4. Chapter 4
Mila
The island looks exactly as I remember it from childhood visits—wild and untouched, with sea oats bending in the breeze and ghost crabs scuttling sideways across the sand.
"Okay," I say, hopping out of my kayak with professional enthusiasm. "First rule of turtle tracking: we're looking for distinctive drag marks in the sand. They'll look like—"
"Tiny tank treads?" Jared offers, securing his kayak.
I pause. "Actually, yes. Exactly like tiny tank treads. How did you know that?"
He grins. "I’ve lived on the beach my whole life, Mila. I’ve picked up a few turtle facts over the years.”
My cheeks warm. "Of course, right. Sorry about that.”
He laughs. "You're ridiculously cute when you get all serious about marine biology facts, you know—which is approximately 90% of the time."
My cheeks may as well be on fire now. Did he just call me cute?
We start walking the beach, scanning for tracks. The morning sun is already warm, and I'm explaining the difference between loggerhead and green turtle nesting patterns when Jared suddenly freezes.
"Mila." His voice is very quiet. Very serious.
My heart leaps. "Did you find tracks?"
"No." He points. "But I think I just found an unidentified species of squid.”
"Is that..." I squint. "Is that a pool float ?" It’s a plastic blob with tentacles that looks like a cross between an octopus, a squid, and a jellyfish.
“Is it wearing sunglasses?” Jared asks.
Sure enough, someone’s stuck a pair of cheap plastic sunglasses onto its bulbous head.
"Who brings a pool float to a barrier island ?" Jared asks, genuinely baffled.
"The same person who dresses it in sunglasses, apparently." I circle the float, fascinated despite myself. "This is oddly disturbing."
"Should we... rescue it?"
"It's trash, Jared. We should pack it out."
"But it has personality ." He picks up the float, which immediately deflates with a long, sad wheeze that sounds like a dying accordion.
We both jump back.
"Okay, that was horrifying," I say.
“I killed it,” Jared holds the deflated jellyfish at arm's length. “I’m a murderer now.”
I'm trying so hard not to laugh that I snort, which makes Jared grin, which makes me laugh harder. Soon we're both standing there like absolute lunatics, giggling at a deceased pool toy on a deserted beach.
"This is very unprofessional," I manage between laughs.
"Extremely unprofessional," he agrees, wiping his eyes. "Dr. Aronson, laughing at jellyfish casualties. What would your funding board say?"
I collect myself with effort. "They would say we need to stay on task. Actual turtles, remember?"
We stuff the deflated jellyfish into a trash bag and continue our survey. Twenty minutes later, I spot them—the unmistakable asymmetrical tracks leading from the water to the dunes.
"Jared!" I drop to my knees beside the trail, all business now. "This is it. Fresh tracks, probably from last night."
He crouches beside me, suddenly just as serious. "So there's a nest up there?"
"Should be." I pull out my measuring tape and clipboard. "Can you follow the tracks and see if you can find where she nested?"
He nods and heads toward the dunes while I document the track width and pattern. When he calls out, his voice is filled with genuine wonder.
"Mila, I found it!"
I scramble up the dune to where he's standing, and sure enough, there's the telltale disturbed sand pattern indicating a nest chamber below.
"She covered it well," I murmur, already taking measurements. "Good instincts, mama."
Jared watches as I work, asking questions that are surprisingly insightful. He listens when I explain how the temperature of the sand determines the sex of the hatchlings, and he helps me mark the nest perimeter with stakes and flagging tape.
"How many eggs do you think are down there?" he asks softly, like he's afraid of disturbing them.
"Could be anywhere from 80 to 120. They'll incubate for about sixty days before hatching."
He's quiet for a moment, staring at the innocent-looking patch of sand. "That's amazing. All those little turtles, just waiting."
The reverence in his voice makes my chest tight. This is why I do this work—to protect these moments, these miracles. And sharing it with someone who genuinely gets it ...
"Thank you for bringing me out here," he says. "For trusting me with this."
"Thank you for not thinking I'm crazy for caring so much about reptiles."
He grins. "Oh, I definitely think you're a little crazy. But in the best possible way."
We finish marking the nest and documenting everything in my waterproof notebook. As we head back to the kayaks, Jared hefts the trash bag with the jellyfish remains.
"You know what? I'm keeping the sunglasses. As a memorial."
I laugh. "You're definitely the weird one in this relationship."
"Relationship?" He stops walking, eyebrows raised.
My face burns. "I meant... professional relationship. Working relationship. The relationship of—"
"Mila." He's smiling now, that soft smile that makes my knees wobble. "It’s okay. I was just teasing you.”
As we paddle back to the mainland with the sun climbing higher, our kayaks cutting twin paths through the sparkling water, I catch sight of those ridiculous sunglasses perched on Jared's head like a trophy, and I can't stop smiling—thinking that maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't mind if he kept teasing me about relationships for a long, long time.