I gesture around the room like it holds the physical evidence of my confession.
Neither of us is in the mood to play tourist after that, so we head back to the ferry a few hours early.
I love driving the motorbike with her arms around me. I’m on my best behavior—tackling the Balinese traffic like I grew up here—so she won’t be nervous.
I might have taken a few detours, prolonging the time she clung to me, her soft chest pressed against the hard planes of my back, but eventually we have to return the bike and join the queue for the ferry.
We can’t let the threat of goodbye ruin the time we have left.
The sanctuary feels empty without Mason and Juliette. Thomas is still leading the new recruits around, giving them an obligatory tour of the museum, and Victoria is still floating around for another few weeks, making googoo eyes at Mike, but the vibe has shifted. In three years, I thought I’d grown used to the ebbs and tides of new volunteers, but as usual, Junie changed everything.
I’ve spent years holding everyone at arm’s length, earning my reputation as a grumpy dive master. Is it too late to change?
I check in with Mike and make arrangements for tonight—we only have a week left and I want every second of it to be magical. If Junie is going to leave here with nothing but memories, let them be good ones. Let her carry me in her heart, in her dreams, at least for a little while.
Made, the owner of The Local, grins when I make my request. He nods and promises to make this night more special than I imagined.
I tell Junie to wear something nice and she nearly knocks me out in a soft, white dress that falls to her mid-thigh. I want topicture her like this always—suntanned, beachy waves, and bare feet. She slips her hand in mine and I know I’m the luckiest man in the world.
“How did you manage to come up with a surprise while we weren’t even here?” she asks, her smirk giving away her excitement.
“I have my ways, woman. Just trust me.” I lead her toward the crashing shoreline, feeling the wet sand between my toes. “We’re back to the grind tomorrow. 5 AM dive boat.”
“But you love it,” she teases, reading me like a book.
“Aye, and I love how crabby you are in the mornings and the cute little sound of your snores.”
She smacks my arm. “I don’t snore. And you’re one to talk! Does your prickliness have a schedule or is it just a personality trait at this point?”
I tug her elbow and kiss her pink lips. With my eyes closed, the ocean is a dull roar. Whenever I hear that sound, I want to remember this moment. I hope she does too. I think of her decades from now, holding a seashell up to her ear, and being transported back here. I try to memorize the feel of her in my arms, the soft scrape of her skin.
“I love your fiery spirit,” I say. I can’t stop talking around the thing I really want to say. It’s too soon—we don’t have enough time—but it’s true. Isn’t that all that really matters?
Her smile makes my chest glow. I can’t risk it. Not yet.
I turn her attention up the beach where a table has been set for the two of us. The sky is just beginning to tint pink and orange, promising another epic Indonesian sunset. Palm trees drip with fairy lights. Made outdid himself. It looks perfect.
“Is that for us?” Junie asks, eyes wide. At my answering smile, she scampers up the beach, inspecting our meal, covered in cloches to keep the flies away. There are two ice buckets, one with an imported bottle of Prosecco and the other filled with Bintang. I’m a simple man, but I know how to treat a lady.
“Did you do all this?” Junie turns to me, standing on tiptoes to kiss me again.
“If you like it, we can eat like this every night,” I say. She deserves to be spoiled. How have I let so much time slip through our fingers already?
She rearranges the chairs so that we sit side by side, her thigh leaning against my leg all through dinner. We watch the sun set over grilled fish and creamy prawn curry, feeding each other bites of rice and licking our fingers.
“I love a girl who’s not afraid to eat,” I say, watching her suck the sauce off her thumb. I can’t seem to stop saying that word—but I’m still too afraid to tell the whole truth. She takes another swig of Prosecco and I clink my stubbie gently against her glass.
“I love a guy who knows how to surprise me,” she says, her voice low and breathy.
Fuck. Her tongue travels across her lips and makes my pants tight. The look in her eyes is pure heat and I think this dinner might be over soon. We either need to get back to the bungalow ASAP or I’ll need to buy Made a new tablecloth. My fingers are twitching with the need to touch her. To hear her say those words again. Preferably with my name attached.
She picks my hand up off the table and caresses her cheek with it. She catches my gaze and holds it as she presses my index finger between her sinful lips and sucks, hard.
My throat bobs as I stand, pick her up, and carry her back to the room. We cross the threshold like newlyweds, her hair tickling my neck, her laughter in my ear. These are the only things I need. The only things I want. The only things I remember about that night.
But I still don’t say the words.
Chapter 23
