I don't have room in my schedule—or my cabin—for whatever it is you think you're going to do here."
She balked. "So you're just going to let me sleep on the beach? What if I get eaten by a shark or something?"
"Not likely as long as you stay out of the water at night."
