I watch as Colton starts pulling something big from his backpack. A blanket. That was smart of him. I should have brought my … I’m halfway through the thought when Colton stands and drapes his blanket over my shoulders.Hisblanket. The one he not only sleeps with, but the one he cannot just toss in a washer after I use it. I stare at him with my mouth open, wondering if he realizes that my germs are getting on his blanket. But of course he knows. He wears hoodies to movie theaters so he won’t get lice and washed his high school backpack on a weekly basis. And yet, he put his blanket around my shoulders.
I finger its soft edges and pull it closer to me. “Thanks.”
“Sure,” he says, taking a seat next to me in the sand.
For several moments, Colton and I watch the small white caps roll onto the shore in a steady cadence. The intensity ofSunsets and Sabotage—the game, the strategy, the anxiety—all melts away under the luminescent moon, the soft churn of soothing waves, and Colton and his steady presence sitting next to me. Who would have ever thought I’d find so much peace during such a stressful and chaotic game?
A rush of salty ocean wind brushes across my nose and cheeks. Colton pulls his legs up, folding his arms around them. He doesn’t complain about the breeze despite having been in the ocean alongside me not too long ago, but I can only imagine he still feels the chill like I do. I try not to overthink things, and instead, unwrap the side of Colton’s blanket that’s closest to him.
“Here,” I say, adjusting the blanket so that there’s enough to go around our shoulders.
“Oh, uh, thanks.”
We both wiggle a little as we reposition ourselves, scooting closer to maximize the blanket’s coverage. I try to ignore the fact that his solid arm is pressed against my own and instead train my focus on the stars.
There’s a hint of an awkward silence, but Colton is swift to bury it.
“So, I have a serious question for you,” he says.
I look at him, observing his expression.
“If all of a sudden a bottle washed onto shore, and there was a genie inside ready to grant you one wish … what would you wish for?”
I smile. I don’t know what I thought he’d say, but this “serious” question catches me off guard in the best way. “Can I ask to win the game?”
“Errr.” He mimics the sound of a buzzer. “Nope, he can’t win the game for you, and he can’t take you off the island.”
“Is he a genie in training? Why so limited?”
Colton whips his head toward me. “Missy Jean, will you just answer the dang question?”
I laugh. “Okay, okay, I would wish for a heaping platter of steaming, salty steak fries, with a side of ranch. Wait, no, not a side, an entire cup of ranch.”
Seeing the mental image of my favorite food piled high on top of a plate reminds me of the constant pit of hunger in my stomach. Food. It’s remarkable the many things I’ve taken for granted.
“How about you? What would Colton Downing wish for?”
“Ranch? And fries?” He wrinkles his face in disgust.
My mouth falls open. “Colton Downing, you better be joking right now. Don’t tell me you’ve never eaten fries with ranch.”
“Can’t say I have.”
I gasp. “You poor, poor man.”
He squints, looking out over the moonlit ocean. “Ranch, though. Really? Like on salad, I get, but with fries…”
I turn and briefly touch his shoulder, assuring his attention is fully on the words of wisdom I’m about to impart to him. “There is no greater condiment for a steak fry. It is a heavenly gift to us mortals, and we must be grateful.”
He chuckles. “Okay, well in that case, I guess I’ll have to try it when we get home.”
“I guess so,” I say triumphantly.
Another gust of wind swoops in, doing a number on my hair. I collect the wild flyaways that break free from my French braid and tuck them behind my ear. “Okay, enough stalling, Colton Downing. What are you wishing for?”
Colton opens his mouth to speak, then closes it, looking hesitant. “I think I’d have to go with—and I swear if you laugh, Missy …” he says, warning me with his eyes.
“What is it?” I bounce, brimming with curiosity.
