Lily had commandeered the mattress hours ago, laptop balanced on her knees, headphones half-on as she scrubbed through the mountain of footage she'd accumulated.
He'd stolen glances when he thought she wasn't looking. The way she bit her lip when she was concentrating. The way the light from the screen caught the gold in her eyes. The way she broke into spontaneous, delighted smiles as she watched her footage. He hated to admit it but his eyeballs were addicted to the “Lily” show.
“Come look at this," Lily said, patting the mattress beside her. "I think I finally nailed the opening sequence."
The video opened with a sweeping shot of the island at dawn, mist rising from the jungle like something from a dream. Then his voice came in—that section about his mother and the tide pools that had felt like ripping his chest open to record.
But Lily had done something magical with it. She'd layered the audio over footage of the reef, the tide pools, the intricate dance of species he'd spent his career trying to protect. His words about loss and resilience played against images of life persisting, adapting, finding ways to thrive.
It was, without question, the most beautiful thing anyone had ever made about his work.
"Lily," he breathed, not trusting himself to say more.
"Is that a good 'Lily' or a 'what the hell did you do to my research' Lily?" She was watching him instead of the screen, her green eyes searching his face.
"It's incredible." He turned to meet her gaze, and the words that came out surprised even him. "You made it matter. You mademematter."
Something shifted in her expression—a softening, a vulnerability she usually kept hidden behind her sunny exterior. "You always mattered, Alex. You just needed someone to show you how to let people see it."
The space between them suddenly felt charged, electric with possibility. Alex was hyperaware of every point of contact—her shoulder against his, her knee brushing his thigh, the warmth radiating from her body.
"We keep dancing around something." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "And I don't mean the sex."
Alex's heart hammered against his ribs. "Lily?—"
"I know all the reasons why it's complicated." She set laptop aside, turning to face him fully. "I know I'm leaving. I know you live on remote islands chasing fish. I know this probably doesn't make any logical sense."
"It doesn't," he agreed, but his hand was already moving, brushing a curl from her face, his fingers lingering against her cheek.
"But I also know that I've never felt like this before." Her eyes were bright, almost fierce. "And I don't want to spend the rest of my life wondering what could have been if we'd both been brave enough to find out."
Ask her to stay.
The words pressed against his teeth, demanding to be spoken. He could feel them forming, could almost taste them on his tongue.
Instead, he kissed her.
It was easier than talking. Safer than admitting the truth. His mouth found hers with a desperation that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with the terror clawing at his chest—the knowledgethat he was running out of time and wasting what little remained.
Lily responded instantly, her fingers threading through his hair as she pulled him closer. She tasted like the mango they'd shared for breakfast and something sweeter underneath, something that was purely her.
"Alex," she gasped against his lips, and the sound of his name in her voice—breathy, wanting—sent heat rushing straight to his groin.
"Tell me to stop," he said, even as his hands slid beneath her tank top, palms flat against the warm skin of her back. "Tell me this is a bad idea and we should be having an actual conversation."
"Terrible idea," she agreed, pulling back just enough to yank her tank top over her head. "Absolutely reckless."
The sight of her—bare except for a scrap of pink lace—still made his brain short-circuit. It didn't matter that he'd seen her like this a dozen times now. The freckles scattered across her chest like constellations. The curve of her breasts, perfect handfuls that his palms ached to touch. The way she looked at him, bold and hungry, like she wanted to devour him whole.
He didn't think he'd ever get used to it.
He didn't want to.
"You're staring,” she murmured with a satiated smile.
“I want to remember you just like this.”
The word slipped out before he could stop it, and something flickered across Lily's face—pain, maybe, or understanding. She knew what he meant. Knew he was already preparing for her absence.
