Composing myself requires effort and deep breaths while I scroll on my phone, the service so spotty I can only read the messages from Charlie and Amy. I could use their special brand of advice to talk me down from the spiral rather than only being able to read their debate about condiments.
I can’t catch a break. First the sunburn. Then the seasickness, and now this. I’ve been nothing but a liability for Jett the last few days. It’s my job to handle things, yet he’s been the one to pick up my slack. I take a good, long look at myself in the mirror, straightening my shoulders and smoothing my hair.
“You are better than this,” I mumble to myself.
Jett leans against the back bumper, the light from his phone illuminating his face.
A twig breaks beneath my foot, and his head snaps up. He spots me, and a grin splits across his face. It’s one of a kind—his smile. Genuine. Welcoming. All-consuming. He doesn’t show his joy with half effort, and it only adds to his beauty.
He is quite attractive—something I didn’t notice when we first met. I was so focused on my job, confident that if I executed the deep-sea documentary with no issues, I would be a shoo-in for a promotion, for recognition of my hard work.
In my tunnel vision, I missed it, but this trip switched the lens. The sharp cut of his jawline accentuates the softness of his cheeks and lips. His nose is crooked in a way that adds a degree of handsomeness, and his full brows draw focus to his warm, hazel eyes. I understand why he has fan pages, even if I’d never admit out loud that I’ve stalked them every night to see how people respond to our PR relationship.
He’s unlike any man I’ve ever dated by comparison of physical appearance, but I’m finding he’s more attractive than all of them combined, even if that is a dangerous thought.
Jett meets me halfway. “So, I’ve thought about your solution, and I hate it.”
I drop my toothbrush and toothpaste into the dirt.
He hates it?
Would he rather I sleep on the ground? With the snakes and spiders and whatever else can kill me on this continent?
“You can’t sleep in the truck. It’s not safe. And you’ll get chilly.”
I retrieve my items from the ground, thankful the toothbrush is in a cover, and wave him off. “It’s one night.”
“I don’t understand your point,” he says. “Just because it’s one night doesn’t mean you should have to. We can find a new solution.”
“It’s my mistake. I can deal with the consequences.”
With the final word in the argument, I brush past him, only to be ripped back. Hand wrapped around my wrist, Jett prevents my escape. Can he detect the uptick in my pulse?
An uncomfortable, addicting warmth blossoms from the point of contact, and I force myself to focus on anything but how much I like when he touches me.
Even though he’s holding me in place, it’s comforting, not controlling. I could walk away, and he would let me. There’s an undercurrent of power in the knowledge.
“This is not something that deserves aconsequence.” An odd tone colors his voice, almost like sympathy. “You don’t have to suffer or atone for making a mistake. Especially not for something as small as this.”
His words slice in a way I don’t think he intends, but the wound is there anyway.
“That’s not—I don’t always blame myself…”
I stumble over a way to explain his observation away, to disprove the blatant truth of his words, but I can’t.
“You do,” he confirms. “But you don’t need to. Not with me.”
How do I tell him that’s all I know? To absorb everything until it’s all that I am?
I don’t know how to become anything different.
Jett has a way of stripping back the layers, though. He experiences the world in a different way—one that adds to his skill as a filmmaker—but I think he sees me differently, too.
I don’t know how to grapple with the knowledge or catalog my thoughts. I’ve always fit between the neat lines others have drawn for me. It’s oddly exhilarating to grow over the old boundaries.
“Why don’t we come up with a solution together?” he offers. “I’m a pretty awesome problem solver, if I do say so myself.”
He leads us to a picnic table beside the campsite, and I sit across from him, tucking my knees to my chest. “What did you have in mind?”
