Shipped(43)

“You’re in a good mood.”

“Hell yes I am. I’m feeling better, it’s a beautiful day, and I’m on a cruise with my sister. Let’s have some fun!”

“I’ll be ready for fun after coffee and breakfast.” I yawn so wide my jaw pops. Waking up at the crack of dawn to watch the sunrise better be worth it. “And since when are you a morning person?”

“Since I slept fourteen hours yesterday. Oh hey, look, there’s Mr. Sexy Voice. Graeme!” she calls, bounding toward him.

I frown. Graeme is helping Donna slosh from the Zodiac to the beach. Once she’s clear of the waves, she gives his cheek a genial pat. I groan. At least Donna is making her way toward a different group so she won’t be with us on this excursion. Less opportunity for Graeme to ingratiate himself.

When Walsh reaches him, he’s crouched next to his open pack, fastening his phone to his selfie stick. A massive Nikon camera hangs around his neck. He stands, hoisting his bag. Linking her arm through his, Walsh walks him over to where I’m sitting with my elbows resting on my knees.

So this is what Graeme looks like first thing in the morning—mussed, bleary-eyed, and still ridiculously gorgeous. His army-green shorts hang off narrow hips, and his black, long-sleeved hiking shirt hugs his biceps, hinting at the knot of muscle underneath. His hair is a mess. Deep brown waves stick every which way. I clench and unclench a fist on my thigh.

“Hey, stranger,” he says to me. His voice holds more gravel than usual.

“Hey.”

“Stranger?” repeats Walsh. “Didn’t you two go hiking yesterday? And snorkeling?”

“We did, but then Henley disappeared after dinner. You missed some A-plus entertainment in the lounge, by the way. Gustavo played the guitar and the cocktails were flowing.” A wry grin graces his mouth.

I stand. “I had to get some work done.” And avoid Graeme and any reminders that he and I are not operating on an even playing field.

“Wow, that’s a big camera,” says Walsh, fingering the DSLR around his neck. “Get any good shots yesterday?”

“Impossible not to. Not with all the Blue-footed boobies and marine iguanas everywhere.”

“Sounds incredible. I hated to miss it.” She pouts. “Maybe you could show me a few pics later?”

My jaw goes rigid and my eyes widen when Walsh runs her index finger down Graeme’s forearm. What part of don’t-flirt-with-Graeme did she not register?

A loud, piercing whistle cuts through the chatter. “My group, gather round please,” Xiavera calls from the mouth of a trail leading away from the beach.

Graeme raises his selfie stick. “I’ll meet you guys over there.”

“Don’t be too long,” Walsh tosses over her shoulder as she strolls toward our group, hips swaying in her slate-blue yoga capris. I shoulder my daypack and follow. Twisting around to peer at Graeme, I watch as he jogs over to the sea lions, lifts his selfie stick, and turns in a tight circle like he’s recording a 360-degree video. I narrow my eyes. What’s he planning on doing with all this footage anyway?

With a huff, I join the group of ten or so guests crowded around Xiavera. Of course Nikolai is one of them. He flashes me a wide, toothy grin before puffing his chest like a frigate bird. Beside me, Walsh takes a long sip from her water bottle.

I should grab her by the elbow, drag her into a bush, and tell her in no uncertain terms that Graeme is off-limits. Period. But that might attract a wee bit too much attention. It’ll have to wait.

“Can everyone hear me?” Xiavera calls out. Her voice is soft yet commanding. “Bueno. Now, today’s hike will be much shorter than yesterday’s, only forty-five minutes or so. But the rules are the same—stay on the path until we get to the beach, and don’t crowd the wildlife. Today we are looking for flamingoes. There is a small population in the Galápagos, and they like to visit Floreana’s lagoons in these early-morning hours…” She trails off, craning her neck. From somewhere in the group, smacking lips follow a noisy crunch.

“Oh, no. No, no.” She presses through the crowd until she’s standing in front of Nikolai. He’s holding a shiny red apple, and there’s a large bite missing. She plucks the apple from his grasp and holds it up for all to see.

“You must not bring food off the ship—ever. Outside food is strictly prohibited on the islands.”

Nikolai’s face pales as he swallows his bite. “I’m sorry.”

“Why isn’t food allowed?” I ask, legitimately curious.

“Good question,” murmurs Graeme from directly behind me. I feel his presence like a live wire. Goose bumps dot my arms and a crackle of energy shivers down my spine. But I don’t turn around.

Xiavera shrugs off her pack, pulls out a zippered bag, and stows the apple inside. “The Galápagos ecosystem is very sensitive. We are on islands that are hundreds of miles from the mainland, with many endemic plant and animal species that have evolved to be completely unique, and not equipped to deal with invaders. You will learn more about the effects of invasive species when you visit the research station in Puerto Ayora in a few days.”

I raise my hand, half a dozen follow-up questions on my tongue. I’m not the only one with a hand up. I peer through the crowd—passengers are murmuring to one another, and a few are watching Xiavera, leaning forward with curious expressions.