The Paper Swan(61)

“It’s kind of a workshop now. I set it up when Rafael and I first got here. It was just a grass shack then, but we got some wood and patched it up. Eventually, I built the house and outgrew this place.”

“You built it yourself?”

“A little at a time. Lugging supplies over to this place was tough. It took a few years, but I like coming out here, working with my hands, having the time alone.”

“How MacGyver of you.”

“Mac who?”

“MacGyver. It was my father’s favorite show, about a bomb technician who could pretty much fix anything with a paper clip and a Swiss army knife. I bet he could have shown you how to install glass in the windows too.”

“What makes you think I didn’t leave it out deliberately?”

“True. You never did like glass in the windows,” I said, thinking of all the times I had to open mine so he could sneak in.

I knew he was recalling the same thing because he didn’t move away when I touched the back of his fingers with mine. It was the closest I could get to holding hands with him.

“Remember the yellow flowers that fell from the trees?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I smiled, because the rain had collected on the roof and was seeping through the leaves, falling on our faces with big, fat plops, but we stayed there, not wanting to move, pretending they were wet, sunny blossoms.

“Damian,” I said, keeping my eyes closed, “I know I have to go back to that other world, the world you abducted me from. And I don’t know what happens between now and then, but this right here—this rain, this shack, this island, this moment—I want it to go on forever.”

Damian didn’t reply, but he moved his fingers away. It was okay though. In fact, it was more than okay, because Damian Caballero was struggling with the one thing that scared the hell out of him. Me.





“READY?” ASKED DAMIAN.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” I folded the list of supplies we needed and adjusted my sunglasses.

“It’s a touristy town, busy streets, tons of people. I have a beard. Your hair is different. We don’t look anything like our photos. No one will notice.” Damian slipped on his baseball cap. SD.

So Damnfine

Rafael’s plan had worked. Finding Damian’s discarded phone in Caboras had thrown the search off, but they were running out of leads and the trail was turning cold. It wouldn’t be long before they backtracked, but for now, we were okay.

“Don’t forget this.” Damian handed me the seashell necklace he’d made for me. “Nothing says tourist better than local handicraft.”

I slipped it on and checked my reflection. I was wearing a black tank top and the pants I’d had on when Damian had abducted me. The runway look had been bleached out by the sun and heat and humidity. I didn’t think twice about sitting my butt down on a mossy tree-trunk, or wearing them on grub-hunting trips in the jungle. Of course, I just held the pail while Damian unearthed the worms. It’s one thing to get your hem muddy; but I wasn’t about to touch those wiggly suckers.

Damian removed the camouflage roof of palm leaves he’d tied to the boat. It felt odd being back in the space I’d longed to escape from. I felt a sense of freedom now that I could not have imagined then. Being ripped out of my sparkling, tinsel world had been excruciatingly painful, but I didn’t know if I could ever go back to being that person again. I was no longer mannequin-plastic, pretty and perfect; I was hacked up, inside and out. My hair was a mess, my nails were a mess, my heart was a mess. But my skin was alive and sun-kissed, and my face glowed from ocean breezes and salt spray.

I watched Damian steer and tried not to stare. The wind molded his shirt to his body, accentuating his shoulders and impeccable abs. He hadn’t shaved since we’d been on the island, but his beard wasn’t quite full. It made him look free-spirited and bohemian and uber masculine, like he belonged in the pages of a nautical magazine. His face had healed. His stitches were still there, but they were ready to come out, close to the hairline and hidden under his cap. He had a sharp nose, bronze skin stretched tight over his cheekbones, and black lashes that fringed deep, dark eyes. Damn. He had a fine, proud profile.

It was early afternoon when we anchored in a busy port. Cruise ships and yachts dotted the sparkling harbor. Golden beaches backed into sprawling resorts, shops, and restaurants. We cut through the clutter, dodging the hail of pink cabs, the souvenir stores crammed with tanned bodies, the sushi bars and pushy vendors. Crooked alleys opened up to the main square, where shops and banks faced teeming crowds from under deep, arched porticos.