9. Chapter 9
Mila
The morning after the storm, Jared and I work mostly in silence, both a little subdued from yesterday’s scramble to the fishing shack.
Every time I glance at him, though, I catch that flicker of a smile—the same one I’ve been trying not to think about all night.
The one that says something has changed between us.
We’re friends now, absolutely. But could we be something else? Something more?
We finish logging the last nest and start the slow walk back toward the kayaks.
The wind is gentle today, just enough to lift the ends of my hair.
I hug my clipboard against my chest, suddenly aware of how alone we are here.
Friendly Beach has tourists and locals splashing in the ocean, building sandcastles, and playing Frisbee.
But this little barrier island is miles from all of them.
And besides the occasional fisherman or explorer who boats here, it's peopleless. Remote.
“Thanks for yesterday,” I say softly. “For getting us to shelter. For—”
“You don’t have to thank me.” His voice is low, steady. “I’d never let anything happen to you.”
The way he says it makes my heart skip a beat. He stops walking, and I stop too, turning to face him. We’re standing in a patch of wet sand still dark from the high tide, the ocean glittering behind him like liquid glass.
“Mila…” His gaze searches mine. “Yesterday in that shack—” He breaks off, then gives a small, crooked smile. “I wanted to kiss you. I’ve wanted to for a while. But I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to, or if I was just imaging things, or…?”
I swallow hard, heart beating faster. “You didn’t imagine it,” I whisper. “I’ve… wanted that too.”
For a heartbeat we just look at each other, the air between us warm and bright and humming. Then he steps closer, slow enough that I can back away if I want to. I don’t. I tilt my face up, and he brushes a strand of my hair from my cheek with fingers that are callused and gentle all at once.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs.
“I won’t,” I breathe.
And then his lips are on mine.
It’s a soft, steady kiss, our mouths fitting together just right . His hands stay light at my waist, as if he’s afraid to startle me, but mine curl into the fabric of his t-shirt, clinging to this moment—to him —for as long as possible.
When we finally part, I’m smiling before I even realize it.
“That,” I say a little breathlessly, “was worth waiting for.”
He grins, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Since we’ve been so patient, I think we deserve another one.”
We stand there for another minute, waves lapping at our ankles, lost in the kiss, before he squeezes my hand and breaks away. “Come on, Turtle Lady. We need to get back on the water before the tide changes, or we’ll have a hard time getting back to the mainland.”
As we push off in our kayaks, I can still taste the salt on his lips. The data we collected today is good… but the memory I’ll carry home is even better.