Chapter 20
SAGE
What am I doing up here?
Sage clung to the wooden mast like a squirrel on a telephone pole, feeling foolish. Or desperate. Or both.
The setting sun warmed the back of her neck and arms. Sweat gathered along her hairline, but more from the mental and physical exertion than the heat. She’d been searching the deck all day, scouring every square inch for the diary. But no luck. Panic settled in her chest. She hadn’t found it below deck, either, and she was running out of places to look.
Hence her ridiculous idea to search the rigging.
“Where did you hide the diary, Mira?” she whispered into the wind. “It has to be here somewhere.”
A heavy knot settled in her stomach, weighing her down. She readjusted her grip. What if she never found the diary? Or what if Flynn found it? She shuddered at the thought.
For the millionth time that day, her thoughts wandered to their conversation earlier that morning. For a moment, she’d forgotten everything that happened between them. It had felt so good to laugh together. Safe. Familiar. Cathartic.
Against her will, all her feelings for Flynn came flooding back. She viscerally remembered what it felt like to love him, so wholly and trusting.
And to be loved by him.
Yes, they’d been mere kids. Barely eighteen when they broke up. But during their time together, he’d made her believe in herself in a way no one else had. Not even her mom or Gran. With his unwavering faith in her—and the way he looked at her as if her radiance surpassed the sun and stars—he’d soothed the wounds left by her father. Every emotional cut and bruise telling her she wasn’t good enough, that she wasn’t worthy of someone else’s time or affection.
In his own special way, he’d given her friendship, love, and the courage to find her self-confidence—a powerful combination that made her believe anything was possible.
Brick by brick, he’d helped her rebuild what her father tore down. Then he left, and in the wake of his absence, the rubble of her broken heart surpassed all hope of repair.
A tear slid down her cheek, and she released one hand from the mast to wipe it away.
Get it together, Sage. You don’t need Flynn. Or any man. You just need to find the diary and finally get on with your life .
A startling bark broke through her thoughts, and before she could catch herself, her grip slipped. She tumbled backward, hitting the hard deck with a thud.
A sharp pang shot through her ankle.
She groaned, grimacing in pain.
Cap gently nuzzled her with his nose, as if apologizing for the unintentional scare.
“It’s okay.” She pet the top of his head. “You’re forgiven.” She tried to put a little weight on her ankle, then winced. Great . A sprained ankle was the last thing she needed.
“Cap? Are you up here? You’re not sup—” Flynn’s voice faltered the second he spotted her sprawled on the deck, nursing her ankle. Panic flickered in his eyes. He rushed over and knelt by her side. “What happened? Are you okay?”
He scanned her body for signs of injury, and she realized her long skirt had bunched around her thighs during the fall. She quickly yanked the fabric back over her legs.
“I’m fine. I just twisted my ankle.” She tried to stand but wobbled, and instantly sat back down.
“Don’t move. Let me take a look.” He lifted the hem of her skirt a few inches and carefully cupped the curve of her ankle.
She inhaled sharply as his touch instantly shot tingles up her leg.
He traced his palm from her calf to the heel of her foot, assessing the damage.
Heat spread over her body, and she closed her eyes, trying to focus on anything other than the feel of his fingertips against her bare skin.
As he leaned over her, his heady scent tickled her nose. Citrus and ocean spray. Crisp, masculine, and painfully familiar. After all these years, why couldn’t he wear a different cologne?
He must have noticed the ragged edge to her breath, because he said, “Don’t worry. It doesn’t look swollen or bruised. I doubt it’s even a sprain. A couple of painkillers and some rest, and you’ll be good as—”
When he didn’t finish his sentence, she opened her eyes. She followed his gaze to her opposite ankle—the one wearing the friendship bracelet. Her heartbeat fluttered. What was he thinking? She couldn’t read his cloudy expression.
He cleared his throat, adding, “Good as new.” He tore his gaze from her ankle and the cloud lifted. “Don’t panic or pepper spray me, but I’m going to pick you up.”
“What? Why?” Despite his instruction not to panic, her pulse skyrocketed.
“Because you shouldn’t put any weight on your ankle for a few hours at least.”
“A few hours? Fat chance. In case you’ve forgotten, we’re embroiled in a do-or-die competition.”
He smiled at her dramatics. “Then how about a truce?”
“What kind of truce?”
“How about for the rest of the evening, neither one of us looks for the diary.”
“But that would mean we’d only have tomorrow left to look for it.”
He shrugged. “In the last two days, we’ve been over this boat a hundred times. Logically, there are only a handful of places left to look. One more day is plenty of time to find it.”
She frowned. While she didn’t share his optimism, she didn’t want to exaggerate her injury by hobbling around on a bum ankle, either. Maybe a temporary truce was a good idea. “What’s in it for you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you now have an advantage. You could keep looking for the diary without me.”
“That’s true. I could. But between you and me, I could use a break. It’s almost dinnertime, and during my search, I spotted a Daiwa Marine Power Electric Reel, and I’ve been dying to give it a whirl.”
She raised an eyebrow. Flynn was willing to give up precious treasure-hunting time for a fancy fishing pole ? She didn’t buy his excuse for a second. Why was he being so nice to her? And why did she want to accept his offer?
“Besides,” he added with an impish grin, “I don’t need an unfair advantage. I’ll find the diary first, fair and square.”
Her stomach spun at the sight of his playful smile, the way his amber eyes lit from within, illuminating his whole face—his frustratingly handsome face. Some people really had no business being that good-looking.
“Fine. A temporary truce. One night only. Tomorrow morning at dawn, the search continues.”
“Works for me.”
Before she could say another word, he scooped her into his arms. She wanted to protest, but every objection died in her throat, silenced by the feel of his arms wrapped around her.
She resisted the urge to rest her head on his shoulder. No matter how her body responded to his nearness—to the hard contours of his chest, strong flex of his forearms, or the faint stubble on his jawline tempting her fingertips—she couldn’t succumb to the false sense of security.
The temporary pain of a twisted ankle couldn’t even compare to the agony of a heart broken by Flynn Cahill.
He eased her onto a deck chair, and she immediately missed his touch.
“Don’t move,” he instructed. “I’m going to grab the fishing pole for me and a book for you. Do you want any one in particular?”
“Surprise me.” If she were honest, she’d just forgotten the title of every book ever written. She’d never been more discombobulated in her life.
He glanced at Cap. “Keep an eye on her. Don’t let her move from this spot. Got it?”
Cap dutifully sat by her side.
As she watched Flynn walk toward the companionway, her heart wrenched.
How was it possible to resent someone so deeply while simultaneously regretting every second you spent apart?