“Nah, she’s good as gold. Just a bit of debris.”
This seems to satisfy Arthur, because he dismisses Caleb with a militant nod and marches through the salon doors. Patricia rolls her eyes and chases after him.
“Arthur, don’t even think about pouring a drink before one o’ clock!”
The rest of the Warrens take off their shoes and follow suit until it’s just me and Caleb standing on the deck. I shift awkwardly and try to look at something, anything, but his bare chest. Or his face. Or basically anything below it. I settle on theisland over his shoulder, giving me the overall air of what I hope is a wistful sea maiden, but is probably closer to a confused walrus.
Go inside, Stella, I command myself. But my body doesn’t budge. One casual smirk from my captain and my willpower has gone to sea sludge. Am I waiting for him to throw me up against the ship’s wall? To tell me that his dreams were as full of me as mine were of him? To bark at me for standing to close to the railing or tracking sand on the deck and prove to me that it was all just a dream?
Caleb takes a step towards me and holds out a closed fist.
“I got you something.” He opens his hand to reveal a spiraling bone-white shell nearly as big as his palm. “I thought maybe you’d be better off sketching sea life than pissed-off sea captains.”
I marvel at the smooth, pearly pink that bleeds out from the hole inside. The shell is flawless, marled with purple ribbons and perfect spines that dance along its twisting ridge. It’s so beautiful it looks like it was made from glass.
I hesitate to take it, remembering what he told me about Fijian shells and the venomous lurkers inside them.
“Don’t worry,” he says, sensing my nervousness. “It’s empty. If I wanted to kill you, I’d have left you to the sharks.”
And he winks.
My heart skips, just a little.
“Thank you. It’s beautiful.”
I take it from him, and for a moment our hands stay glued together as he slides it into my palm. More than a moment. My breath catches as I feel the calloused skin of Caleb’s strong fingers brushing against mine, the weight of the shell pressing my hand into his. A flutter of desire blooms in my stomach and I shove it back down. We both pull back.
“I need to see you,” he whispers almost noiselessly. I lookaround to make sure no one’s in ear shot before I whisper back. “This is torture.”
I smile almost involuntarily.
“After dinner tonight?”
Caleb nods.
“I’m on watch at eleven. Meet me on the bridge.”
23
Despite my better judgement, I try on every single item in my closet no less than three times trying to figure out what’s the sexiest. Inevitably, I discover that the answer is none of them, but since Caleb first met me in my diaper-esque plane underwear, I figure anything’s an improvement. I settle on my ratty jean shorts and a dark tank top and spend the two agonizing hours after dinner sketching Caleb’s drool-worthy face in my cabin. There’s cubist Caleb. Impressionist Caleb. And, my personal favorite, Caleb as a merman. If we’re being honest, I’ve never let a man take up this much mental airtime in my life. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to get this one off my brain. Or, ahem, other organs.
I wait til 11:05 before sneaking upstairs in case he shows up late for watch. I should know better by now than to think Caleb would be late for anything, but the thought of having to explain my appearance on the bridge to Yara or Jim makes me extra cautious. My whole body is vibrating with a healthy mix of nerves and anticipation as I creep up through the dark salon. But before I can reach the bridge, I hear a strangled noise fromstarboard deck. I freeze, waiting for whoever’s out there to get closer. But the noise doesn’t come again.
I sneak through the open door and creep along the edge of the deck. I can’t see much out here at night, but there’s too much at stake here for me not to make sure I imagined it. But no—there it is again. A soft moaning sound coming from the direction of the bow. I cringe. If it’s my sister and Harry going to town in some dark corner, I swear to Neptune I will walk the plank myself.
I step forward, and a beam of moonlight reveals a figure standing against one of the walls. The close-cropped black hair and dark slacks give him away immediately:Steven. But he’s not alone. Two hands wrap around Steven’s waist, grabbing onto him as he leans forward and presses a second figure against the glass. This is definitelynota friendly squeeze. Is he making out with one of the crew? Yara?Gia?
I back away as slowly as I can, not wanting to get involved in whatever this is, but my foot catches on one of the stanchions. I throw my hands out to catch myself as I careen into the rail, making a loudthunkthat’s impossible not to hear. Steven whorls around, his eyes petrified, and my stomach ejects into my chest as I see who’s behind him.
Oh. My. God.
The person he’s making out with isMatthew.
I meet my nearly-brother-in-law’s petrified eyes for a split second before skittering backwards and beelining inside. Steven andMatthew? Matthew, who goes through Instagram models like Kleenex? Who spent thousands of dollars on bottle service just to take a bodyshot off the bachelorette at Cloud Nine? I hear one of the boys swear behind me.Get to your cabin, Stella—get to your cabin…I think back to every indication I might have missed—every time I’ve seen them together. The boys laughing in their double kayak. Matthew’s hand on Steven’s arm. Steven inexplicably on this family trip with us.
How long has this been going on?
I don’t want to do anything to wake anyone else up, so instead of heading downstairs, I hipcheck the swinging door to the galley and duck inside, pressing my bare shoulders against the cool surface of the refrigerator.
