He wants today to feel different.
So I sit across from him and eat what I can, even while my stomach pushes back almost immediately, the nausea settling heavy again not long after the first few bites.
Morning light slowly filters through the trees, turning the shelter gold.
“Ready to open presents?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
I worked on his whenever he was away from the shelter—those rare stretches of time where I could make something without him immediately noticing what I was doing.
I’d been keeping an eye out for something worthy of him all year. The best find was a shark tooth I discovered at low tide during the dry season. Large. Intact. Pale at the edges, with a smallnatural hole near the base that made it look almost made for this.
The cord took longer. Fiber stripped from island plants, twisted and braided slowly until it held strong without fraying apart. I used the knot pattern Dane taught me a couple years ago—the one meant for strength. For things that are supposed to last.
I hand it to him across the shelter.
He unwraps it carefully, taking his time with it, as he does with almost everything important. Once it’s free, he turns it over slowly in his hand while the morning light catches along the edge of the tooth. His thumb brushes across the braid, tracing the work that went into it.
I see the exact moment he understands what it is. What it took to make.
“Charlotte.” He looks up at me. “This is really cool.”
“It’s sharp. Maybe you can use it for something. If not, it’ll at least look good on you.”
He looks up at me, and something softens briefly in his expression.
“This is amazing, babe. Thank you.”
He leans forward to kiss me before slipping the necklace over his head. I watch him adjust the cord at the back of his neck until the tooth settles against his chest where he wants it.
Then he reaches for my gift.
It’s a small container, sealed carefully enough that I already know he’s been protecting whatever’s inside for a long time. He places it in my hands and waits while I open it.
My breath catches slightly.
Pearls.
Dozens of them.
I pick one up carefully, turning it between my fingers as the morning light catches across the surface. Smooth. Pale. Almost perfectly matched.
I look back up at him. “How long have you been collecting these?”
“All year.”
Of course he has.
I look down at them again, trying to imagine how many dives, how many hours, how much patience this must’ve taken.
“When we get back to Australia, I’ll have them turned into a real necklace. A jeweler can string them properly. Add a clasp. Make it something you can actually wear.”
“They’re already perfect.”
His eyes stay on me for another second.
“They’re a promise,” he says. “For our future.”
