Chapter 9 #3
"You don't get this in L.A.," she said, lying on her back in the sand. The grains were still warm from the day's sun, cradling her body like a contoured mattress. "Too much light pollution."
"You don't get this most places." Alex lay beside her, close enough that their arms almost touched. Almost. "Kids grow up never seeing what the sky is supposed to look like."
"That's depressing."
"That's reality." He paused. "But also why places like this matter. Why protecting them matters."
They lay in silence for a while, the waves keeping their eternal rhythm. Lily searched for something to say—some way to ask what she really wanted to know without making herself completely vulnerable.
"Can I ask you something?" she said finally.
"You're going to anyway."
True. "Have you ever... I mean, with all the remote research trips and the isolation and everything..." She trailed off, losing her nerve.
"Have I ever what?"
Have you ever wanted more? Have you ever met someone who made you reconsider everything? Have you ever felt like this?
"Nothing. Never mind."
Alex turned his head to look at her. In the starlight, his eyes were dark, unreadable.
"I've never brought anyone here," he said quietly. "To the island. To any of my research sites, actually. I always thought of it as... mine. Private. The one place I didn't have to perform for anyone."
Lily's heart squeezed. "And then I crashed in uninvited."
"And then you crashed in uninvited," he agreed. "And somehow..." He stopped, his jaw tightening.
"Somehow what?"
But he just shook his head, looking back up at the stars. "Nothing. It doesn't matter."
It matters to me, she wanted to scream. Everything about this matters to me, and I need you to tell me I'm not the only one feeling it.
But the words stuck in her throat, blocked by pride and fear and the memory of his voice saying Hawaii like it was already decided.
"I'm thirty-five years old," Alex said after a long pause, "and I've never had a relationship last longer than six months.
I've spent my entire adult life running away from human connection.
Hiding behind work and solitude and the convenient excuse that I'm too dedicated to my research for anything else. "
"That sounds lonely."
"It was." His voice dropped. "Until recently."
Lily's breath caught. She waited, desperate for him to continue, to say something—anything—that would tell her she wasn't alone in this terrifying free-fall.
But he didn't elaborate. Just lay there beside her, his silence somehow louder than words.
Say something, she urged herself. Tell him how you feel. Take the risk.
But every time she opened her mouth, the Hawaii conversation echoed in her head. He had a plan. A future. One he'd been considering long before she ever washed up on his shore.
What if you tell him and he doesn't feel the same? What if you're just a distraction—a pleasant way to pass the time before his real life resumes? Honestly, wasn’t that the plan all along on your end, anyway?
The thought made her stomach clench.
"We should head back," Alex said eventually. "Early morning tomorrow."
"Right. Yeah."
They walked to the cabin in silence, not touching. The easy intimacy of the morning felt like a lifetime ago, replaced by something careful and fragile.
At the door, Alex paused. "Lily."
She looked up at him, hope flickering despite everything.
"Thank you," he said. "For today. For the footage. For..." He gestured vaguely. "All of it."
That's not what I wanted you to say.
"Anytime, Dr. Carmichael." She kept her voice light. "That's what collaborators are for."
Something flickered across his face—disappointment, maybe—but it was gone before she could be sure.
They went to bed on opposite sides of the mattress.
It felt wrong. After a week of falling asleep tangled together, the six inches between them might as well have been a canyon.
Lily lay rigid, staring at the ceiling, listening to Alex's breathing and trying to figure out if he was actually asleep or just pretending.
This is stupid, she thought. We're both being stupid.
But she didn't reach for him. And he didn't reach for her.
Eventually, his breathing evened out into the slow rhythm of genuine sleep. Only then did she feel his arm slide across her waist, pulling her back against his chest—an unconscious movement, his body seeking hers even when his conscious mind had built walls between them.
She let herself be held, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes.
I think I love him.
The thought surfaced unbidden, and she couldn't push it back down. It sat there in her chest, heavy and terrifying and completely, utterly inconvenient.
She loved him. She loved his grumpy morning silences and his passionate rambles about coral reefs. She loved the way he made her coffee without asking and the rare, real smiles she had to earn. She loved the man who'd dragged her out of a riptide and held her like she mattered.
And she had no idea if he felt the same.
Hawaii, her brain reminded her. He has a job offer in Hawaii. A plan. A future.
One he'd been considering before she ever crashed into his life. One he'd probably still be considering long after she was gone.
His arm tightened around her in sleep, his nose nuzzling into her hair.
This, she thought. This is what I want. This feeling. This person. This life I never knew I needed.
But wanting something didn't mean you got to keep it. Lily knew that better than most.
What if you tell him how you feel and he doesn't say it back?
The thought made her throat tight. She'd spent her whole life performing—being what people wanted, saying what they needed to hear. The idea of putting her heart out there with no guarantee of reciprocation was terrifying.
But the alternative—leaving without ever knowing—might be worse.
Tomorrow, she decided. Tomorrow I'll find a way to ask. To know for sure.
It wasn't a great plan.
But it was all she had.