Page 11 of Restoration

“Yeah. Put it on autopilot. We’re far enough out that there shouldn’t be too much shipping traffic.”

“That’s good.”

He’s wearing tan shorts, a white T-shirt, and a light blue button-up that’s unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hair is rumpled wildly from the wind, flopping over his forehead in that way it has. He must not have shaved this morning because I can see stubble on his jaw and down his neck.

I ought to be used to dealing with his attractiveness by now. After six years, it shouldn’t trouble me unduly anymore.

But I still want to feel the scratchiness of his jaw and run a hand down his chest and flat belly.

I don’t.

One thing I’m good at is resisting temptation.

“My parents used to take cruises on their yacht for two or three months a year. I’d always convince them to take me with them even if it interfered with school.”

“I bet you did.”

He’s smiling as he closes his eyes, the sun burnishing his tanned skin with a reddish-gold glow. “I used to lie out like this for hours, daydreaming of all the places I would travel to and adventures I’d have when I grew up.”

I chuckle, a clench of emotion in my chest. “Well, you’ve done pretty well in that regard. You’ve made it to every continent and crossed off eighty-two countries from your list.”

“Yeah.” He sounds almost poignant.

“Although I’m not sure adventures are all they’re cracked up to be.”

“That’s my Autumn,” he murmurs, almost like he’s speaking to himself. “Always practical.”

I blush at the way he said “my Autumn” although there’s clearly nothing particularly intimate about what he’s saying. “Well, one of us has to be.”

“I know.” He sighs. “Who’s going to keep me from falling apart when you’re gone?”

A sharp pang slices through my throat. “You can hire someone to replace me.”

“No, I can’t.”

We’re both silent for a minute. I have to take a couple of deep breaths to make sure the surge of emotion doesn’t push me into tears. “Then I guess you’ll have to figure it out on your own.”

He doesn’t reply, but not because he’s angry or resentful. He’s upset, but he’s trying to contain it.

I appreciate the attempt. Clearing my throat, I say, “Well, we have more than a month left for adventures that are carefully planned and implemented by me.”

He chokes on a laugh, then stares up at the sky, shaking occasionally with lingering amusement. “That’s better than nothing.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

After that, we lie in silence for a long time. At least ten minutes. Then he says, as if we never had the break in conversation, “Speaking of adventures, one of my buddies told me about an island we should hit.”

“Oh dear. What buddy?” I’m well acquainted with every one of his friends, and about half of them I wouldn’t trust.

“Jon.”

“Oh. Okay.” Jon went to the same private high school as Edmund, and he’s turned into a mostly stable, rational man.

Edmund’s mouth twitches at my reaction. “So you can’t immediately discount the idea.”

“All right. What island?”

“It’s off the coast of Panama but pretty far out into the Pacific. It’s uninhabited.”