But somehow, stupidly, she'd expected... something. Some indication that this meant more to him than a convenient distraction.
"You should take it," she said, and the words tasted like ash. "Sounds like an incredible opportunity."
"I haven't decided anything yet."
"But you're considering it. You've been considering it." She stood, suddenly needing distance. "Which is fine. That's smart. You should absolutely be thinking about your career."
"Why does it feel like you're mad at me?"
"I'm not mad." She carried her mug to the kitchen, keeping her back to him. "I'm being practical. Isn't that what you wanted?"
The chair scraped as he stood. She felt him approach, felt the heat of him behind her, but she didn't turn around.
"I mentioned Hawaii because I thought you should know," he said quietly. "Not because I've made a decision."
"Okay."
"Lily. Look at me."
She turned, and the expression on his face—conflicted, frustrated, something she couldn't quite read—made her chest ache.
"I don't know what happens next," he said. "I don't have answers. But that doesn't mean?—"
"It's fine." She cut him off before he could say something that would make this harder. "We said we'd stay present, right? Focus on what we have instead of what comes after." She forced a smile that felt like broken glass in her mouth. "So let's do that. Four more days of... this. Whatever this is. And then we figure out the rest."
Or you go to Hawaii and I go home and we pretend this was just a weird, wonderful detour that didn't meananything.
Alex studied her for a long moment, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that he saw right through her cheerful deflection.
"Okay," he said finally. "If that's what you want."
It's not. It's not even close to what I want.
"Great." She patted his chest—casual, friendly, the exact opposite of how she felt. "Now, I'm starving. What's for dinner?"
Dinner was awkward in a way their meals hadn't been for days.
They talked about the footage. About the coral. About the weather patterns Alex was tracking. Safe topics. Professional topics. Topics that kept them on opposite sides of the invisible wall that had sprung up between them.
Lily hated it.
She hated the careful distance in his voice. She hated the way he looked at her sometimes—like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. She hated that she'd let herself care this much, and she hated even more that she couldn't seem to stop.
After they'd cleaned up, after the sun had set, after they'd run out of safe topics, Alex suggested a walk on the beach.
"The stars should be good tonight," he said. "No clouds."
It sounded like a peace offering. Lily took it.
The stars were obscene.
Lily had seen clear skies before—she'd made a career out of chasing beautiful places—but nothing like this. The Milky Way smeared across the darkness like spilled paint, so bright it almost cast shadows. Constellations she'd only seen in textbooks blazed overhead, and scattered between them were stars too faint to have names, too numerous to count.
"You don't get this in L.A.," she said, lying on her back in the sand. The grains were still warm from the day's sun, cradling her body like a contoured mattress. "Too much light pollution."
"You don't get this most places." Alex lay beside her, close enough that their arms almost touched. Almost. "Kids grow up never seeing what the sky is supposed to look like."
"That's depressing."
