“I had planned to take you guys on the normal loop, but ole Hank was basking on a sandbank about thirty minutes upriver, so we’ll go give him a visit and get you folk a good show for your docuseries.”
Jett pats my thigh. “Ole Hank,” he whispers. “Do you think it’s a man in a speedo or a crocodile? Or a crocodile man?”
“Is it weird to say I’m kinda hoping for a crocodile man in a speedo lounging on a pool chair, reading a magazine?”
“Incredible imagination,” he replies, and my heart skips at the compliment.
The boat ride is accompanied by Frank offering facts and history about the Daintree Rainforest and the river.
The Daintree Rainforest is the world’s oldest tropical rainforest, estimated to be 135-180 million years old.
The estuary is home to half the world’s known mangrove species, and the plants are specially adapted to filter salt water through their leaves.
The Eastern Kuku Yalanji people are the traditional owners of the Daintree and represent one of the oldest living cultures on the planet, deeply connected to their country, both spiritually and practically.
Ole Hank is a cranky bastard, but he’s a ladies’ man.
The last one is more of an opinion, but I jot it down in case Jett wants to include it in the voice-over of the series. It’s still unclear whether Hank is a man or a crocodile, and the vagueness adds to the anticipation.
Jett films as we mosey along, capturing clips of colorful kingfishers weaving between mangroves, and herons patrolling the water’s edge, plus longer videos of the plant life, densely packed against the bank.
We round a tight corner into a small outcrop, and Frank calls out over the speakers, “There he is, ole Hank!”
Lounging on a mudbank, consuming the space and absorbing the sun’s warmth, sits a massive saltwater crocodile.
“Holy shit,” Jett mutters, aiming his camera at him.
A similar response sounds from Doug, who practically shoves his wife to the ground to make it to the other side of the boat. Molly laughs and follows him, everyone leaning over the railing to get a better look at Hank, who seems unperturbed by our presence.
Mottled green and brown scales blend into the thick mud, and Frank circles the boat a few times before Hank decides he’s over the fanfare and disappears into the murky depths.
There’s nothing more than a ripple to indicate he entered the river, and a chill slithers down my spine. I covertly slide back toward my seat.
“These creatures are stealth experts, using the water to conceal their movements and lying in wait for prey,” Frank says as the boat makes course for the dock.
I can add saltwater crocodiles to the list of animals I fear, right beside triggerfish and spiders.
Jett slides beside me, slinging an arm over my shoulder. “If he attacks, I’ll keep you safe,” he says with a goofy grin.
I raise a brow. “Against a thirteen-foot crocodile?”
He squeezes my bicep. “Well, I would tryreallyhard and wrestle it so you could run away. Remember, straight lines, not zigzags.”
There’s nothing but humorous truth on his face, and when his fingers press into my muscles again, I allow myself to melt into the touch. Somehow, Jett saying he would sacrifice himself to a saltwater crocodile is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard in my life.
Chapter 24
jett
The bathroom door flies open, banging against the marble countertop, and I barely withhold a manly yelp. Cool air funnels into the room, and the music playing from my phone stops.
“I can’t let it go,” Sofía announces. “I know I said it’s not a big deal, but I lied. I don’t get it.”
When we checked into our hotels yesterday, she spent twenty minutes in her room before a knock rapped on my door. Sofíahasn’t left since, except to collect a few things from her suitcase. Even when Doug and I went on a solo tour today—neither of the women had any interest in chasing down bugs and reptiles—she didn’t leave.
Instead of coming back to an empty room, I was greeted with a breathtaking smile and a kiss.
I had to remind myself not to get used to it.
