I stood back, hands on my hips, admiring our work.“Not bad for a couple of castaways.”

“It’s practically gourmet,” Jonathan agreed, wrapping his arms around me from behind.His chin rested on top of my head, a perfect fit.“You would have made a good architect in another life.”

“I’ll stick to food, thanks.”I leaned back against his chest.“Speaking of which, I found some wild herbs growing near the freshwater stream.They smell similar to rosemary.I’m thinking they might work with that fish you caught earlier.”

“Lead the way, Chef.”

The kitchen became my domain, a space that felt more like home than anywhere else on the island.Even stripped of modern conveniences, cooking grounded me.Jonathan watched me work, fascinated by the way I improvised with limited ingredients.

“Where did you learn to do that?”he asked one evening as I wrapped fish in large leaves before placing them in the fire pit.

“Extreme Chef,” I joked.Then, more seriously: “My dad.He could make a meal out of anything.Military rations, wild plants, whatever was available.He said hunger was the best seasoning.”

“Smart man.”

“He would have liked you.”

Jonathan looked up, surprised.“Yeah?”

“Yeah.He respected competence above all else.”I poked at the fire with a stick.“And you’re nothing if not competent.”

His hand covered mine.“I wish I could have met him.”

The growingintimacy between us wasn’t just physical; it was emotional as well.The next morning, Jonathan was crouched beside a cluster of green leaves, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Is this one of the herbs you mentioned?”he asked, pointing to a plant with serrated edges.

I knelt beside him, the awareness of his proximity sending warmth through me like a shower.“Close, but see these tiny hairs on the underside of the leaves?”I brushed my finger along the leaf, then guided his hand to feel the texture.“The ones we want are completely smooth.These could make you sick.”

His fingers lingered where mine had touched the leaf.“How do you tell the difference so quickly?”

“Practice.And paranoia.”I stood, scanning the area until I spotted what we needed.“There.Those broad leaves by the fallen log.”

Jonathan followed me over, watching intently as I demonstrated the identifying features.“Smooth undersides, waxy coating on top, and they should smell slightly minty when you crush them.”

He picked a leaf and held it to his nose.“Like that?”

“Perfect.”I couldn’t help smiling at his focused expression.“You’re a fast learner.”

“I have a good teacher.”

Later that afternoon, it was my turn to be the student.Jonathan had spent the morning redesigning our fish traps, and now he was showing me how the new mechanism worked.

“The key is creating a funnel effect,” he explained, his hands demonstrating the water flow.“Fish follow the current in, but the design makes it nearly impossible for them to find their way back out.”

I watched as he positioned stones with mathematical accuracy, creating channels that looked deceptively simple but were clearly engineered for maximum efficiency.

“This is basically calculus with rocks,” I observed.

He laughed.“Everything is calculus if you think about it long enough.”He handed me a flat stone.“Try placing this one where you think it should go.”

I studied the pattern he’d created, then positioned the stone where I thought it belonged.He adjusted it slightly, his hand covering mine to guide the placement.

“Feel how the water moves around it now,” he said, our fingers still touching as water flowed around the stone.

The current eddied and swirled exactly as he’d predicted.“It’s like conducting an orchestra,” I murmured.“Each piece has to work with all the others.”

“Exactly.”His eyes lit up with the same passion I felt when talking about food.“Most people think engineering is about forcing solutions, but it’s really about working with natural forces.”