Chapter 5 January 2nd My limbs ache with stiffness, and my skin feels stretched tight as I pry my eyes open into the blinding assault of sunlight. A single beam cuts through the small gap in the makeshift tent Henry made us, but somehow, it's aimed with sniper-like precision directly at my face. Wincing, I carefully shift, trying to slip free from the weight of Henry's arm without waking him. My body feels sore and abused, and I haven't felt this dirty since the Kappa Kappa farewell party at the University of Miami right before Juniper and I graduated. There was foam and neon and a sordid amount of alcohol, and if I stretch my memory to the brink of its boundaries, I can almost remember attending it. And while the feeling of this morning is similar, the experience is...remarkably less fun. I thought waking up would come with a haze of confusion-that I'd blink at my surroundings, question how I got here, or wonder why Henry was letting me cling to him like some desperate, heat-seeking vine. But no. Instead, I'm painfully, almost comically aware. Henry and I are stranded and alone on an indiscriminate island in the middle of seemingly infinite blue waters after self-ejecting from a plane destined for the bottom of them. His phone is MIA, my phone may as well be a potato for all the good it does, and there are no signs of life in sight. Not to mention, I spent last night sleeping on the fucking ground. The only reason I got any rest at all was because of Henry's big, muscular frame cuddling mine, and his deep, raspy voice serenading me away from our terrifying reality until the sweet, numb silence of sleep consumed me. Whether it's because of the missing comfort of my sleep mask, the scratchy press of leaves beneath me, or the unfamiliar scent of man-something I never, ever let invade my bed at home-I can't say. But if I'm anything this morning, it's shockingly, almost painfully clearheaded. And I'm also criminally lacking in caffeine. There's not much strife in my regular life, but when there is, I handle it with coffee. And this situation most definitely deserves coffee. Carefully climbing over Henry's lax body and out into the sand, I stand and stretch my arms to the sky, looking out at the beauty of the water and white sand in front of me. It's picturesque and serene and so at war with how I feel about it, I should be carrying a rifle or something. Taking a deep sigh, I pull my poor, destroyed Ravella sweater off my body and walk toward the water, wading in to my knees and scooping up palmfuls to rinse my body. I know it'll leave me feeling crusty later because of the salt, but for right now, it feels both invigorating and refreshing. I brush the water down my arms and scoop it up to rub it over my face, removing any and all remaining makeup from yesterday until my hands look clean. Raccoon eyes and runny mascara aren't a good look for anyone-even in these hellish conditions. I consider dunking my hair but, for now, decide not to. I'm afraid it'll only make it rattier, and the gel I used to make sure my slicked-back ponytail was crispy yesterday is bound to get even cakier without my Iles Formula clarifying shampoo and conditioner. Leaving the water slowly, I make my way back onto the sand and turn to sit, lying back on my elbows to expose my stomach. I look up to the bright sun and mutter, "Might as well get a tan." Even laughing at the absurdity of it all as I adjust my body into an optimal sunbathing position. This is all so fucking insane. I close my eyes and imagine I'm at a five-star resort, laid out on a lounger and waiting on my butler service to arrive with a perfectly curated drink. Unfortunately, the silly little fantasy only reminds me how dry my mouth is, and I huff out a sigh of frustration and squeeze my eyes tighter. How the hell did I go from having a five-hundred-dollar lunch at Selatare, my favorite Italian fine dining in Miami, two days ago...to this? Something taps me on the arm, startling me into a frightened jump, but Henry's voice is quick to follow. "Here. Drink some water." The thing I felt isn't a giant spider, thank God, but the hydration pack I vaguely remember pressing against last night in the tent. Still half full of clear liquid, it's a large mercy. I snag it quickly and put the straw to my mouth, sucking heartily for several long, deep gulps until I notice Henry watching me. It's only then that I realize this is probably all the water we have for both of us and that there are no quick trips to the store to get more when we run out. Shit. "Sorry," I say with a wince, more than three-quarters of the bag already on its way to my stomach. I force myself to focus on the ground, on the trees-anywhere but Henry. Because, holy hell, does he look good. Sun-kissed skin, damp, dark hair, broad shoulders that taper into a sculpted chest and abs-every inch of him looks like he walked straight out of a cologne ad. I can practically hear the dramatic voice-over now, "Masculine. By Versace." "It's fine," he refutes, running a hand through his hair. "I already had some, but I just realized how thirsty you had to be. I'm going to set up a water collection system today, so we'll have more if it rains." "A water...collection system," I repeat slowly, trying to ignore the way his abs flex as he shifts. Between that and the tent we slept in last night because of him, I'm starting to think he's been waiting for this moment his whole life. "Yeah," he replies, a smirk lifting one corner of his mouth. "With some sea grape leaves and stuff. Not sure what container will be easiest to funnel it into, but I'll figure it out." I squint at him. "How do you know so much about being stranded on an island? Seriously. Are you a prepper? Some kind of survivalist freak?" Henry shrugs, his blue eyes flashing with amusement. "Would you believe I was obsessed with Gilligan's Island as a kid?" Realistically, it's a perfectly viable reason, but I know for a fact after spending so much time growing up around him that his body language is all wrong. He's lying-though, I have no clue why. "No." I narrow my eyes at him. "Actually, I don't believe that at all." "Well..." He shifts slightly, rubbing the back of his neck, and for the first time since we crash-landed on this godforsaken island, Henry Callahan blushes. His normally hard jaw softens into something much more boyish as red creeps up his cheeks. "I guess it could also be because I was-am-a Boy Scout leader for a troop in Miami." "Wait..." My eyes widen. "You're a Boy Scout?" My voice goes up at least three octaves as a giggle bubbles out of me. "A scout leader," he corrects, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I haven't been a Boy Scout since I was a kid." "Well, well." I grin, tilting my head. "I guess Beau isn't the only one with secrets, huh? This is fantastic news. I'm stranded with a professional camper." Henry sighs, rolling his eyes. "It's not like that. My dad signed me up after..." His voice is even, but it trails off for a moment, leaving something unspoken in the space between his words. "He wanted to find something for us to do together. Give us something structured, somewhere to go. And I liked it. I liked learning how to build things, start fires, tie knots. It felt...useful. So, when my old troop leader asked me to come back and help, I did. And I just never stopped." He shrugs. "Feels equal parts obligation and something I actually enjoy. The kids are great. The parents, too." I blink, caught off guard. I expected something ridiculous-maybe some Henry-style bullshit about preparing for the apocalypse or training for some kind of survivalist reality show. Not...that. Before I can process the full weight of what sits between his words, Henry nods to the water still in my grasp. "Have as much as you want. I'll go work on the collection system, and then we can go for a hike around the island to see if there's anything useful." "A hike?" I question, shaking my head. "Henry, you must be forgetting my clothing rant from yesterday and the tale of the girl with one shoe." I wiggle my bare feet in the sand for dramatic effect, as the one shoe I do have is still up by the side of the tent with my waist pack. He smiles. "Your other one just washed up on the beach a minute ago." I turn to follow the point of his finger and see my shoe, my missing Golden Goose, floating and rolling carelessly at the very edge of the lapping water. It's surely waterlogged and mostly destroyed, but the joy I feel at seeing it is almost overwhelming. "Oh my God! My shoe!" "See that?" Henry says victoriously with a pump of his fist and a waggle of his eyebrows. "Things are looking up already." It's not a rescue boat or a trip to a five-star resort while wearing Valentino, but I have to admit, having two shoes is, at the very least, a start. Still...my God, how the mighty have fallen.