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I turn around to face her. “Why? Is it a bad one?”
“Absolutely. We have priorities. We should move the cooler to the shed, where it’s protected from the sun. There’s no point in clearing this hut because the only advantage it has over the shed is the sink and an ice crusher. We can utilize both of these easily by walking over here and save ourselves the sun and theaccelerated melting of the ice by being protected the rest of the time.”
Why is she always right?
I nod. “Okay, let’s move the cooler to the shed.”
Baily holds up a palm. “Not until I finish this margarita.”
Good God. This is the most maddening woman on the planet.
And I’m stuck with her.
21
BAILEY
Isure love annoying Rhett Armstrong.
I don’t budge until the entire bowl of margaritas is consumed. Rhett is considerably more smiley by the time we’re through it.
By then, though, it matters a lot less that we move to the shed. The sun is headed into the sea, the lingering storm clouds in the distance turning the sky the most vivid orange-red sunset I’ve ever seen.
I dig my phone out of my bag and walk toward the ocean to snap the shot. The image barely does it justice.
Rhett stands next to me. “Storms make the sky more colorful, although maybe it’s so beautiful because you survived it.”
I smack his arm. “Who knew Rhett Armstrong could be poetic!”
He shrugs. “We’re the only two people on the planet who get to see it.”
Now that’s something to consider. Whatever happens here can never be documented or known to a single other person unless we tell them.
“Come on,” I tell him. “Let’s make more margaritas and sit on the dock.”
So we do, taking our drinks along with the oysters and a cup of pickle juice.
We sit on the last unbroken section, watching the sun go down. I discover that if I drown the oyster in pickle juice, slurp it quickly, then follow it with a swig of margarita, I can manage them.
“We should eat what we can,” Rhett says. “I don’t trust them after they sit out all night.”
“Could we cook them? Would that make them last longer?”
“I think so, especially if they stay cold after.” He tips another shell into his mouth. It’s interesting, watching his long throat move. He’s showing a shadow of a beard. He’s going to look way off his clean-cut self if we’re here for long.
I kind of look forward to this.
He sets the shell in the tray. “If we’re going to make a fire, we should do it before it gets full dark. I think this night is going to be the blackest black we’ve ever seen.”
“How much power does your phone have to use as a flashlight?” I ask him.
He pulls it out of the pocket of his swim trunks. “Forty percent.”
“I’m at fifty-eight. I’ll keep it powered all the way off except when we use it for light.”
He nods.
And yet, still, we sit there a little longer, watching the sun.
