Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“The goal here is not to find out what happens when you mix dehydration with sunstroke, but thanks for your enthusiasm,” Holden says flatly, removing his cap and setting it on Chloe’s head like it’s the most efficient solution available.
She mutters a thank-you and slumps under the nearest bit of shade.
He’s been a little clipped this morning, ever since the dive plan was pushed to tomorrow due to gear issues. Or so the guides said.
When my alarm went off at dawn, I rolled to my side groggily, rubbing my eyes, only to be met with a brief but undeniably unfair glimpse of Holden pulling on a T-shirt—abs and all.
It was the kind of moment that would haunt the average girl for the rest of her trip, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it, because in my haste, I forgot the whole top-bunk situation and cracked my skull against the ceiling.
Holden blinked at me like I was a newly discovered species, and all I managed to say was something about how it was a good thing he didn’t pick the top bunk.
He chuckled. But by the time we were out with the group, talking to the guides, he was back to standard-issue emotionally-repressed Holden.
Still, he didn’t let it derail the day. He called the group together and laid out the situation like a problem to solve.
“We’re here to study unpredictability in the field,” he said.
“You’ve got your first real variable—nonfunctional equipment.
So, you tell me. Do we burn fuel and scout the dive site anyway?
Or do we stay back, run diagnostics, finalize our site roles, and get the gear sorted so we don’t lose two days instead of one? ”
He said it with his usual deadpan calm, like he wasn’t annoyed at all—which, of course, means he absolutely was.
But it worked. The students started weighing trade-offs, revisiting their notes, adjusting plans.
Somehow, Holden always manages to reroute disappointment into efficiency. Not with charm. Just clarity.
Now, though, we’ve been sitting by the pier for a little over four hours.
Despite it still being early, the sun is relentless.
The trees nearby offer only the illusion of shade, and no matter how many times we reshuffle ourselves, there’s no real escape from the heat.
We’ve gone over the dive plans more times than I can count, and the handful of us familiar with tank systems and regulators have spent the better part of the morning assisting the guides with the faulty gear.
At this point, we’ve wrung every last drop of productivity out of a day when diving is off the table. That’s when Holden finally stands, brushing off the back of his shorts as he rises from where he’d been crouched beside Chloe.
“Alright,” he says, voice calm but carrying. “Good work this morning. I know this wasn’t how you pictured day one going, but welcome to field science. Sometimes you spend two years prepping for a research trip and lose the first three days to a broken compressor.”
He slings his bag over one shoulder and holds up a clipboard.
“I spoke to the guides. This part of the island is secure, and there are a few marked trails if you want to stretch your legs or get a closer look at the local wildlife. Tortoises, marine iguanas, lava lizards, maybe even a finch or two if you don’t scare them off by breathing. ”
Excited murmurs ripple through the group.
“For today only,” he continues, gaze flicking briefly in my direction before returning to the clipboard, “I’m okay with everyone heading out to explore.
That said—” he pauses just long enough for the lot to quiet again—“if you’re leaving camp, I need a name, a destination, who you’re with, and your expected return time on this sheet. ”
He taps the board with one finger, just once.
“You’re adults. I’m not here to babysit. But I really, really don’t want to be the TA who loses a student on a remote island.” A beat. “Let’s not make headlines, yeah?”
That earns a couple of chuckles, a few grins, and a surprising level of compliance.
Most students rush the clipboard like it’s concert tickets, the majority scrawling their names beside the trail that leads toward the center of the island—to Cerro Pajas, the mountain the guides mentioned upon our arrival.
Apparently, there are ancient moss-covered statues up there, remnants of a time no one really talks about, which makes them all the more intriguing.
When it’s finally my turn, I lean in to look—and spot something that makes my heart skip. On the lower corner of the map, just a short walk from camp, there’s a little snorkel icon nestled near the coastline. Cormorant Bay.
My eyes flick up instinctively, looking for Holden, but he’s mid-conversation with Mateo, hands gesturing, voice low.
I turn to Emma instead.
“Did you see this?” I ask, pointing to the bay. “Looks like we can snorkel?”
She nods, though her voice doesn’t match the enthusiasm on my face. “Yeah. I saw it. But I don’t know, we’ll be in the water all week, won’t we? Kind of feels like the one chance to see what’s inland.”
She has a point. The trail up to Cerro Pajas does sound incredible, and I’d love to see the statues—especially considering most of the class seems to be heading there.
But Dr. Kymbert mentioned she wanted to schedule tortoise time near the end of the trip, and if that’s the case…
well, the water is calling. Always has been.
Especially when I thought I wouldn’t get the chance today.
Technically, I know better than to snorkel alone. It’s frowned upon, safety-wise. But there’s no harm in just getting close to the tidepools again. Wading in. Floating at the surface for a bit, just to observe.
I sign my name beside “Cormorant Bay,” tuck the clipboard back onto the table, and head for the cabin.
Grabbing my pack, I load it with the essentials: my field notebook—because I never go near water without something to scribble in—an extra pen, a few hair ties, more sunscreen, and the mask and snorkel I brought in a last-minute fit of optimism.
I’m already wearing a long-sleeved rash guard over my bikini, so I’m basically good to go.
Even if I only spend ten minutes in the water, it’s ten minutes more than I thought I’d get. And out here, ten minutes is always enough for the ocean to show you something new.
As I open the door, Holden walks in. We nearly collide, and while he stiffens—clearly surprised to find me standing there—he doesn’t stop until I step back, giving him space to close the cabin door behind him.
He looks down at me, shaking his head slowly. “Coralie,” he says, already sounding exhausted. “Why is your name next to the snorkel site?”
“Uh… because I’d like to go snorkeling?”
He lifts a brow. “Let me rephrase. Why is your name the only one next to the snorkeling site?”
Ah. So we’re both well aware that snorkeling alone is a no-no.
“I know, I know. Safety, buddy system, don’t get swept out to sea and all that. I wasn’t going to go deep—just check it out. Wade in. Float a little. Look around.”
His gaze drops to the snorkel sticking out of my bag. “And the gear? Just in case you decide to ‘float a little’ with your face in the water for an hour?”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m being responsible.” He folds his arms across his broad chest. “Couldn’t convince anyone to go with you? Mateo would probably sprint there if you mentioned sharks.”
It’s my turn to raise an eyebrow. “You want me to ask Mateo to come with me?”
He hesitates, clearly regretting bringing up the student at all. “You shouldn’t be in the water alone.”
“So that’s a yes? I should go invite Mateo?”
I’m fully aware I’m pushing him now. Maybe too far. But ever since that conversation with Theo, I’ve had the sneaking suspicion that Holden’s rules and Holden’s feelings exist in entirely separate orbits. And maybe—just maybe—they’ve started to overlap.
“No,” he says, flat. Immediate.
I bite back a grin, but it pushes through anyway. “You sure? He does love sharks.”
He exhales hard through his nose, eyes narrowing like he’s trying not to smile. “You’re trouble.”
He’s said that before. And sure, those other times my brain was too scrambled to respond properly, but now?
“If you’re so worried,” I say, tilting my head, “you could always come with me.”
Bold. Bolder than I meant it to be. But something about this place is making me reckless.
Maybe it’s the volcanic spores or the proximity to Darwin’s ghost. Maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t been graded in five days and I can physically feel my student status fading like a tan line.
Or maybe—just maybe—it’s the way Holden’s been looking at me since we got here, like I’m not just a name on his clipboard.
And here, surrounded by salt and lava and the complete collapse of normal boundaries, I’m not. It doesn’t feel like he’s my TA. He’s just Holden. And I’m just Coralie.
He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to. I step toward the door like I’m really going to go find some other student to splash around with, and—
His hand catches my wrist.
Not tight, not demanding. Just a gentle wrap of his fingers around mine, warm and steady.
“Give me two minutes,” he says. “I’ll grab my stuff.”
I grin. Not just because I got my way.
But because for once, I think I caught him off guard. And for once, I think he’s letting me.
About half an hour later, we’re pushing through the last of the brush when the trees open up to reveal Cormorant Bay.
It’s different here.