Page 61 of Fit for Love

Trying to ignore the impact of his nearness, I watch the majestic way the sun paints the sky in pink, orange, and gold hues.“This reminds me of some paintings we studied in my Art and Design History course.”

“Oh, yeah?Which ones?”

He likes art too?“‘Impression, Sunrise’ by Monet.But also ‘Forest Sunrise’ by Albert Bierstadt.”

He nods thoughtfully.“I’ve only seen the Monet, and you’re spot on.I’ll need to check out the other one when we get back to civilization.”

I don’t counter with “ifwe get back to civilization” because the moment is too pleasant to spoil with such thoughts, no matter how pragmatic.I’m not surprised he’s familiar with that painting.A family like the Vancrofts probably travel regularly to Paris, so he could’ve seen the original in the Marmottan Monet Museum.

As the sunrise continues, we take turns noticing details that create the ethereal, and way-too-romantic, atmosphere—like the mist that hovers softly over the swamp and the herons walking bravely up to a gator, who in turn looks like he’s also enjoying the sunrise.

Once the sun is finally up, Ashton and I turn toward each other at the same exact time, and our lips come together as if of their own accord.

This kiss is sweet and tender, and it does to my lips what the sunrise has done for my eyes.

When things start to heat up, I force myself to pull away.

“We should look for those keys,” I say, more than a little breathlessly.

“Ah.Right.”He stands up.“Let’s.”

We scour the boat and then the surrounding area, literally leaving no stone unturned.

Sadly, all we have to show for our troubles is a rusty hammer that Ashton finds in the small console storage space.

He, however, looks extremely pleased with his find.

“Something to bash Bubba over the head with?”I ask, only half-jokingly.

“No,” he says.“I was thinking this will make it easier to crush nuts if I want to make a porridge, and—though I’m not sure it will work—smash peanuts into peanut butter.”

I sigh.“I see you’re now as convinced as I am that we’re stuck here for a while.”

“Just want to be prepared.And to that end…” He motions toward something on the ground.“This place is littered with apple snails—and we have the water to boil them, if you’re interested.”

I stare at him, but he’s clearly serious.“No.Not desperate enough for that yet.”

He scoffs.“Why?You’ve never had escargot?”

I scoff right back.“I’m not grossed out by snails, if that’s what you’re talking about.”Though frogs, whose legs are another French delicacy, are a different story.“I gladly eat escargot, and I use snail mucin on my face.”

He wrinkles his nose at that last one.“What’s the problem then?”

“According to the waiver thatbothof ussigned, the local snails carry rat lungworm,” I remind him pointedly.

“Right,” he says.“Which is why we’d boil them.”

“And you’re sure rat lungworm is not some sort of an extremophile germ that can survive a boiling?”

He purses his lips.“I’m pretty sure, but you have a point.We’ll wait until we’re really desperate.”

Fuck.“Maybe we should go back to you being the optimistic one.When you talk like that, I get the feeling we’re going to die here.”

“We won’t,” he says confidently.“I know a bit about survivalism, and I’ve given this some thought.There’s fish all around us.I can make a spear.Or a bow using the rubber band in my pants.Armed with those, I can try bowfishing or spearfishing—maybe even regular fishing if I manage to make a rod.The bow and spear will also allow me to take down that annoying bird—which I bet tastes like chicken.And if I’m feeling really brave, I can hit a gator on the head with this hammer.”

I gape at him.“That’s a lot of plans.Are you planning for us to grow old here, Robinson Crusoe style?”

Except with a lot more sex.Friday and Robinson Crusoe didn’t have sex, right?Relatedly, did Tom Hanks face-fuck the volleyball, Wilson, inCast Away?He did draw a mouth on it, after all.I’ll need to look into this when—or if—I get access to the internet again.

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