Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
That afternoon, Hunter and I cooked lunch and went over everything we (mostly he) knew about the island, debating about the next best place to look. The island was several square miles, mainly mountainous, and the possibilities for hideouts camouflaged by nature were endless.
We tried to think like the captain who’d arrived here two hundred years ago.
He could have easily noticed the entrance into the grotto while scouting, as it most likely hadn’t been overgrown with vines and flowering bushes.
Or perhaps he’d uncovered the cave as he passed the island on his ship, during low tide, when the gap on the ocean side was wider.
The ocean level was probably also much lower back then.
Were there other caves easily accessible from the water?
The island’s outline curved outward, making it impossible to see the mountainside from the land.
Hunter and I needed a boat (that we didn’t have) to go around the island and look closer at the cliffs from the water.
We had to work with what we had: the jungle.
A lot of it. Some areas were so dense with vines and trees that it was impossible to see through.
The thick, perpetual canopy stripped the day of its sunlight, throwing an extra layer of dark shadow over the ground, but at least it provided cool relief.
And that was what we agreed to focus on.
The more challenging the place was to reach, the better our chance of finding something there.
“Let’s work on the two riddles that mention death or dead,” Hunter said, offering me a palm leaf with a fish fillet and a small amount of rice.
“Snakes are not deadly, despite your wrong opinion, so we can dismiss them. The other deadly creatures around here are sharks and possibly sea urchins, but those are in the ocean.”
“What if a huge boar lived here when the captain arrived?” I blew a wisp of hair out of my eyes. “From what I know, it can be very deadly when you come face to face with a wild pig.”
Hunter’s hand paused midair to his mouth, rice pinched between his fingers. “How would a pig get here?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. How did snakes get here?”
“They could have been water snakes at first.” Hunter arched an eyebrow.
“Wild pig could have evolved from merpigs.” I stuck my tongue at him, and he snorted.
“Okay. Fine. What if death or deadly doesn’t mean a live creature but the way to get to the treasure,” I suggested.
“Another trap. Difficult journey. Or a challenging journey full of traps. Why did John fall into the pit? What was he looking for in that area? Since he was the captain’s friend, he might have had more insight than riddles.
The captain could have simply left him directions that said, ‘Travel west until you reach a big rock, then turn right. Bring a mate because it’s a lot of crap to carry back. ’”
“Yet, his friend fell to his death into the trap?”
“John could be like any other man and didn’t read the instructions.” I smiled, earning an eye roll from Hunter.
“We should inspect the area once again,” Hunter conceded. “One doesn’t leave a trap without good reason unless they were protecting something.”
Our conversation continued until the day gave in to the evening, and the sun touched the horizon. By now, the water in the barrel was at its perfect warm temperature, so I excused myself to shower.
While standing under (limited) heated happiness, I blindly searched for the shampoo bottle and squeezed more than I should have.
Reality washed over me as I massaged my scalp: Hunter’s bottle was half full, and mine was nearly empty.
Soon, I’d run out. We had one extra, but in all this time, not a single boat had passed us, and at this rate, it wouldn’t be enough for both of us.
My knowledge of what natural resources were used for personal hygiene was restricted.
I have seen coconut or avocado masks for sale, but those weren’t for cleaning but for improving hair condition.
Could I use eggs or mangos? Mom used lemon to clean the kitchen.
If applied just once a week, the acidic juice wouldn’t damage hair, would it?
I cursed under my breath, turned the water off, and reached for my bikini, knowing what I had to do.
In the kitchen, holding my unsure gaze in the mirror, I untied my wet, messy bun, gripped my hair at the base of my neck with determination, and brought scissors to it.
I didn’t want to do it. All my life, I had had long hair.
What if I didn’t look good? Phill scorned women with hair cut above their shoulders.
I needed a good forehead slap. His opinion shouldn’t matter anymore, but somehow, it echoed somewhere deep inside, quieter but still there. What would Hunter think about it?
My mom had constantly experimented with haircuts, and my father had worshiped her even if she didn’t pick the right style.
When I was in high school, she arrived home with an unflattering blonde pixie cut that washed out her stunning features.
I had covered my mouth with my hand and said, “Are you having a midlife crisis?” but my father didn’t say a word, only gave her their regular hello kiss and a pat on her butt as if nothing had changed.
Standing on a tropical island with the knowledge that their beautiful and uncomplicated love ended too early broke my heart.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Hunter carried logs and dropped them on an elevated stand.
I looked over my shoulder. “A makeover.”
“Why?”
“If I cut it as short as yours, we might make the shampoo stretch for an extra few weeks.” I recollected hair back into one thick bundle. Water drops ran down my back.
“Okay.” He brushed off bark bits stuck to his shirtless, sweaty torso and approached me. “Let me do it.”
My eyes met his in the mirror. “Are you a barber?”
“Are you?” He removed the scissors from my grip, his fingers brushing over mine. “It’s probably easier if I do it.”
I dropped my arms at my sides. Hunter stood behind me, his eyes heavy with some emotion I couldn’t understand. He hesitated. “I might do a terrible job.”
“It doesn’t have to be a work of art.” I shrugged one shoulder, knowing I could avoid the mirror at least for a few days.
He ran his fingers through my hair, lightly tugging it, making me roll my eyes from pleasure, as shivers raced down my spine. “Are you sure?”
I gave him an encouraging smile with a nod. “Hair isn’t teeth. It will grow back.”
Hunter chuckled. “Tell that to anybody bald.” He untangled strands into three parts and brought cold metal up. “Any hairstyle in particular you would like? Mohawk? Mullet? Buzz cut?”
“Not any of those, please.” I laughed. “Just make it short like yours.”
I pinched my eyes shut when the scissors touched my shoulders. The blades came together, snipping my hair. Once. Twice. Several times more. Soon, a heavy weight I didn’t know I carried fell away from me.
“These are not the best ones to cut with,” Hunter said, almost to himself, brushing something off my back. “Is it good enough? If you like it, I’ll try to even it out.”
Swallowing my apprehension, I shook my head, the hair ends skimming my shoulders. “Shorter.”
“Shorter?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s sit down.” He gently gripped my shoulders and guided me backward to the picnic table.
We straddled the bench, Hunter behind me.
He continued his task, lifting and trimming parts of my hair.
Once in a while, his arm bumped my shoulder, or he would take hold of my head and level it straight, correcting my posture.
“Stop pushing your head against my hand like a cat,” he said, a smile in his voice.
But it was impossible to control because each time his fingers ran over my scalp, his transcendent touch sent me into complete bliss, and I wanted to moan.
“It feels so good when you do that.”
“What? This?” He massaged my scalp, pressing his fingertips into my skin, releasing delicious swirls inside me.
“Hunter.” I moaned.
He coughed. “Don’t say my name like that,” he said in a low, husky voice. “Please.”
I stifled a laugh and let him continue his work. Several moments later, he asked me to turn around and face him. I did as I was told. Leaning, he reached out but then pulled back. “That won’t work. Scooch closer.”
I looked down at the three feet between us, our legs barely touching. “There isn’t any space.”
“There is too much of it. Get closer.”
I hopped once on my bottom to him, my knees jammed into his wide-open thighs. “Better?”
“Now, hold still.” Hunter raked my hair with his hands, pushing some of it on my forehead, obscuring my view of his handsome face. “Don’t move, or it won’t be even.”
The metal touched the bridge of my nose, and hair clippings fell between us.
Hunter pushed my hair to the side, then off my face completely.
I pried my eyes open. Hunter had his eyebrows pulled together and was biting his bottom lip, concentrating as if working on some masterpiece.
Small clippings mizzled on my eyelashes, and I blinked them away.
I sat statue-still as he brushed my hair a few times, his fingers on my scalp sending a warm current through me.
His hair was longer than the first day I saw him; it curled behind his ears and at the nape of his neck, and my fingers itched to run over it, to feel its softness.
I wanted to reach out and push his bangs off his forehead.
“Maybe I can give you a haircut.” I gently scooped up a lock of his hair and pulled it down to his nose bridge to show him how long it was. He smiled, the lines around his eyes creasing, and his large palms enveloped my head and straightened it.
“Hold still.” His gaze caressed my face briefly before returning to my hair.
“Is that a no?” My lips pulled at the corners, but I dropped my hands on the bench, my fingers immediately picking at a minor groove.