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That’s when it occurs to me. He’s doing this for me.
He’s braving a tropical storm for me.
I’m overwhelmed by his care, and I can feel myself melting into the ground like a puddle of goo.
“I guess you better get going, then,” I say, my voice thick with emotion.
He nods, heading toward the door. When he pushes the door open, it’s easy to see it’s well past a simple shower. He looks back at me one last time and winks before disappearing into the abyss of rain.
Being here alone in Paxton’s hut is overwhelming. His things surround me, and I feel like an interloper.
The sound of rain on the thatched roof surrounds me as I wait for him to return, hands tapping on the sheets. The storm sounds intense, and my back muscles tighten as I wait. My heart is pounding. I can feel it reverberating through every cell in my body.
He shouldn’t be out there. He shouldn’t be risking himself like this. The thought of him in the storm has my hands balling into fists and sweat trickling down my forehead. I can barely keep still as I wait. And wait.
I jump up, needing to find a way to exert this pent-up energy. I’m pacing the floors, thinking about all that could’ve gone wrong out there. Did we need food? Well . . . yes. I’m starving, and I’m sure he is even more. This whole island hut thing was not well thought out. There should’ve been more provisions stocked. You can’t tell me someone on the island didn’t know a monsoon was coming.
I’m practically plastered to the window as I watch for him to return, fearing he won’t.
That’s when it hits me.
I’m falling for Paxton Ramsey.
This is bad.
32
Paxton
@Stargossip: Still no word from the island. I’m starting to get worried. Think they got washed away by the storm?
@Freshwaterlover: Think they’re dead?
@Twistedtealover: Seems likely.
@Twistedtealover: You know who’s been quiet? @deathtothesystem
@Twistedtealover: Did we finally run you off? *Insert sad face*
It’s been pouring all day, and although the path beneath my feet is slick with mud and fallen leaves, I venture on.
If it weren’t essential for me to get food, I wouldn’t be risking it, but we need to eat, and as if on cue, my stomach growls.
There better be supplies, or we’re in trouble.
I wonder if Brad and Teagan are faring better than us. If they weren’t, I have a feeling that, downpour or not, Brad would be pounding down my door. I’m sure he’s livid to lose more days. His next project is looming; if we don’t wrap this up quickly, we will be in a tough position.
The rain beats down on me like a thousand tiny hammers, and the trees around me shake from the wind battering the leaves. I’m not prepared for this weather, but I cross my arms in front of my chest the best I can, shielding myself from the storm. It does little to help.
All I can think about is Mallory waiting, and I need to get back to her. I take a deep breath, the smell of wet wood and moss filling my nose.
The thunder booms in the distance, and I pick up my pace, the urgency of getting back propelling me forward.
As far as I can tell, there’s no shelter around here, just trees whose branches are caught in an awkward position.
I take a left at the fork in the road and then another right.
The rain’s coming down harder now, so I pick up my pace.
Finally, the path opens up to the clearing.
The trailer looks abandoned, but I head over to it anyway, swinging open the door to see if anyone is inside.
No one. I breathe in relief. I really didn’t want to bump into Brad or, worse, Theresa, but now that I know it’s clear, I start digging around, looking for food.
“You’re here!” I jump out of my body and spin around to see Michael standing there, surveying me with his eyes. “I wasn’t sure if you guys were okay. Happy to see you are.”
“Jesus, Michael. You scared the shit out of me.”
He chuckles. “Sorry about that.”
“All good. Just grabbing supplies to wait out the storm.”
“Good idea. There are clean linens and towels over there.” He points at a bin in the corner. “I know there are large sacks to carry stuff in around here somewhere.”
He goes digging around, eventually lifting his arm into the air. A bag big enough to stuff a small child in is clenched in his fist.
“Here you go.” He hands it over, and I get to work.
I make sure to grab two new sets of sheets and several towels. The bag fills up fast, and I know I can’t fill it so full I won’t be able to carry it back.
“Need help?” he asks. “There’s another black bag if you think you can manage.”
