But no matter how it pressured me, the other type of starving never let me go.

The sexual type.

A desperation that had no business here. I had to focus on staying alive. How was my body even capable of wasting energy on such silly things? Why did my heart torture itself whenever Galloway looked at me? And why, when faced with a bag full of dinner or a man who promised he’d make me fall in love with him, did I want him more than food?

He made me glow.

His eyes held rescue and freedom and safety, placing me on a pedestal I had no right to occupy.

He looks at me as if he’s unworthy.

I trembled as my thoughts careened. Who was he? What was his story? Why did he remind me of a fallen seed: closed off and unapproachable on the outside but bursting with the most beautiful ready-to-bloom oak tree on the inside?

Stop it, Estelle. This isn’t scripture for your notebook. This isn’t a song. This is real life. Pay attention and survive it!

Galloway moved away, a sad smile on his lips. Sad? Why was he sad? He’d just admitted he was up to the challenge of making me fall in love with him.

Here.

On this island.

He spoke of finding love amongst palm trees and empty beaches.

So why did the frown never leave his forehead? Why did the darkness never leave his eyes?

Stop it!

“So...how did you create this cheery blaze?” Galloway asked, slapping Conner on the back as he hobbled past. His eyes locked onto the salvaged fuselage, plans already forming on his face like blueprints.

Conner winked, exuding happiness. And he should be happy. We had water to drink, food to eat, and fire to cook with.

This was a trifecta of happiness.

“With your glasses, geek boy.” He ducked as Galloway ruffled his hair.

“What did you just call me?”

“Geek boy. And we didn’t have a lighter, so your glasses had to do.”

“So my glasses were a consolation prize.”

“What would’ve been first place?” Conner asked.

“A lighter. But I’m not a smoker.”

I drifted forward, nabbing Pippa as she beelined for the clams. Her eyes seemed too big for her face, hungry hungry hungry.

I cracked a cynical grin. “Funny how a habit that would’ve killed you in the future might’ve saved us today.”

Galloway smiled. “You have a point.” We shared another heated look.

He watched me as if I were some mystical creature, not a girl who had no idea what she was doing. Everything I’d achieved so far was from pure luck and determination—not skill.

I hugged Pippa, using her as my shield. “We should eat.”

“Yes. Food.” Pippa squirmed out of my arms, plucking two clams and bashing them together.

I glanced at our dwindling woodpile. Now that we’d created the fire, we had to keep it fed.

Ourselves, too.

I pinched the clams from Pippa’s eager fingers. “You can’t eat them raw, Pip.”

Pippa strained to take them back. “They’re mine. I found them first.” Her angry eyes met Galloway’s. “I did, didn’t I, G? Tell her. I want them.”

My head whipped up to stare at Galloway. “G?” My heart flurried. “You’ve already earned a nickname?”

He half-smiled. “Not gonna complain. Besides, I gave her one first.”

Something warm spread across my insides as Galloway smirked at the little girl. “Want to tell them what it is or shall I?”

“No!” Pippa shouted; a mixture of pleasure at being singled out and mock-annoyance for sharing her secret. “Only you can call me it.” Her eyes flashed to her brother. “Co will only ruin it.”

“Will not.” Conner shook his head.

“Will, too.”

Galloway gruffed, “Fine. Pippa’s nickname is mine and mine alone.”

The girl beamed as if she’d been given every toy she’d ever wanted.

The warmth inside me spread into hot heat.

He’d given Pippa something so precious. He’d taken her mind off the loneliness of being an orphan and the fear of being stranded.

He continually surprised me. One moment he seemed as if he couldn’t stand the children. The next he acted as the perfect father and friend.

Galloway hopped up the beach and awkwardly grabbed the dented piece of fuselage that resembled a witch’s hat. “Perfect.”

I moved closer, giving up at preventing Pippa from rummaging in the clam bag. “Perfect for what?”

His face pinched in pain as he hobbled back and placed the piece of metal directly into the fire. The burning wood separated for him as he used his crutch to tap the metal into position, half in the fire, half on top of it.

“What are you doing?”

Instead of answering me, Galloway gave orders, “Conner, go grab some seawater. Use the empty bottles from your dad’s backpack.”

Conner flinched at the reminder of his dead parent but charged off with the three bottles in his arms. He came back just as quickly, his forearms and legs dripping wet. “Now what?”

“Fill up the pot, of course.”

A pot.

God, I’m an idiot.

How else did I think we’d cook the clams? “You’re a genius.”

Galloway cringed. “No. I’m not.”

“You are. Here I was thinking of opening the shells and spearing them onto sticks.”

“That way would work, too.”

“Your way is much better.”