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He was giving me whiplash.
“What for?”
“For bringing me here. For doing this. For marking the trees. That was a really great idea.”
“The crab people told me they do that,” I mumbled. “They had cans of spray paint. I asked them what it was for.”
He grinned and moved some hair from my forehead with his finger. So gently, sweetly. “And you put yourself between me and whatever that thing was that splashed in the water. I mean, it was probably just a fish or something, but still... It was sweet. Thank you.”
“It probably wasn’t a fish, just so you know. It was probably a croc or maybe a northern river shark, given the water wasn’t very deep. But it’s the smaller ones you gotta be careful of. The small crocs are the dangerous ones. They’re fast and—”
He cupped my face and pulled me in for another kiss. It was deeper this time, open mouths and a little tongue, and a very effective way to shut me up, apparently. It also made all my anger melt away, and my desire to wring his neck was more desire to keep kissing him.
When he pulled back, he was smiling. “We should probably try and get cleaned up.”
“Probably.”
We were drenched, from our dripping hair to our sodden boots half-filled with sand, but by the time we managed to dry off and clean up a bit, it was getting on dusk and the water was right up to the embankment and I had the eerie feeling of being watched.
So, barefoot and with a decent spray of insect repellent, we got into the Jeep. We ate baked beans straight from the can, then put the front seats back as far as they’d go, which wasn’t far, and looked out the windscreen as the clouds were replaced by a brilliant cover of stars.
“It’s so easy to see why the First Nations people believe their gods come from the stars,” Jeremiah said quietly. “It’s so beautiful.”
I turned to look at him, his face silver in the moonlight. Speaking of beautiful...
Then, ruining the serenity of that moment, he sat up in his seat. “I need to pee.” He went to open the door and I grabbed his arm.
“No!” I barked. Then I turned on the headlights to show him why. A dozen sets of eyes glinted back at us, and five or so crocs slithered off the road as the light hit them.
He shrank back in his seat, bringing his arms in and legs up. He was now deathly pale.
“Still need to pee?”
He shook his head. “No.”
I laughed and, reaching into the back, found him an empty water bottle. “If you get desperate, pee into that.”
He shot me a wild look. “Ew.”
Chuckling, I turned the headlights off and lay back down in my seat. It was dark and quiet, but after a few minutes, I heard the rustle of clothes and then the sound of him pissing into the bottle. I laughed.
“I hate you,” he mumbled.
I snorted. “No you don’t.”
When he was done, he tossed it out the window. “I’ll pick it up tomorrow. Then we shall never talk about it again.”
I smiled into the dark, and after a while, I reached for his arm and pulled his hand into mine. I threaded our fingers and closed my eyes.
“Jeremiah,” I mumbled sleepily.
“Yes?”
“What’s your favourite colour?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
JEREMIAH
