“Then I’ll marry you again out there.” He says it without hesitation.
“Wherever you want. However it has to happen. We’ll do it again.” His eyes stay on mine. “It matters to me. That’s enough.”
I study him for a long moment.
He doesn’t push. Doesn’t rush me. He just waits, like he always does when something really matters.
A smile pulls at my mouth. “Yes. I’ll marry you.”
Something shifts in his expression then. Not excitement exactly. Something quieter. Relief, maybe.
“Tomorrow,” he says. “At sunset.”
I nod. “Tomorrow at sunset.”
He brushes a strand of hair back from my face, so gently I feel it everywhere. Then I lean back against him, settling into his chest as his arm wraps around me.
The night carries on around us unchanged. Waves. Wind. The steady sound of the island breathing around us.
But something between us shifts again anyway.
Chapter 14
Dane Gallagher
Morning comesthe way it always does.
I wake before she does. That hasn’t changed. My body still pulls itself awake before the light is fully up, some habit that never learned how to switch off.
I lie there for a second, running through the usual check. Wind. Temperature. The quiet tally of what it takes to stay alive out here.
Then Charlotte shifts against me, and my daily routine slips.
She makes a soft sound—half sigh, half complaint—and turns into me without waking. Her hair falls across my shoulder. Her hand rests loose against my ribs.
I look down at her in the gray light and think about the fact that by tonight, she’ll be my wife. Maybe it’s a title no one else will ever recognize, but out here, we’re the only people it has to matter to.
Carefully, I ease out from under her and start on the day’s chores.
Charlotte joins me not long after, her hair still messy from sleep as she kneels beside the fire pit to get it going again. We fall into our usual rhythm. I climb up to reinforce part of the roof while she crouches near the fire, cutting fruit and prepping fish for later.
I’ve built a lot on this island—shelters, traps, tools. Things meant to keep us alive.
Today, I’m making something else. And somehow, it matters even more.
Charlotte disappears into the trees to gather flowers, and I pull out the shell I found this morning before she woke. It’s pinkish-white with a soft pearled sheen along the inside that catches the light every time I turn it in my hand.
I already know what I want it to look like.
I start carving, working slowly, so the shell doesn’t crack beneath the knife. I shape the top into a flower like the ones she always tucks into her hair near the waterfall. The detail work is tedious, but my hands are steadier than people would probably expect. I’ve spent years making things out here. If I’m being honest, I’m good with my hands.
The shaping takes time—grinding the shell, checking the curve against my finger, smoothing rough edges, starting over whenever something feels off.
My hands were built for survival work. Carrying weight. Climbing cliffs. Pulling nets from the ocean.
This is different. It takes patience instead of force. So I take my time. And little by little, the ring starts becoming something real.
Eventually the shape comes together, the flower carved cleanly into the top, the pale sheen catching softly along the edges.
