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 soquickly?”
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.
