Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Lily lay perfectly still, watching the light slowly reveal the planes of Alex's sleeping face. His arm was heavy across her waist, his breathing deep and even, and she found herself memorizing details she had no business memorizing.
The small scar near his left eyebrow—she'd learned it came from a childhood fishing accident. The way his lashes, dark and unfairly long, fanned against his cheekbones. The slight furrow between his brows that never quite smoothed, even in sleep, like his brain was solving equations in his dreams.
She was out of time.
The countdown clock she couldn't silence no matter how many times she told herself to stay present, enjoy the moment, don't ruin this with expectations, rang loudly in her head, signaling the end was nearly here.
But expectations had a way of forming anyway, didn't they? Like coral building up layer by layer until suddenly there was a whole reef where open water used to be.
She was in love with him.
The realization wasn't new anymore—she'd made peace with it days ago, somewhere between his confession about tide pools and the way he'd held her during the storm. What was new was the growing certainty that he wasn't going to do anything about it.
Alex stirred, his arm tightening around her reflexively before his eyes opened. For a moment, sleep-soft and unguarded, he smiled at her like she was the best thing he'd ever woken up to.
Then awareness crept in, and she watched the walls go back up in real time.
"Morning," he said, his voice rough with sleep.
"Morning yourself." She forced brightness into her tone, the same brightness that had gotten her through a thousand awkward brand meetings and uncomfortable interviews. "Sleep okay?"
"Better than okay." He pressed a kiss to her forehead before rolling onto his back, one arm still beneath her. "What time is it?"
"Early. The sun's barely up."
"Good. I need to finish cataloging the eastern specimens today." He was already shifting into work mode, she could feel it—the subtle withdrawal, the mental checklist clicking into place. "Should only take a few hours."
Lily traced idle patterns on his chest, her heart hammering. Say something. Ask me what happens next. Give me literally anything to hold onto.
"So I was thinking," she said, keeping her voice casual, "about my schedule when I get back. It's going to be insane—I've got like a million emails to catch up on, and my manager's probably having a breakdown about the radio silence."
"Mm." Alex's fingers drew absent circles on her hip. "You'll be busy."
"Yeah. But, you know, not that busy." She glanced up at him, willing him to take the hint. “California’s pretty accessible from... well, anywhere, really. Lots of flights."
The circles on her hip stilled.
For a breathless moment, she thought he was going to say it. His jaw tightened, and something flickered in his blue eyes—want, maybe, or fear, or some complicated cocktail of both.
"You'll have a lot to process when you get home," he said finally. "The footage, the editing. Getting back into your routine."
That's not what I meant and you know it.
But Lily had spent a lifetime reading rooms, and she could read this one clearly. He wasn't going to ask. Wasn't going to offer. Wasn't going to be brave enough to suggest that this thing between them could survive beyond the island's shores.
"Right," she said, her voice only slightly hollow. "Lots to process."
She extracted herself from his arms, suddenly desperate for distance. "I'm going to grab a shower before you monopolize all the hot water.”
"Lily—"
"It's fine." She flashed him a smile that felt like broken glass in her mouth. "Really. Go do your science things. I'll entertain myself."
She didn't look back as she headed for the bathroom, afraid of what her face might reveal.
The next two days passed in a blur of bittersweet moments that Lily would replay for weeks afterward.
They finished editing the video together, huddled over her phone while Alex offered surprisingly helpful suggestions about pacing and emphasis. When it was done—really, truly done—they'd both stared at the final product in silence.
"It's good," Alex had said quietly. "It's really good, Lily."
"We make a decent team," she'd replied, and the words had hung between them, heavy with everything they weren't saying.
They took one last dive on the reef, Alex pointing out species she'd learned to recognize over the past two weeks.
The staghorn coral, the blennies, the parrotfish that pooped sand.
She filmed some of it, but mostly she just watched him—this impossible man in his element, passionate and alive and completely oblivious to the fact that he was breaking her heart in slow motion.
But the more physically close they got, the more emotionally distant Alex seemed to become.
Lily caught him watching her sometimes—while she was editing, or making coffee, or simply existing in his space. His expression in those moments was almost painful, like he was trying to memorize her the same way she was memorizing him.
Then say something, she wanted to scream. If you feel it too, just say it.
He never did.
The morning of day two—one day left, the clock in her head supplied helpfully—Lily found herself alone in the cabin while Alex did his final specimen work.
She stood in front of the small, spotted mirror that hung above the sink, studying her reflection with the critical eye she usually reserved for sponsored content.
Sun-kissed skin, a spray of new freckles across her nose. Hair that had gone full wild from the humidity, curls she'd stopped fighting somewhere around day five. Eyes that looked different somehow—older, maybe. Sadder.
When did you become someone who waits for a man to make the first move?
Gross.
She'd spent six years building an empire from nothing.
Had faced down her father's disapproval, her mother's disappointment, the constant chorus of critics who said influencing wasn't a real job.
She'd carved out a space for herself in a crowded digital landscape through sheer force of will and the stubborn refusal to let anyone else define her worth.
And now she was... what? Waiting for Alex Carmichael to decide her future?
You could ask him.
The thought was uncomfortable, prodding at tender spots she'd rather leave alone.
You could be the one to say "let's try long distance" or "I want to see where this goes" or "I think I'm falling in love with you and I'd really like you to not let me sail away without at least discussing it."
But even as she formed the words in her mind, something rebelled.
She'd spent her whole life performing for approval.
Smiling when she wanted to cry. Being whatever version of herself people wanted her to be.
With Alex, for the first time, she'd stopped performing.
She'd let him see the messy, vulnerable, uncertain parts of her that she usually kept hidden behind a filter.
She'd been brave. She'd been real.
And now she wanted—no, needed—him to be brave too.
If he can't find the courage to ask, maybe this was never meant to be more than what it was.
The thought hurt. God, it hurt so much her chest ached with it.
But somewhere beneath the hurt was a kernel of steel—the same stubbornness that had gotten her through every obstacle she'd ever faced.
If Alex Carmichael wanted her, he was going to have to say so. She wasn't going to beg for crumbs from someone too afraid to offer the whole loaf.
She was Lily St. John. She deserved more than silence.
Even if the silence destroyed her.
Their last night on the island was achingly tender in a way that made Lily want to scream.
Alex cooked an elaborate dinner with the last of their supplies—grilled fish with herbs, roasted breadfruit, mangoes they'd picked that morning. He'd even found wild ginger to make a rough approximation of tea.
"You're going to make someone a good house-husband someday," Lily teased, but her voice came out wrong, and Alex's smile flickered.
"Just trying to send you off with something besides protein bars and bananas."
Send you off. Not give us one last meal together. Not before we figure out our next visit. Send you off.
Like she was a package being returned to sender.
Before they headed to the beach with their plates, Alex disappeared into the bedroom. When he emerged, he was holding something small in his closed fist, looking more uncertain than she'd ever seen him.
"I, um." He cleared his throat. "I found this. A few days ago, on the eastern shore. I thought..." He trailed off, then thrust his hand toward her, uncurling his fingers.
In his palm lay a shell—small, perfectly spiraled, the color of sunrise where pink bleeds into gold. It was exquisite, the kind of thing she would have filmed for her channel in another life.
"Alex," she breathed.
"It's not much. But I wanted you to have something. To remember." He wasn't looking at her, his jaw tight. "To remember this place. The research. Everything."
To remember you, she heard in the spaces between his words. To remember us.
"It's beautiful." Her voice cracked on the word. She took the shell, feeling its slight weight in her palm—so small to carry so much meaning. "Thank you."
For a moment, they just stood there, the shell between them like a bridge neither quite knew how to cross.
Then Lily rose on her toes and kissed his cheek, lingering just long enough to feel the rough stubble against her lips.
"Come on," she said softly. "Let's go watch our last sunset."
They ate on the beach, watching the sun paint the sky in colors that would look fake in any Instagram filter. The silence between them was different tonight—charged with everything unsaid, weighted with the ticking clock they'd both been pretending to ignore.
"Lily," Alex started, and her heart lurched with sudden, stupid hope.
"Yeah?"