He presses his lips firmly to mine but steps back before I can ease into the kiss. Everything that has tightened inside of me unspools like spilt thread.
“Get some rest,” he finally says, looking like he wants to say so much more.
“Good night,” I croak. But he’s already walking away, heading toward the museum and the quickly coming dawn.
Any romantic ideas I had about shared housing are officially ruined. I’m aching with the need to touch myself, but not even the deep snoring of my roommates could convince me to fool around with a potential audience. I’ll have to count on a cold shower to douse these flames before I get any sleep.
I witnessed two miracles tonight. A green sea turtle laying her eggs in a beautiful ritual, and a sarcastic Aussie who changed his mind about me.
I fall asleep floating on a cloud of high hopes.
But when I open my eyes to the bright light of early afternoon crashing through the windows, it all feels like a story I told myself of what might’ve been. The cabin is empty and I take a moment to remember where I am, and why I’m here.
I’m supposed to be figuring out my life, not obsessing over a man. Is there a life for me outside of a boring office? Could I be a conservationist, a biologist, an animal rights activist? A dive master?
So after nearly a week of my thoughts becoming a tangled snarl whenever he’s near, I play it cool. Steven seems to be everywhere at the sanctuary—constantly around—but nothing happens between us. At least, nothing real.
I refuse to ruminate on it. I refuse to acknowledge how he sucks all the air out of every room he walks in.
I throw myself into work. I set up a website to take online donations, which involves a lot of back and forth with Mike. The sanctuary doesn’t run like any business I’m familiar with, so the details take a while to hammer out, and I can see why no one has done it before. But in the end, when the first $10 donation comes through, it all seems worth it.
I get his approval to use some of those funds to push our social media posts to travelers in their 20s interested in animal conservation and scuba diving. Whether they stop by for a course or stay on as a volunteer, we’ll be grateful for the extra hands and eyes on our work. Word of mouth is still the best way to attract the right people to a special place like Gili Telu Turtle Sanctuary, and after witnessing the nesting last night, I’m more motivated than ever.
Having something to focus on, even if I’m still tired from our overnight vigil, is a perfect distraction. For a few hours, I almost forget about the hunky Aussie until his shadow falls over me in late afternoon.
“About those videos—” I nearly jump out of my skin at his gravelly voice over my shoulder.
I flush, embarrassed. “It’s nothing, really. A joke. We’re filming some of the real content tonight so they’ll never see the light of day.”
“I want to see.”
“They’re not even funny, I promise—”
“Junie…” His tone is both teasing and a warning. I crumple beneath the weight of his gaze. He hasn’t spoken to me at all since our kiss this morning. I’ve done hours of amazing work, and this is what he chooses to confront me about? I never should have made those edits.
I grit my teeth and pull up some of my brainstorming content, scrolling to the silliest ones like a calendar mockup with photos of Steven and Mike stretched out on flamingo floaties. There are turtles looking on with cartoon heart eyes. I brace myself for anger, humiliation, or another one of his sulky, silent moods, but he surprises me.
The sound rumbles up from deep in his belly and warms me to the core—laughter. I couldn’t be more surprised if he’d smacked me across the face.
“This is great!” he bellows, reaching around me to flick through more of the images. He watches the GIF of him throwing his mermaid hair back a few times. “Bloody brilliant. You really are good at this.”
“Don’t act so surprised.” I roll my eyes and push him away, powering down the laptop.
“I’m not surprised at all. You seem like the kind of person who’s great at everything you try.” How does he make the words sound like a purr? Like the scrape of his tongue against the most sensitive part of me?
For the first time all day, he seems in the mood to talk, but I’m running late to meet up with the others to film. As much as I want to know what’s going on between us, I’m not going to let him get in the way of doing what I came here for.
“I’ve got to go.” I throw my bag over my shoulder and hustle out of the room, the sound of his laughter echoing in my ears, making my stomach flip with butterflies. I have it bad for him, but the world doesn’t revolve around sexy men who don’t know how to communicate.
Filming with Juliette, Mason, Victoria, and Thomas is a blast. I have a few ideas storyboarded including a Day in the Life of a Volunteer montage, and we get some great shots of the museum tour, our quickly tidied lodging, and plenty of candid moments.
It’s Sunday night so as the sun sets, we head to the beach cleanup in our matching blue shirts, a tangle of overlapping voices and sun-tanned faces. It’s only been a week and I already feel at home with them—but I can’t open up about the thing that’s bothering me most. For just a moment, I feel the sharp pang of missing my best friend. Eva would know what to do about Steven.
He said we’d have a conversation about what’s growing between us, but I’m not about to beg for one. If David taught me anything, it’s that if he wanted to, he would. And Steven clearly doesn’t.
I have no expectations when we stroll into The Local. I’m prepared to suppress every chatty bone in my body to avoid making a fool of myself yet again. He watches me walk in with the group and I feel the fire in his eyes burning me alive. I turn toward my friends and pretend I haven’t seen him.
I don’t like feeling so distracted by his presence. When Juliette climbs on a barstool to address the small crowd, I stare at her intently, refusing to let my eyes wander and inevitably end up on that unbuttoned shirt, framing the blonde chest hair I’d run my fingers through less than 24 hours ago.
