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Twenty-Seven

Stella

I don’t know why I pick up Huck’s book. It’s been sitting on the small desk in the corner of my quarters since we left North Carolina, collecting dust. I could certainly use the distraction right about now, so maybe it’s that.

We searched for hours today, covering roughly five percent of our search area, and turned up absolutely nothing.

It’s only day one, but I’m frustrated. The fact that the last time I went on a hunt with Huck we found Gunnarsson’s treasure is at the forefront of my mind.

I did not enjoy the feeling of going out and coming back empty-handed at the end of the day—I never have.

But I also acknowledge the amount of pressure I feel to show him what I’m capable of.

Even if he didn’t think I was good enough then and lost the right to have me care what he thinks about me now…

I still do. I have no intention of letting Huck get close to me again, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to prove that I was something special—not to win him over, but to show him that he was wrong.

To tell him that leaving me was a mistake.

He’s become yet another reason why I have to find the Stolen Treasure.

It’s only the first day, I remind myself, and treasure hunting is about persistence.

But how long have I been searching…how long have I been trying to prove myself? Too long.

I open the book and read the inscription.

To everyone who’s searching for something…

Interesting. I don’t hate it. Maybe it’s even good?

I turn the page and test the waters with the opening lines.

Chapter One

The first time Finn McCool saw Lucky Malone she was knocking back a beer at a bar on the island after a long day of hunting treasure with her crew.

He’d said, you look like a woman who I’ll upend my whole life for.

She’d smiled and shaken her head, bought him a drink, and said only if you’re lucky. They were both right.

I read late into the night. My eyes grow tired and dry and my hands start to hurt from the physical strain of holding the book for hours.

As suspected based on the cover, Lucky Malone is a treasure hunter and Finn McCool is a drifting adventurer.

They are diametrically opposed—she craves the history, the thrill of the search, righting wrongs, and returning artifacts and riches to the groups that they belonged to, while he is sort of a morally gray Indiana Jones–type character—hotter, maybe, but not smarter—who only cares about getting his payday.

I screech when I discover that he was at that bar trying to meet her so that he could leech on to her crew and steal the treasure.

The twist came out of nowhere. Was it surprising that he fell in love with her even though she was basically his mark?

No, but that didn’t mean that I wasn’t eating up those pages where he waged an all-out war of ambivalence on himself like my Key lime pie slice at lunch.

Now I’ve reached the part of the book where Finn has just tried to confess his transgressions and his love to Lucky, but he gets interrupted by the henchmen of a furious collector who funded his expedition. He and Lucky are on the run and take refuge in a hidden cavern under a waterfall.

We were behind a waterfall once, me and Huck, icy spray coating our faces. He’d wrapped his hands around me and lifted me up so that I could realize my dreams of pulling history from hidden depths. It had been one of the most pivotal moments of my life.

And now I’m reading about two fictional characters who are sort of like us, but not exactly, in a made-up place that’s reminiscent of where we were but isn’t the same, and I can’t bring myself to put it down. I don’t want it to end.

While I scan the pages, I catalog the ways Finn and Lucky are imbued with us.

There’s the obvious stuff: Lucky has my tattoo and some of my physical characteristics—my freckles, lips with a shocking propensity for getting chapped.

But she’s different…braver, bolder, captivating…

things I’m not really. If I am, I don’t see it.

In that way, it’s like viewing myself through someone else’s eyes.

There are hints of Huck in Finn, but if he’s fictionalized himself, he hasn’t been generous.

Yes, Finn is dashing and daring, and sexy as hell.

All the things that you want in a hero, but he is a disaster emotionally; he does the stupidest stuff.

And so far, he’s not someone anyone could ever rely on.

Alright, maybe that part of the characterization is exactly like him.

I have the feeling that Huck was working out some deep-seated self-loathing with this character, and maybe that makes me love the book more, almost as much as it makes me sad.

One thing is clear about Finn—he’s in pain.

He hides it well, covers it with mistakes, but there’s a tragic backstory peeking out between the lines, just waiting to be revealed.

I have no idea what it could be. All I know is that whoever Lucky and Finn are and whomever they were based off of, I am completely invested in them.

They don’t want to trust each other; they shouldn’t.

But they can’t stay apart…and I am all in on the ride with them.

I take a break around one a.m. when I can’t stand the gnawing feeling in my stomach any longer and sneak down to the galley to make myself a snack.

I need sustenance if I’m going to finish this book tonight, and I plan to.

I have to know if Finn and Lucky survive the latest attack by the gangs of criminal financiers and the impending natural disaster.

I’m pretty sure that Finn is finally about to profess his undying devotion to Lucky even if it means he has to leave his entire life behind, and I picture how he’s going to do it and the precise words Huck chose for him to say.

I don’t expect to find Zoe and Teddy rooting around in the refrigerator for leftovers.

“Fancy meeting you here,” I say to them.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Zoe says. “Figured snacking was the next best thing.”

“Good call,” Ted replies. “I sleep fine, I just had the munchies. Stell, did you eat all that pie from lunch?”

“No. I restrained myself. Though I was kind of hoping that there was some left as well.”

“I guess we’ll just have to fight for it.”

Zoe leans into the fridge and emerges moments later with a totally uncut pie in a box.

“I’d say keep your shirt on, Tedders, but too late, I guess.

Anyway, there’s no need for you hooligans to brawl in the galley.

I bought two and hid this one,” she tells us triumphantly.

“Gus can’t control himself around sweetened citrus. ”

“Is that what you guys call it?” Teddy says and bites his lip flirtatiously. “I’m not familiar with that particular sexual act.”

“Nasty,” Zoe says, whipping him lightly with a dish towel. “That’s because it isn’t one. You would know them all by now.”

I hold back a snort of laughter.

“Thank you for the compliment,” Ted says.

“Was it a compliment?” I ask. “It kind of sounded like something else. Zoe, tell me you weren’t slut-shaming our dearest friend here.”

“Not at all! I was just acknowledging the extensive library of carnal knowledge he’s amassed over all these years of promiscuous research.”

“Now, that’s not fair. He didn’t go out once on our way down here or in Key West. Maybe he’s turned over a new leaf.”

“Yeah,” Teddy says, grabbing a fork and preparing to attack the pie. “Listen to Stella. I’m a changed man…with a very impressive repertoire.”

“And why are you changed exactly?” Zoe asks. She’s trying to stay out of lawyer mode, keeping her voice soft, but that doesn’t stop Teddy from crossing his arms over his chest and avoiding eye contact with her. He shrugs.

“Just trying something new. No reason.”

She makes a face. “What about you, Stella? You and Mr. Writer get all those unresolved whatevers resolved while you were diving today?”

“What?” Ted says. “What does unresolved whatevers mean?”

I roll my eyes and turn my attention to cutting a large slice of pie for myself. I don’t go straight in with a fork like Ted, because I’m not a Neanderthal.

“Figure it out, Tedders. You’re slick.”

“It’s nothing,” I interject. “There’s nothing to resolve. He’s here to get writing inspiration for his next book, we’re here to find San Miguel and the Heart and that’s all there is to it.”

“Sure,” Zoe says. She takes a sip of ginger ale.

“Still not feeling great?” I ask, gesturing at her drink.

“Don’t try to change the subject,” she teases.

“I’m completely fucking lost. I’m going to take a slice to go and leave you gals to it,” Teddy says. “I wish you the sweetest of citrusy dreams, ladies.” He saunters out of the room, waving over his head.

“That guy,” Zoe says, chuckling. “He’s a goddamn delight.” She takes a bite of a cracker.

“That’s not a very exciting snack, ma’am,” I say. “Are you sure you don’t want some of this delectable pie?”

Zoe wrinkles her nose.

“It’s seen better days since Teddy massacred it with his fork, but it still tastes good.”

“Maybe. I’m not feeling great,” Zoe admits. “But I know how you feel about people getting sick, so I’m going to continue managing it prophylactically with ginger ale and saltines.”

“Look, that’s just emetophobia. I’m not heartless. You don’t have to hide not feeling good from me, ever, especially by asking a bunch of totally off-base probing questions about me and Huck. We’ve barely talked about anything else. Pretty sure we wouldn’t pass the Bechdel test.”

“Valid, but counterpoint. Are my questions off base, though? Because it’s obvious to me that there’s something between you guys. Maybe it’s just lingering from before, but that man clearly has feelings for you.”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Agree to disagree.”

“Maybe I’m just his muse,” I say, thinking aloud.

“His what , now?”

I scrunch up my face. “Muse? I only say that because I started reading his book and, um, well, let’s just say that the main character might kind of bear a strong resemblance to me and the guy kind of seems a lot like him.”

Zoe shuts her eyes for a moment and shakes her head.

“Oh, come on. He fan-fic’d your relationship?

Really?” Her shoulders start to shake. “Yeah, no, he’s definitely not into you.

He only wrote a book featuring you and him hunting treasure together.

Oh my god. Are these characters in love?

Don’t tell me. They are, I can see it on your face. You’re redder than the exit sign.”

“It’s not like that.”

She leans over the steel counter and props her chin in her hands.

“How’s the spice level? Where does it land on the Scoville scale?

Are we talking Italian Sweet or Scotch bonnet…

Wait, not Carolina Reaper hot, coming in at a whopping 2.

2 million Scoville heat units— You know what?

I’m ordering it.” She picks up her phone and starts tapping away on the screen.

I toss a dishrag at her. “You are not a nice person.” I’d tried to say it lightly, but it doesn’t come out that way.

Ever the perceptive one, Zoe eyes me. “Oh jeez, you really do have some unresolved whatevers, don’t you?”

I sigh.

“Stella?” she presses gently.

I wish I could say no.

“Stella?” It isn’t Zoe this time, though, saying my name like it’s a question and an answer. It’s Huck, tall, dark, and enigmatic, standing in the doorway. “You’re reading my book?”

Zoe looks at us both in quick succession. “Uh, I’m going to go see if Gus and I can invent ‘sweetened citrus.’ I’ll leave you two to whatever this is.”

I try to signal to her that I would very much like her to stay in this room, but she and her sleep caftan are already on the move.

“What’s sweet citrus?” Huck asks.

“You don’t want to know.”

“Okay, then.” He steps closer to me. The tiny galley amplifies his presence, and the scent of his soap fills my nose. I can almost feel the heat coming off his sunbaked skin. He’s near now, looking intently at me. “What do you think of the book? Or do I not want to know that either?”

I pause. How can I answer this? I have so many questions and thoughts, but they all seem like they would lead to conversations and truths that are better left undisturbed.

They also seem like they could lead to him pressing me up against the counter and doing things to me until I’m calling out his name.

Both are more than I can handle, so I choose silence, but I make a critical mistake in this moment. I meet Huck’s eyes.

They’re the same in some ways as they were in Iceland, that unusual pale blue, like the lagoon we floated in, legs accidentally touching beneath the surface.

His gaze is so intense, it makes me feel exposed, undressed, seen.

But in his eyes, there’s something new, a sadness at the corners; I hadn’t noticed it before.

I recognize the look because it’s the same exact one I’ve been seeing in the mirror for the past year and a half.

And if I’m right, it’s heartbreak.

I take a deep breath. I can’t do this. I need to get out of this kitchen and away from Huck, and from the memories, from these feelings that I don’t want to have.

“Stella…”

Why do I want him to reel me into him? I force my lips into a smile. “It’s infuriatingly good,” I say.

He looks surprised for an instant before his expression breaks into a wide grin. “I’ll take that. So, you’ve read it all?”

“Not yet. I’m on chapter fourteen.”

He nods, slowly processing the information. “They’re hiding at the waterfall, right?”

“Yup. Good memory.”

“For the important things, I guess. Other stuff, not so much. I can’t even remember why I came to the kitchen.”

“The rest of us came for pie,” I tell him, holding up a clean fork. “You can have the rest if you want. I should get back to bed. Tomorrow’ll be another long day.”

He shifts his attention to the dessert but doesn’t take a bite. I view this as my opportunity to go and head toward the door. “Listen, Stella, when you get to the end of the book, maybe we can talk? You could let me know what you think.”

I pause in the doorway. “Why do you care what I think, Huck? Everyone loves it. It’s a bestseller. It’s not like my opinion matters anyway.”

He’s silent for a moment and I step over the threshold. Then he speaks.

“You’re the only one who matters to me.”