I punch his shoulder with my fist as if we’re two longtime friends. “Don’t insult my technology.”
“I haven’t seen any,” he says, squinting, and I punch himagain. He suddenly turns serious. “We need to figure out what we will do until they find us.”
“Do you think they will?” I ask, because finally the reality is setting in.
“Eventually.” He nods. “It’s the twenty-first century, and people don’t just disappear in shipwrecks. Besides that, I’m sure your family will find you missing soon. Parents? Husband?”
Did that sound a bit like a question?
“Parents, yes. Probably. I don’t have a husband though.” I decide to put all my cards on the table.
“Boyfriend maybe.” Then he rushes to add, “He’ll report you missing, you know.”
I chuckle, rather sadly. “Yep, I don’t have one of those either.”
“Good.”
“Good?” I ask with a quirked brow.
“I mean,” he clears his throat, “good that your parents will report you. That’s what I meant.”
Sure, that’s what he meant. “What about your wife? Do you think she already reported you missing?”
He snorts. “I don’t have a wife yet. And with my luck, I won’t.”
Well, that sounded awfully vague. What’s up with his luck? He could be feeding fish on the bottom of the ocean. Or he could have ended up stuck here with someone way less pleasant because let’s face it, I’m a catch.
Then I eye him again.Fi-i-ine, he’s a catch too. He’s built us—himself—a house. Found water. Whisked me away from the depths of the ocean.
I suddenly sit up straight, pressing my palms into the ground.
“Holy fucking shit!”
“What happened?” He grabs my shoulder.
I slowly turn my face toward his.
“Are you okay?” His eyes roam over my face. When I don’t respond and just keep staring at him, he says, looking worried, “Maeve?”
Without wasting another precious minute of valuable time, the weight of the situation settles over me, and I launch myself at him. I straddle him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and hug him with all my might. My thighs squeeze him for dear life.
His body is awfully stiff underneath me. His arms are two cold, overcooked noodles by his sides.
I don’t care. I’m trying to express all my gratitude through my body because I think it will show it better than my words would. So I push all the warmth I have in me to him.
“Thank you,” I whisper into the crook of his neck. “Thank you so much.”
“For what?” He sounds genuinely confused. Clearly, my warmth isn’t working.
“For saving me. And for feeding me.” I sniffle. “And for not letting me die of cold at night.” I think I’m smudging my snot all over his shoulder.
His arms tentatively come around my back. Carefully, he puts a little power into his hug.
“It’s okay,” he whispers back gruffly.
I sniffle. Hiccup. And then start crying. Out of nowhere, I start crying. My body’s quaking with each sob, and his armswrap around me tighter.
“It’s okay, Maeve,” he says in a soothing voice, which only makes me even more upset. It’s like a dam has been broken, and now this waterfall just can’t stop.
