Scott doesn’t respond, but the tension in his muscles speaks volumes.
“I’ll see you at the Drop.” Wes lingers for a moment, then strolls back to his boat and climbs on. The sleek vessel roars to life, slicing through the water and disappearing toward the horizon.
“Well.” Hannah exhales, blowing out a low whistle. “That wasn’t subtle. I could taste the testosterone from here.”
“Do they know each other?”
“Yeah, they cross paths from time to time in the caving circuit. There’s a wager going around the island which one will kill the other first.” She shivers, biting down on her lip. “I’m at a loss where to put my money.”
My gaze drifts back to Scott. He’s unruffled, but the way his fingers curl into his palms betrays the tension he’s holding back. He’s so handsome.
I step closer, hoping he’ll notice me.
Scott pauses what he’s doing, his eyes meeting mine. Surprise flashes across his face. He dips his head. And then gives me a big, genuine smile. I catch my breath as his attention snaps back to his team, focusing on the task at hand.
Hannah nudges my shoulder. “Look at you, softening up tough old Scott. I think you’ve made an impression on him. That’s not an easy thing to do.”
I’m not sure about that, but the man has left one on me.
As the boats pull away from the pier one by one, my gaze lingers on the horizon untilAdelinedisappears.
I’m sitting cross-legged on the rug in my cottage, my back pressed against the couch, with Ding sprawled beside me. I have a bowl of Skittles within arm’s reach. Through the open window, a faint, briny scent from the ocean blends with the earthy aroma of the aged wooden furniture. The small cottage, tucked behind the inn’s main building, was once Nathan’s home. His research and notes are now enshrined within its walls.
Nathan’s notebooks are stacked in front of me. Their cracked spines and dog-eared pages show the wear of years spent in his restless hands. I reach for the top one, brushing my fingers over his name on the cover. I flip through it, the pages bursting with detailed sketches of objects, geographical features, and dense blocks of notes. I comb through one notebook after another, losing track of time as hours go by.
What were you searching for?
When I open the next journal, newer than the others, a folded sheet of paper flutters to the floor.
A poem, in Nathan’s handwriting.
Between waves, a memory sings
Whispers of a touch
The sea calls, but it will not claim
I hear her
Rereading it, I sigh.
Nathan was such a romantic.
He was fond of classic authors and poets and their timeless words, quoting Keats and Shelley at the funniest moments. But this is personal. Folding the poem to return it to the notebook, a faint sketch catches my attention. A seashell, the spiral patterns subtly forming the shape of a heart. Nathan liked to sketch, but it seems like an odd thing for him to draw.
I put the notebook down and head toward the desk in the room’s corner.
The desk creaks as I pull open the drawers. They’re cluttered with pens, papers, and an old flashlight—ordinary things. The inside of the bottom drawer is different from the other two. It’s not the same size. Running my fingers along the wood, I tap lightly until I find a thin, nearly invisible seam.
My breath hitches. With trembling fingers, I grab a letter opener from the desk and slide it carefully into the seam, prying upward. With a soft pop, the false bottom gives way, revealing a hidden compartment.
The scents of aged paper and leather rise as I pull out a small bundle of objects wrapped in cloth.
Inside, there is a collection of folded papers, a slim leather-bound journal, and a strange object—a stone?
The stone feels heavy and solid in my hand. Smooth and dark, intricate carvings cover its surface. But what sends a shiverdown my spine is the warmth—it’s unnaturally warm. What is it? I trace the grooves of etched symbols with my fingertips and look for a crease to see if it’s running on a battery or something. Nothing, it’s completely solid. So strange.
As I place the stone on the desk, another piece of paper catches my eye. I unfold it and read the hurried words scrawled across it.
