She was everywhere.
The indentation in the pillow where her head had rested. A hair tie on the small table—bright pink, of course, because Lily St. John didn't do anything subtly. The faint scent of her shampoo still lingering in thehumid air, something floral that had no business smelling that good.
And there, on the chair by the window, her sunglasses. The oversized ones she'd worn the day they went foraging, the ones she'd pushed up on her head while squinting at him in the afternoon light and asking why he'd chosen marine biology.
She'd left them behind.
Alex picked them up carefully, like they might shatter. The plastic was warm from the sun streaming through the window—the same sun that was currently beating down on a boat carrying her further away with every passing second.
She left something behind. You let her leave everything behind.
He set the sunglasses on the table next to the pink hair tie, then sank onto the edge of the bed.
This is fine, he told himself.This is what you wanted. Peace and quiet. No distractions.
The words rang hollow even inside his own head.
He moved to the kitchen on autopilot, muscle memory taking over. Measured the grounds. Filled the reservoir.Hit the button. The familiar gurgle of the coffee maker filled the silence—the only sound in a cabin that had been full of her laughter just twelve hours ago.
It wasn't until the pot finished brewing that he realized he'd made enough for two.
Goddammit.
He poured a single cup and left the rest, unable to bring himself to dump it out. The carafe sat there, slowly cooling, a monument to habits formed in just two weeks.
Two weeks. That's all it had taken for Lily St. John to rewire his entire existence.
Alex carried his coffee to the small table and opened his laptop, pulling up the research document he'd been neglecting. The cursor blinked at him, patient and judgmental.
Coral spawning observations, he typed.Timing data suggests...
He stared at the words. They meant nothing. His brain refused to supply anything useful to follow them.
All he could see was Lily's face when she'd watched the coral release its clouds of life into the water. Thewonder in her eyes. The way she'd looked at him afterward, like he'd given her something precious.
You made it matter, she'd said.
He deleted the sentence and tried again.
The spawning event occurred approximately...
Nothing.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard, and before he could stop himself, he'd opened a new document.
Lily—
He stared at her name for a full minute before continuing.
I know I don't have the right to contact you after how I handled things this morning. Or didn't handle them, more accurately.
Delete. Too formal. Too much like a business apology.
Lily—
I've been sitting here trying to figure out what to say, which is ironic given that I had plenty of time to figure that out while you were actually here and I wasted all of it being acoward.
Delete. Too self-flagellating. She'd roll her eyes.
