Page 51 of Dance Practice, Marooned: Part 2

He gives me a look. “Trust me, baby.”

God, as if I can say no when he talks like that.

I playfully sigh and do it. Eyes closed, lips parted. Suddenly, something sweet and impossibly perfect is set on my tongue. I clamp down and taste it—silky, creamy, melty.

“Chocolate!” I gasp, opening my eyes wide.

He winks and gives me another piece.

I moan, and I mean really moan. I let the chocolate dissolve in my mouth, milking every second, every tiny melt of sugar and cocoa butter as if it’s the last candy on earth. It might be. Hell, we don’t know what the next chapter brings for us. We could capsize out here and...

Ace, thankfully, cuts off my spiralling thoughts by handing me a protein bar. Cookies and cream flavoured. What pirate eats a cookies and cream protein bar?

I’m not complaining.

I tear it open, bite off a chunk and nearly sob at the taste of chocolate and cookies and something that isn’t fucking fish or island fruit.

As if enjoying my rather intense reactions, Ace hands me an apple and a tin of orange soda.

Oh.

My.

God.

Yes.

I take a bite of the apple as he cracks the soda, and then I chug it like a woman possessed. The fizz is sharp, a spike of pure joy in the back of my throat. When I finally stop, I press the can to my forehead, eyes shut, and just bask in this feeling.

Ace watches me with an affection so deep it nearly undoes me. There’s that softness again, tempered at the edges by that wild, cracked Ace who’d break a man’s jaw for one of my tears.

When we have both had our fill of food, he crawls back under the blankets.

I roll to him, without hesitation, burrowing against his chest, the world squeezed out to a single point of warmth and breath and his heartbeat under my ear.

Neither of us can fight it much longer.

In seconds, we’re both asleep.

Safe and warm.

Like a fucking miracle.

11

IT’S AMAZING HOW THE smallest glimmer of hope can change everything.

We go from being scared, lonely, on edge and broken to excited, determined and hopeful.

Like a switch has been flipped.

We spend the next morning making sure everything is in order.

The guys go and deal with the bodies of the pirates, and see what carnage was left over. I choose not to ask questions, I don’t want to know where they are putting them, what they will do if one is still alive, or anything else to do with it. So the five of us girls and Adrian stay on the ship, and do the best we can to prepare it for our attempt to get home.

Aggie and Rachel clean, Tatiana and Kaylee organise and restock the kitchen with as much as they can, and Adrian helps me wash every single sheet and blanket on the ship, because none of us will be sleeping another night on this thing without a clean bed. There is no washing machine, but there is washing soap so we bundle everything up and take it to the watering hole on the island and begin scrubbing and cleaning.

It takes hours, but it is a bright sunny day and so when we are done, we string everything up between trees to let the sun and wind dry it, before moving on to anything else that needs to be washed. It’s strange, really, because I never thought I would enjoy washing, but being able to do it and knowing we have actual soap feels like some kind of miracle.