Chapter 2 #2
Of course she is, he reminded himself sharply. It's literally her job to invade places she doesn't belong.
But as he caught the faintest hint of a smile playing on her lips, Alex felt an unwelcome twinge. If circumstances were different—if she weren't a walking embodiment of everything he found frivolous—she might have been deemed passably cute.
Not that she was his type—quite the opposite—but he wasn't blind.
"Well," she sighed, settling into the corner he'd begrudgingly cleared. "I'll try not to breathe too loudly."
"Appreciate it," he said, ignoring her attempt at humor, leaving her wrapped in the towel and the blanket, a defiant statue in a sea of his life's work.
He moved toward the bedroom, then paused at the door. Some deeply buried remnant of his mother's influence—her insistence on basic hospitality even when you didn't feel like it—made him turn back.
"There's a bathroom through there," he said, nodding toward a narrow door she probably hadn't noticed. "Towels under the sink. And there's..." He sighed, the words physically painful. "There's leftover fish in the fridge if you're hungry. Help yourself."
Lily's eyebrows rose in question. "Fridge? There's power? And did you just offer me food? Voluntarily? Without me begging?"
"Don't make it weird. And yes, the cabin is equipped with solar power."
"Cool. And it's already weird." But her smile was genuine this time, softening her features in a way that made something in his chest do an uncomfortable flip. "Thank you, Alex. Really."
He grunted in response—it was safer than words—and retreated toward the bedroom.
The cabin was his sanctuary, a place for silent contemplation and rigorous work, not cheerful banter. He needed to focus, and her presence was like a pebble in his shoe—small but enough to throw off his stride.
With that final instruction hanging in the air, he turned on his heel and retreated to the bedroom, closing the door behind him with a resounding click.
The sound sealed off her presence, allowing him to sink into the familiar embrace of solitude—or at least the illusion of it.
He flopped onto the bed, the springs creaking in protest, and let out an aggravated groan that echoed off the walls.
Two years. Getting to this secluded stretch of sand and science took two solid years of applications, permits, and preparation.
And he'd been so damn excited to finally get his application approved. His work here was so important and vital to the global biological community that he couldn't fail.
"Two bloody years," he whispered to the empty room, his thoughts a whirlpool of frustration and resentment. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to dispel the image of her jade-green gaze that seemed to burn through him, picking at feelings he'd rather keep buried.
No one in his circle would call him a 'people person.' Most days, he found people exhausting with their constant need for validation, inane small talk, and stupid pursuits that benefitted no one but themselves.
But he knew that about himself and kept his circle small and manageable.
Megan was the social one. Always had been.
Even as kids, she'd been the one dragging him to birthday parties he didn't want to attend, making excuses for his awkwardness, translating his silences into something palatable for normal human consumption.
"Alex isn't being rude, he's just thinking about fish again.
" She'd said it so often it became a family joke.
Now she called once a month to remind him that isolation wasn't a personality—it was a coping mechanism. He usually changed the subject.
He certainly didn't have room for a chirpy influencer who thought a smile had the power to solve the world's problems.
The patter of rain against the windowpane played like a metronome for his racing thoughts. He was supposed to be alone, surrounded by nothing but the hum of the ocean and the rustle of palm leaves.
He'd actually been giddy with excitement when he'd gotten clearance. The idea of nothing but himself and the work had been enough to blot out life's usual annoyances when people were around.
And for a full two weeks it'd been glorious.
Now? His trip felt ruined.
Okay, don't be so dramatic—it was a setback, not a derailment, he told himself. He needed sleep, clarity, and a way to coexist with his complete opposite so that this unexpected development didn't completely smash his opportunity.
He could handle a little adversity. As long as Lily followed the rules, he could work around her, like an oddly shaped piece of furniture that was more of a nuisance than functional.
A cute, curvy ottoman.
Sure—if that ottoman had eyes that sparkled with mischief and guaranteed chaos even as her mouth promised otherwise.
Did he truly believe that pint-sized chatterbox could remain quiet for thirty minutes much less two weeks?
Not a chance but it was better to roll out expectations than leave it to chance.
Alex lay on the bed, his arms folded behind his head, staring up at the ceiling fan, its monotonous rotation—thunk, thunk, thunk—mirroring the throbbing in his temples. He had envisioned long nights of solitude, not this circus that had stumbled into Ilot Serenite.
"An influencer," he muttered under his breath, the word tasting sour on his tongue. "Of all the ridiculous..."
What were the damn odds?
The walls of the cabin felt like they were closing in on him. To get stuck with a woman like Lily St. John? She represented the antithesis of everything he valued: depth, commitment, and the tireless search for knowledge. She was all surface, shimmering without substance.
Except.
The image of her carefully stacking his papers flickered through his mind, uninvited. The way she'd paused to read his specimen labels. The slight furrow of her brow that suggested actual thought happening behind those bright eyes.
He shoved the observation aside. One moment of basic organizational skills didn't make her interesting. It made her marginally less chaotic than expected. That was all.
He could almost imagine the tippy-taps of her cell phone keyboard as she composed her next frivolous post. The thought made him cringe. Where he sought to quantify and understand the world, she was content to plaster over the complexities of life with a veneer of cheerfulness.
"Fish don't pose for Instagram," he mumbled, the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself.
He rolled onto his side, facing the wall, attempting to exile her from his mind. But there she was, etched into his consciousness—the perky disposition, those damnably bright green eyes, and wild curls that defied the humid air of the South Pacific.
"Life's not all sunsets and sangrias," he grumbled, though the room's quiet offered no reply.
As if on cue, a giggle seeped through the thin wood of the bedroom door, followed by the sound of something—presumably her phone—clattering to the floor.
"Fantastic," Alex groaned. He could already feel the migraine coming on, the pressure building at his temples in sync with each peal of laughter that escaped from the living room.
"Quiet," he growled.
"Sorry," she called out.
But was she sorry? He didn't think so.
Through the thin walls, he heard her moving around—the creak of the couch springs as she settled, the rustle of the blanket, a soft sigh that sounded almost... content? How was she content? She was stranded on a deserted island with a stranger who'd made it abundantly clear she wasn't welcome.
Normal people would be panicking. Normal people would be crying or demanding solutions or having full-blown meltdowns.
Lily St. John was apparently not normal people.
The realization was both annoying and, against his will, slightly impressive.
"Hey, Robinson Crusoe," Lily's voice called, playful and unfazed. "Just double-checking, you got Wi-Fi in this paradise, or do I have to climb a palm tree to catch a signal?"
"I already told you, no Wi-Fi. It's one of the island's best qualities," he shot back, the words leaving his lips before he could stop them. "Now, be quiet. I'm trying to sleep."
"Goodnight, Dr. Crankypants." Her voice held a smile that he could practically see through the wood of the closed door between them.
"Goodnight, Miss Annoying Interloper," he muttered.
"I heard that!" she called.
"Good!"
Her laugh filtered through the door—warm and genuine and entirely too pleasant. He pressed his pillow over his ears like a child, which only made him feel more ridiculous.
With a deep sigh, he conceded to the inevitable.
Two weeks. That's all he had to do to make this work.
Maybe this was the universe testing to see how badly he wanted this trip to be successful.
He wasn't a woo-woo guy, but what were the odds of someone like Lily being dumped on the island at the same time he was doing his research trip?
At the end of the day, he was 100 percent Team Science, but even science had things it couldn't explain.
This was one of those times.
He turned onto his side, facing away from the closed bedroom door as if it could shield him from the reality of their shared quarters.
His mind switched to logistics—the food rations in particular. He had calculated every meal and accounted for each calorie that would fuel his intense research schedule. Now, he needed a new plan.
"Guess I'll be fishing at dawn," he muttered, considering the tides and the best spots on the island to cast his net.
The thought of teaching Lily to fish briefly crossed his mind, but he dismissed it just as quickly. The idea of her flailing about with a fishing rod was enough to threaten his sanity.
"Fish it is then," he decided, dreading her reaction to a diet devoid of artisanal coffee and avocado toast.
And those protein bars—like gnawing on the sole of a shoe—if she turned her nose up at fresh seafood, she'd have to make do with those.
Amidst the frustration, a stray thought flickered through his consciousness. If she wasn't so annoying, so utterly intrusive... there was something undeniably adorable about her.
It was irritating how her stubbornness piqued his curiosity, how her vibrancy clashed so starkly with his own solemnity.
"Marginally cute," he admitted, the words feeling traitorous inside his head. But it was true; there was an allure to Lily's chaos, a strange magnetism in her relentless optimism that he couldn't shake.
Not that it mattered. Attraction was just biology—pheromones and proximity and the lizard brain doing what it did best. He was a scientist. He understood these things. And understanding them meant he could control them.
Probably.
Hopefully.
As sleep finally began to claim him, Alex resolved to maintain his focus. The research was his priority, not the unexpected and inconvenient houseguest who had fallen into his life like a tropical storm.
Just follow the plan. Everything will work itself out.
Hell, maybe, with a bit of luck, whoever was waiting for Lily on Isla Paradiso would realize she never arrived and send a search party to find the missing influencer.
With six million followers, someone was bound to miss her, right?
God, he hoped so.
Because the prospect of spending the next two weeks with a woman like Lily crammed in a cabin big enough for one was enough to turn the rest of his hair white.
And create thoughts and feelings he had no room to entertain.
So, yeah, good riddance, Little Miss Influencer—you're not about to influence me.