7. Charlotte Gallagher
Charlotte Gallagher
Soft morning light slips into the shelter. I lie still for a moment, listening.
The island is already awake. Waves roll in quietly beyond the trees. Birds rustle somewhere high in the canopy. The fire gives off a low, steady crackle as it burns down.
And underneath it all—something else.
Movement.
I push up onto one elbow, blinking the sleep from my eyes.
Dane is already up.
Outside the shelter, I find him crouched with his back to me. A net is draped across his knee as he works a tear closed with palm cord, his hands moving quickly.
I watch him for a second.
He’s shirtless. The sun has darkened his skin over the years, and there’s an easy strength in the way he moves as he pulls the cord tight and ties it off.
He sets the net aside and reaches for a spear leaning against the frame. That’s when he notices me.
His gaze lifts, meeting mine. “Morning.”
“Morning.”
Dane studies me for a moment. “How are you feeling?”
“Better than yesterday. A lot better. My leg still aches where the snake bit me, but it’s not sharp anymore—just stiff.”
He nods. “Glad to hear it.”
He picks up the spear and gestures toward the lagoon. “About to head out and see what the ocean gives us this morning.”
This is routine for Dane. He goes out most mornings when the tide’s right, checking traps and spearing fish while the water’s still calm.
I stay behind, tend the fire, and gather fruit. That’s how it’s always worked. But today, the idea of watching him disappear down the beach while I sit here alone doesn’t appeal to me.
“I’ll come with you.”
He pauses—not long, but enough.
His eyes flick over me again. “Your leg still needs rest.”
“I’ve been resting for days.”
“That’s the point.”
“I feel fine.”
He watches me for another second, like he’s deciding whether to argue, then his gaze drops to my leg. “Let me have a look.”
He moves in front of me, already focused on the bandage above my ankle.
His hands are warm when he takes my foot and checks the bite. His fingers move over the skin, pressing along the swelling the same way he has every morning since the fever broke.
“Does that hurt?”
“A little.”
He presses higher. “And that?”
“Not really.”
He nods under his breath. “Swelling’s almost gone.”
His grip loosens, but he doesn’t pull away. His hand lingers at my ankle for a second.
Everything about his touch catches me off guard. It’s been a long time since anyone’s taken care of me like this.
He finally lets go and leans back. “If you start feeling dizzy, we turn around.”
I smile a little. “You’re being very bossy this morning.”
“You almost died a few days ago.”
“But I didn’t.”
He looks at me for a beat, then the corner of his mouth lifts. “Fair point.”
He grabs the net and slings it over his shoulder, then picks up the spear. “You ready?”
I stand and test my weight. My leg holds. “I’m ready.”
Dane walks the path ahead of me. He steps over a fallen branch and reaches back, catching a low palm frond. He holds it aside until I pass, then lets it fall back into place and keeps walking like it’s nothing.
In the past, he would’ve laughed after he allowed it to swing back and hit me.
A few steps ahead, the path dips toward the beach, and he slows, glancing at me.
“You still doing okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He looks at me a second longer, then nods and moves forward again. A moment later the beach opens up in front of us, the lagoon stretching wide and bright under the morning sky.
Dane heads straight for the rocks, already scanning the surface.
I hang back at the edge of the sand.
The heat’s building, and my shirt sticks to my skin. I pull it off and toss it over a low branch. Underneath, I’m wearing what I usually swim in—one of my mum’s bikinis and a pair of her shorts.
Up ahead, Dane goes still when he looks at me, his jaw tightening before he turns away.
He used to make it obvious when I annoyed him. He never tried to hide it. This feels like the opposite—like he’s avoiding something.
I step into the water beside him. “See anything yet?”
“Not yet.”
He moves a little farther out, scanning the water. The spear rests in his hand as he watches the faint ripples where fish move just below the surface.
“Stay slow,” he says.
I nod.
In water this calm, even a small splash is enough to send everything darting out of reach.
We spread out a few feet apart, moving along the rocks where the water deepens. Silver flashes dart through the lagoon.
Dane lifts a hand, and I slow right away.
He angles the spear toward a gap between two rocks. “Ease this way and push them toward me.”
I circle, keeping my steps light so the water barely ripples. A group of fish slips out from the rocks as I get closer, right in his direction.
The spear moves before I fully register it. When he lifts it again, a fish wiggles at the tip. He pulls it free and tosses it onto the sand behind us. “There’s one.”
“Show-off.”
He looks away, but his mouth twitches. “You want to give it a try?”
He’s never asked me before. He’s always just done it himself.
“Yeah, I do.”
A few minutes later, he nods toward the water near me. “Left. By that rock.”
I follow his line of sight. At first, nothing. Then a flicker near the surface.
I tighten my grip. Wait. Then strike.
Water splashes up around my knees, and for a second I’m not sure I hit anything. Then I lift the spear, and a fish twists at the end.
I blink down at it, proud of my catch. “Well, would you look at that.”
Dane glances over and smiles. “Well done.”
I pull the fish free and toss it onto the sand beside the one he caught. “I like this—actually helping instead of just watching.”
“You’ve always helped.”
I glance at him. “It doesn’t feel like it.”
He looks back out over the lagoon. “You gather fruit and water, do most of the cooking, keep the fire going. You figured out how to braid the fiber rope that doesn’t fall apart after two days.”
I study him for a second. “I didn’t think you noticed.”
His eyes meet mine. “I notice more than you realize.”
Something sparks at that—quick, quiet, and not easy to shake.
Dane looks away and wades a little farther out toward the rocks where we keep the traps wedged between two stones. The rope floats just under the surface, tied off to a chunk of coral so the tide doesn’t carry it away.
He grabs the line and pulls. The trap breaks free with a heavy splash, water spraying across his shoulders as he hauls it up. It drags for a second with the weight before he brings it into the shallows.
Two large crabs thrash inside.
“Nice catch.”
He glances down. “They’ve been getting smarter lately.”
“Dane… they’re crabs.”
“Exactly.”
He tips the trap and gives it a shake. The crabs tumble onto the sand, shells knocking together as they scramble across the wet ground. One of them makes a quick dash for the water.
“Nice try, mate.”
He catches it easily from behind before it gets far. The other one follows, snapping its claws in protest. Both go into the bucket, where they rattle noisily against the sides before settling.
“Breakfast just got better,” I say.
“Yeah, it did.”
He lifts the trap, resetting it before placing it back between the rocks. I’ve seen him do this a thousand times. Still, I find myself watching.
Something small twists low in my stomach, unexpected enough that I look away, focusing on the water instead.
“I think we have plenty,” he says.
I glance at the fish and crabs. “Definitely.”
I went days without eating after the snakebite—long enough to feel it. Clothes looser. Body weaker. Out here, that’s not something you can afford.
Dane nudges one of the crabs back into the bucket before it can make another break for it.
“Maybe we cook a couple of eggs too, if Pearl and Coral have been generous.”
I look up at him. “Two?”
We never eat like this.
A faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I think the extra food will help you heal faster.”
I can’t remember a single time he’s cared about my health. But I’m not arguing.
“Two eggs it is.”