Once Upon an Island

He starts to walk down the path again and I hurry to keep up. “Hey. Stop. You did it again. You can’t just leave in the middle of a conversation, or the middle of an acquaintance. You have to say something like “goodbye,” or “nice knowing you,” or “talk to you soon.” Stop walking so fast.”

I’m nearly jogging to keep up with him.

“I have a meeting,” he says. “I merely came out to clear my head.”

He looks down at his watch. I barely notice the watch, what I do notice is the solidness of his wrist, the muscles of his forearm, the dusting of dark hair…I yank my gaze up.

“Are you staying at Percy’s place?” I ask abruptly.

It’s likely since there aren’t any other homes within walking distance. The Oliver ancestral home is a fourteenth century stone manor house that sits high up on a hill overlooking the sea. Harriet told us all about it on the drive over.

“I am,” he says.

“That’s another thing—” I begin but Declan cuts me off.

“Isla, I have to go. How about we say goodbye now?”

We’re at the base of the hill where the private gated path turns up to the manor.

No, a voice inside me says. I don’t want to say goodbye.

“I’m not done yet,” I say.

Declan reaches forward and tugs on the bulky fabric of my layered wool sweaters. His eyes light with amusement. “Are you cold?”

I scowl at the heat of his fingers against my wrist and the buzz going through me.

“No,” I say. It’s the truth, I haven’t been cold since I saw him walking down the path.

His pointer finger touches the center of my wrist, right above my pulse point. He leaves it there for a moment and my subconscious decides I’ve given it permission to pick up its fantasies where they left off a month ago.

But instead of sandflies on the beach, I’m imagining rolling around on the grassy, heather-scented hillside, sheep baaing noisily while Declan drags his hands over my bare skin. I’m not cold in my imagination either.

“Why are you here?” he asks, dragging me out of the (unwelcome) fantasy.

My mind’s as fuzzy as the wool sweater I’m wearing. I try to form a coherent answer.

“Well, Mr. Fox, it’s either to stalk you or research a book assignment. Take your pick.”

“Hmm.” He gives me a slow look and his eyes turn lush forest green again. “Goodbye, Isla.”

Argh. His goodbye hits me in the gut. How unfair.

“You deserve to be tossed to the sharks,” I say. “Arya’s heart is broken. I won’t stand aside and let you—”

“Can I see you again before you leave?” he asks.

Wait.

“You…what?”

He steps back and clasps his hands behind him. “You have more to say. I could come by and see you.”

This is so strange. I’m in a world where Declan Fox is voluntarily coming to see me.

But slowly I nod. “That’s a good idea.”

He opens the gate then says, “I thought so.”

It clatters shut behind him. He doesn’t turn around as he strides up the path.

“Now is when you say goodbye,” I shout after him. “Like, see you later. Au revoir. Ciao. Hasta luego. Goodbye!”

He doesn’t respond, but I think I see his shoulders shaking with laughter. I refuse to acknowledge that his amusement makes me happy. When he comes by I’m going to convince him to help reunite Percy and Arya.

That’s all.