"Well," she sighed, settling into the corner he'd begrudgingly cleared. "I'll try not to breathe too loudly."
"Appreciate it," he said, ignoring her attempt at humor, leaving her wrapped in the towel and the blanket, a defiant statue in a sea of his life's work.
He moved toward the bedroom, then paused at the door. Some deeply buried remnant of his mother's influence—her insistence on basic hospitality even when you didn't feel like it—made him turn back.
"There's a bathroom through there," he said, nodding toward a narrow door she probably hadn't noticed. "Towels under the sink. And there's..." He sighed, thewords physically painful. "There's leftover fish in the fridge if you're hungry. Help yourself."
Lily's eyebrows rose in question. "Fridge? There's power? And did you just offer me food? Voluntarily? Without me begging?"
"Don't make it weird. And yes, the cabin is equipped with solar power."
"Cool. And it's already weird." But her smile was genuine this time, softening her features in a way that made something in his chest do an uncomfortable flip. "Thank you, Alex. Really."
He grunted in response—it was safer than words—and retreated toward the bedroom.
The cabin was his sanctuary, a place for silent contemplation and rigorous work, not cheerful banter. He needed to focus, and her presence was like a pebble in his shoe—small but enough to throw off his stride.
With that final instruction hanging in the air, he turned on his heel and retreated to the bedroom, closing the door behind him with a resounding click.
The sound sealed off her presence, allowing him to sink into the familiar embrace of solitude—or at least the illusion of it.
He flopped onto the bed, the springs creaking in protest, and let out an aggravated groan that echoed off the walls.
Two years. Getting to this secluded stretch of sand and science took two solid years of applications, permits, and preparation.
And he'd been so damn excited to finally get his application approved. His work here was so important and vital to the global biological community that he couldn't fail.
"Two bloody years," he whispered to the empty room, his thoughts a whirlpool of frustration and resentment. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to dispel the image of her jade-green gaze that seemed to burn through him, picking at feelings he'd rather keep buried.
No one in his circle would call him a 'people person.' Most days, he found people exhausting with their constant need for validation, inane small talk, and stupid pursuits that benefitted no one but themselves.
But he knew that about himself and kept his circle small and manageable.
Megan was the social one. Always had been. Even as kids, she'd been the one dragging him to birthday parties he didn't want to attend, making excuses for hisawkwardness, translating his silences into something palatable for normal human consumption."Alex isn't being rude, he's just thinking about fish again."She'd said it so often it became a family joke.
Now she called once a month to remind him that isolation wasn't a personality—it was a coping mechanism. He usually changed the subject.
He certainly didn't have room for a chirpy influencer who thought a smile had the power to solve the world's problems.
The patter of rain against the windowpane played like a metronome for his racing thoughts. He was supposed to be alone, surrounded by nothing but the hum of the ocean and the rustle of palm leaves.
He'd actually been giddy with excitement when he'd gotten clearance. The idea of nothing but himself and the work had been enough to blot out life's usual annoyances when people were around.
And for a full two weeks it'd been glorious.
Now? His trip felt ruined.
Okay, don't be so dramatic—it was a setback, not a derailment, he told himself. He needed sleep, clarity, and a way to coexist with his complete opposite so thatthis unexpected development didn't completely smash his opportunity.
He could handle a little adversity. As long as Lily followed the rules, he could work around her, like an oddly shaped piece of furniture that was more of a nuisance than functional.
A cute, curvy ottoman.
Sure—if that ottoman had eyes that sparkled with mischief and guaranteed chaos even as her mouth promised otherwise.
Did he truly believe that pint-sized chatterbox could remain quiet for thirty minutes much less two weeks?
Not a chance but it was better to roll out expectations than leave it to chance.
