Page 34 of The Unbound Bookshop
A heavy knot settled in her stomach, weighing her down. She readjusted her grip. What if she never found the diary? Or what if Flynn found it? She shuddered at the thought.
For the millionth time that day, her thoughts wandered to their conversation earlier that morning. For a moment, she’d forgotten everything that happened between them. It had felt so good to laugh together. Safe. Familiar. Cathartic.
Against her will, all her feelings for Flynn came flooding back. She viscerally remembered what it felt like to love him, so wholly and trusting.
And to be lovedbyhim.
Yes, they’d been mere kids. Barely eighteen when they broke up. But during their time together, he’d made her believe in herself in a way no one else had. Not even her mom or Gran. With his unwavering faith in her—and the way he looked at her as if her radiance surpassed the sun and stars—he’d soothed the wounds left by her father. Every emotional cut and bruise telling her she wasn’t good enough, that she wasn’t worthy of someone else’s time or affection.
In his own special way, he’d given her friendship, love, and the courage to find her self-confidence—a powerful combination that made her believe anything was possible.
Brick by brick, he’d helped her rebuild what her father tore down. Then he left, and in the wake of his absence, the rubble of her broken heart surpassed all hope of repair.
A tear slid down her cheek, and she released one hand from the mast to wipe it away.
Get it together, Sage. You don’t need Flynn. Or any man. You just need to find the diary and finally get on with your life.
A startling bark broke through her thoughts, and before she could catch herself, her grip slipped. She tumbled backward, hitting the hard deck with a thud.
A sharp pang shot through her ankle.
She groaned, grimacing in pain.
Cap gently nuzzled her with his nose, as if apologizing for the unintentional scare.
“It’s okay.” She pet the top of his head. “You’re forgiven.” She tried to put a little weight on her ankle, then winced.Great. A sprained ankle was the last thing she needed.
“Cap? Are you up here? You’re not sup—” Flynn’s voice faltered the second he spotted her sprawled on the deck, nursing her ankle. Panic flickered in his eyes. He rushed over and knelt by her side. “What happened? Are you okay?”
He scanned her body for signs of injury, and she realized her long skirt had bunched around her thighs during the fall. She quickly yanked the fabric back over her legs.
“I’m fine. I just twisted my ankle.” She tried to stand but wobbled, and instantly sat back down.
“Don’t move. Let me take a look.” He lifted the hem of her skirt a few inches and carefully cupped the curve of her ankle.
She inhaled sharply as his touch instantly shot tingles up her leg.
He traced his palm from her calf to the heel of her foot, assessing the damage.
Heat spread over her body, and she closed her eyes, trying to focus on anything other than the feel of his fingertips against her bare skin.
As he leaned over her, his heady scent tickled her nose. Citrus and ocean spray. Crisp, masculine, and painfully familiar. After all these years, why couldn’t he wear a different cologne?
He must have noticed the ragged edge to her breath, because he said, “Don’t worry. It doesn’t look swollen or bruised. I doubt it’s even a sprain. A couple of painkillers and some rest, and you’ll be good as—”
When he didn’t finish his sentence, she opened her eyes. She followed his gaze to her opposite ankle—the one wearing the friendship bracelet. Her heartbeat fluttered. What was he thinking? She couldn’t read his cloudy expression.
He cleared his throat, adding, “Good as new.” He tore his gaze from her ankle and the cloud lifted. “Don’t panic or pepper spray me, but I’m going to pick you up.”
“What? Why?” Despite his instruction not to panic, her pulse skyrocketed.
“Because you shouldn’t put any weight on your ankle for a few hours at least.”
“A few hours? Fat chance. In case you’ve forgotten, we’re embroiled in a do-or-die competition.”
He smiled at her dramatics. “Then how about a truce?”
“What kind of truce?”
