Chapter 2: Don’t Go Chasing Waterfalls

Caroline

Zack Taylor looked like the kind of young man the universe had designed specifically to be underestimated.

Twenty-two. Recent college grad. Tall enough that I had to tip my chin when we stood close. Lean in that still-filling-out kind of way. He was broad through the shoulders, narrow at the waist, and had the kind of body that would turn solid if someone ever made him work for it. Dark brown hair that always looked a little messy, like he’d just run his hands through it while thinking too hard. Vivid blue eyes that were smarter than he let on, and a full mouth that defaulted to a wry, almost shy smile whenever I caught him watching me. He had the face of someone who could charm a room if he ever stopped second-guessing himself, and the careful posture of a man who preferred not to take unnecessary risks. Attractive, sure. Distractingly so, if I was being completely honest with myself. But still so young it almost felt unfair. Like the universe had handed me a beautiful, half-finished man and dared me not to notice.

Despite our current predicament, I found the combination irritatingly appealing.

We spent the first full day doing the practical things. We worked together to find fresh water from a stream that cut inland through the dense, humid green. Later, we found that coconuts took way more effort than they were actually worth. We eventually were able to construct a half way-decent shelter/hut built from palm fronds and the remains of a life raft that had washed up near our little makeshift camp. The jungle pressed in close ... thick with the smell of wet earth and crushed leaves, the constant drone of insects, and the occasional sharp cry of something unseen moving through the canopy. Heat clung to my skin like a second layer.

On the fifth afternoon, we ran into a little problem. The stream we’d been using for drinking water had slowed to a muddy trickle. The only clearer source sat on the other side of a narrow, moss-slick rock face with a twenty-foot drop if you missed a handhold. Vines hung in heavy, grassy curtains. The air smelled sharper here, mineral and damp.