Chapter 15
sofía
“Try taking a second off the front and back,” Jett advises, leaning closer, his cheek inches from mine.
His cologne—an annoyingly intoxicating scent—wafts through the air as the video I took yesterday on the helicopter plays on repeat. I do as he says, and when I play it again, it flows into the next clip, creating a transition without editing one in.
The vision is impressive.
“That’s great, Sofía,” he murmurs.
My skin prickles with heat from the praise.
Would it be rude to two-hand shove him away for my sanity?
When I planned the trip, I anticipated having—and needing—alone time to decompress at night. Instead, I’ve spent nearly every minute with Jett.
I’ve found I don’t mind his company—quite the opposite, in fact.
The urge to text him after we’ve split to our own hotel rooms each night, even though we’ve spent fourteen hours together, is one I need to dissect under a microscope.
Last night, I saw this cat video online where it could open the dishwasher, and I spent ten minutes going back and forth on whether I should send him the link.
In the end, I threw my phone across the room and took a long, hot shower.
When I returned, a text waited from him with a link to the exact video. He had sent it to me.
“Now try and add the other clip to the front.”
I blink. “What?”
His brows scrunch. “The shorter clip. Try moving it to the front of the video.”
I shuffle them around, and after a few more tweaks, there’s twenty seconds of footage of the Great Barrier Reef from the air.
It took me three hours to complete.
“How do you do this all the time? And so quickly?”
The tip of his nose turns pink. “Well, I’m better at it than you.
” He scrambles when my jaw falls open. “I have more practice! And an eye for it. It’s also how I spend most of my free time.
I don’t know many people in LA, our friends all live on the East Coast, and I don’t talk to my old friends in Indiana much, so when I’m not exploring, I’m working. ”
My heart breaks a little for him. How isolating it must be sometimes to work the way he does. He has Doug and Molly, but they have each other. I was never close to the people I worked with at RogueWave, but I still had people to interact with. I have Luisa and Maria, and Vivian when she’s on land.
“And me,” I remind him.
“What?”
“You have me.”
He looks everywhere except my direction. “Well, as my employee, I guess that’s true.”
My stomach twists, and I lay a hand on his forearm. The warmth of his skin emanates into my palm. “No, as your best friend. Remember?”
“How could I forget?” he finally says, tearing his gaze off where we touch.
A chill rips through me, the too-intense air-conditioning wedging between us.
The remainder of the ferry ride to Magnetic Island—an island right off the coast of Townsville—is quiet but not uncomfortable.
I work on my video, and Jett pulls out his phone, throwing together three short clips in the twenty minutes it takes for us to dock.
“Send me your video,” he says when we disembark. “I’ll post it tonight, if that’s all right.”
“You want to post it?” Sudden self-consciousness hits me. It needs more work before it’s ready for the world to see. I haven’t found the perfect music yet. “It’s not ready.”
“You don’t think so?” He steals my backpack and hikes it over his shoulder like it’s weightless. “I thought it was great. What doesn’t feel right about it?”
I scan the small ferry terminal and the dozens of people waiting for an island bus. Molly and Doug stand in the shade, applying sunscreen, and two parents attempt to corral their children, all wearing matching outfits.
I scramble for any answer other than the truth, so I offer him a slice of honesty. “It’s not perfect.”
His features soften in a way I’m not fond of. “Nothing will ever be perfect,” he admits, unbearably gentle with his approach. “But we can work on it together and get it to a place where you’re happy with it.”
The bus pulls up to the terminal, and I use it as an excuse to avoid answering. Years of previous comments fly through my mind.
Just get over it, Sofía.
It’s not that big of a deal, I don’t know why you care so much.
Try-hard. Perfectionist. High maintenance.
But most of all, it strikes me like a rogue lightning bolt in a storm that his response is so far from any of those things. Pressure forms behind my eyelids, and I flick my sunglasses down from my head to hide the impending tears.
It’s childish, but I think I hate Jett—just a little. He’s kind and considerate in a way few men are, at least not to me. Not historically. And maybe I hate him because I know it’s genuine and simply part of the fabric of who he is.
Or maybe it’s because he’s forcing the realization to the surface—that he’s been kinder than any man I’ve ever dated. No ulterior reason behind it.
What does that say about me?
Do I view myself so poorly? And why has it taken twelve days with Jett, Doug, and Molly for this epiphany to settle?
Jett leads us to a set of seats at the back of the bus. He takes a step past and gives me the window seat, and I ignore the uncomfortable fluttering in my chest when I sit.
The engine hums to life, and Jett’s knee presses into mine. “You all right?”
The concern in his tone snaps me back to reality. “Just thinking.”
“I’m here if you want to talk about it.”
He says nothing more, likely grateful I didn’t say “I’m fine” and is happy to leave it at that.
We weave down narrow roads, along cliffsides that overlook the ocean, magnificent swirls of teals and blues.
Waves crash against the shore, and large boulders covered in patches of lichen line the edge of eucalyptus and pine forests.
“Forts walking path,” the driver calls out, and I pat Jett on the thigh.
“This is us.” I follow the group off the bus and back into the heat. The all-black outfit I chose this morning was a terrible decision, absorbing every ray of warmth from the sun. Jett moves to stand beside me, extending a tube of sunscreen. “Oh, I put some on this morning,” I tell him.
He gives me an incredulous look, then says something so unexpected I choke. “You should reapply, unless your goal is to get me to rub aloe on your back again tonight. Then, by all means, burn away.”
I take the sunscreen without another word. Jett gives me a beaming, victorious smile. When I’m done, he pulls the baseball cap from his head and sets it on mine, adjusting the brim so it doesn’t fall over my eyes.
My pulse hammers in my ears.
He’s got to stop this. Right. Now.
Jett taps the brim, surveying me. “Now you’re ready to hike.”
“Here’s the camera. I put the fifty-millimeter lens on,” Doug says, handing it to our boss. “I’ve got the drone in my bag, and if we get moving, we should reach the top of the fort before the sun peaks and it gets too hot.”
Molly flicks her wrist, and a fan unfurls itself. She waves it frantically in front of her. “Let’s get this show on the road and find a koala so we can find somewhere cool to sit.”
“I’m with her,” I say, a sigh escaping when she turns the fan toward me and the forced air hits my balmy skin.
The men set a brutal pace, trekking up the uneven, unpaved path. The incline sharpens as we round a corner, and my breathing labors. Molly pauses beside me to catch her breath, and the guys continue up the path, chatting and pointing at things.
Don’t worry, we’re fine back here.
Jett’s hat falls over my brows when I grip my knees, releasing a hint of his cologne. “Wait up,” I try to yell, but it comes out as a puff of air.
Shit, I’m out of shape.
“Let them run away. I’d rather chat with you, anyway,” Molly says, fanning me as I rise. “We’ve barely spoken the last few days.”
I raise a brow and answer when I can breathe again. “That’s because you and your husband have an incredible ability to disappear.”
We opt for a slower pace, sticking to the shaded side of the path. A fit couple passes us on our left, jogging up the hill while chatting amongst themselves. Not a single labored breath between them. You’d think they were sitting on a couch.
Panting, I add “Go to the gym” to my mental to-do list for when we return to LA. I’ve been relying on different forms of cardio for too long, and with that exercise gone, I’m paying the price.
“It’s been nice to travel with him,” Molly admits. “Most of the time, he and Jett go on their own, and I miss him desperately when he’s gone.”
“You don’t get tired of him?” I ask, mostly teasing.
“Gosh, no. I could spend every waking moment of the rest of my life with him, and it still wouldn’t be enough time.”
Her response resurfaces my inner turmoil from the bus ride.
I can’t think of a single man I’ve dated who I felt that way with—like a piece of me is missing when they’re away. Never a desperate melancholy when they’re gone. Never counting down the minutes until they return.
Well, not until recent days.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask when we reach a lookout.
A bench faces outward, the cliffside covered in pine and eucalyptus trees, varying from sage to evergreen to a bright chartreuse. I revel in the soft breeze creeping above the tree line.
We linger, capturing the memory, before moving farther up the path.
“What’s up?”
I fiddle with the hat’s tattered brim, the frayed edges dragging along my thumb pad. I hesitate, ready to shake my head and dissolve the conversation before it can begin, but in the end, my curiosity wins out.
“Why did you choose Doug?”
I’ve seen few people as happy in their marriage as Molly. And while I know there’s always more that happens when the camera’s off, the genuine joy she radiates with her husband isn’t something she can fake.
“Well, I mean, look at him,” she says, her head snapping up the hill.
Doug is bent over, digging for something in his bag while Jett…supervises? His hands press against his hips like a dad watching a reality television show from behind the couch after swearing up and down that he didn’t care.
“He’s got a great ass,” she continues, “but I don’t think that’s what you’re asking about.”