This story begins with Sydney, boarding a luxurious sailboat for a much-needed vacation from her demanding film schedule. Known for her spoiled and bratty demeanor, she expects everyone on the boat to cater to her every whim. Nick, however, grows very weary of Sydney, so, as the sun sets over the marina, casting a warm glow across the docks, where a sleek sailboat named, “Sea Siren” is moored. On board, Nick, the robust deckhand, is busy with the evening’s chores, while Sydney, the pampered Hollywood starlet, lounges on the deck in a luxurious lounge chair, with her phone glued to her hand. Her eyes, however, are not on the screen, but rather, on the muscles flexing beneath Nick’s tanned skin, as he works. Without looking up from her phone, Sydney says sweetly, “Oh, Darling, could you possibly get me another margarita?” her voice is laden with the expectation of being served, which causes Nick to look up, as he coils line on the deck. Sydney is holding up her glass to him, and she’s topless, displaying her large breasts.

Sighing inwardly, Nick wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead before setting down the line he was working on. His eyes briefly meet Sydney’s and he can’t help but be drawn to the allure of her bare skin glistening in the fading light. Despite his growing irritation with her high-maintenance attitude, he finds it difficult to begrudge her the attention she so obviously craves. He strides over to the well-stocked bar, his muscles rippling with each step, and graciously takes her empty glass, “Of course, Miss,” he says with a forced smile, trying to maintain his professional demeanor. As he mixes the drink, the clinking of ice, and the tart smell of lime, fills the air, then he pours the margarita with precision, as the tequila is glinting like liquid gold. When he returns, he hands her the refreshed beverage, his eyes lingering for a moment before he quickly turns away, returning to his duties.

He can feel the tension between them, a palpable electricity that seems to charge the air with potential. The gentle rocking of the boat, and the distant sound of waves against the dock, serve as a soothing backdrop to their silent dance of power and desire.

Sydney accepts the drink with a nod of her head, not deigning to look away from her phone. She takes a delicate sip, the salt rimming her lips leaving a trail of white crystals, as her eyes flick up briefly to meet Nick’s, a smirk playing on her lips. She knows he’s watching her, and she revels in the power she holds over the crew. With a casual flick of her wrist, she waves him away, dismissing him. Her thoughts swirl around the potential fun she could have with this handsome, yet seemingly submissive, man. The coolness of the margarita contrasts with the warmth of her skin, sending a delicious shiver down her spine. She wonders if she can push him further, if he’ll remain so attentive, even when she’s not asking nicely.

Sydney texts her current boy toy back in LA, she is so bored, and after a moment of boredom, she looks up from her phone. She notices Nick’s eyes are on her again, so, she smirks and decides to give him a little show. She stands up, stretching languidly, causing her breasts to jiggle slightly with the movement. She saunters over to the railing, her hips swaying with practiced elegance, leans over, and as she peers into the deep blue of the ocean, she watches the light play off the waves. “Mmm, it’s so peaceful out here,” she purrs, her voice is carrying a hint of challenge. She knows he’s watching her, and she’s determined to make him want her more than he already does.

As Sydney’s words hang in the air, Nick manages a tight smile before he turns away, feeling the weight of her gaze on his back, as he heads below deck to check in with the captain. The cooler air inside the cabin is a welcome relief from the sultry evening outside, as the rich mahogany walls, and the soft creaking of the boat beneath his feet, remind him of the vast oceanic expanse they’re about to embark upon. He finds Captain Markus, a grizzled man with a white beard, in the cockpit, poring over charts, “Evening, Cap,” Nick says, trying to keep his voice steady, “When are we setting sail?”

Captain Markus looks up, squinting at the horizon, “Looks like we’re on schedule for first light tomorrow, lad,” he replies gruffly. Nick nods, as his thoughts are racing, and he can’t help but wonder what kind of voyage it will be with Sydney on board. The tension between them is as thick as the ropes that bind the ship to the dock, and he can’t shake the feeling that she’s biding her time before she decides to play another game with him.

The sailboat is in the mid Pacific Ocean a week later, when there is an explosion below decks in the fuel lines, and the boat is quickly engulfed in flames. Nick rescued Sydney from the water by pulling her into a small rubber rescue dinghy, and they watched, as the fully inflamed sailboat sank. They are now alone on the vast ocean.

As the flames of the “Sea Siren” reflect off the inky water, Sydney clutches the side of the dinghy, her eyes are wide with shock and fear, the cold sea spray stings her skin, and she shivers in the breeze, as her soaked hair is sticking to her face. She looks over at Nick, the only person she has left to rely on in this desolate expanse of water, and her usual haughtiness is replaced with a tremble in her voice. “What do we do now?” she asks, as her eyes are searching his for some semblance of control. Nick’s strong arms are the only thing keeping the dinghy steady, as the waves rock them, and she notices his jaw is clenched, and the muscles in his arms are taut, as he assesses their situation. His eyes are sharp, looking out at the horizon, as if he can will land to appear, when he says, “We need to signal for help,” his voice remains calm, despite the chaos around them. He rummages through the emergency supplies, finding a flare gun, “Do you know how to use this?” He turns to her, his expression a mix of urgency and annoyance, at the realization that she might not be prepared for this kind of survival situation. Despite her fear, she feels a strange thrill at seeing him take charge, as it’s a stark contrast to the pampered world she’s used to, and she can’t help but feel a twinge of excitement at the raw, primal nature of their predicament. Then Nick added, “Save that signal flare till we see a plane.”

Sydney’s eyes follow Nick’s hand as he places the flare gun back into the emergency kit. She feels a sudden, and profound, sense of vulnerability, a stark contrast to her usual life of luxury, and the adrenaline from their escape is wearing off, leaving a cold, hard, reality in its wake. She watches him, his muscles tensing as he rows, as the only sound is the rhythmic splash of the oars in the water. Despite her fear, she can’t help but admire his strength, his capability, as it’s the kind of thing you don’t appreciate until you’re in a situation where it really matters. She wraps her arms around herself, trying to warm up, and leans closer to him, “Thank you for saving me,” she whispers, her voice seems small and sincere for the first time since they’ve met.

Nick glances at Sydney, surprised by the genuine gratitude in her voice, and for a moment, the barrier of irritation he’s built up around her cracks. “It’s my job,” he says gruffly, but there’s also a softer edge to his tone. He keeps rowing, the muscles in his back and arms flexing with the effort, as the sun is setting now, painting the sky with shades of pink and orange, and the vastness of the ocean seems to shrink around them, as night approaches. He can feel the weight of their situation pressing down on him, as he realizes that they need to be found soon. But as he looks at her, her eyes wide with fear, but also something else, respect, perhaps, he feels a strange protectiveness bubble up inside. He’ll keep her safe, no matter how much of a brat she’s been.

Nick has no idea if the captain had gotten off a distress call, and he has no idea of their location. With each stroke of the oars, Nick’s arms burn with fatigue, but he doesn’t let it show. He’s been trained to handle worse, and he’s not about to let Sydney see him falter. He’s surprised by her sudden show of vulnerability, her words lingering in the air between them, like the last whispers of a dying fire. “Don’t worry,” he says, trying to sound more reassuring than he feels. “We’ve got supplies, and the ocean’s a busy place. Someone will come looking for us.”

The night is vast and unforgiving, with the stars above being their only companions. The silence stretches out, punctuated only by the rhythmic slap of the waves against the side of the dinghy, as he glances over at her, noticing the way she’s shivering despite the warmth of the tropical night. Without a second thought, he shrugs off his shirt and wraps it around her, “Here,” he says gruffly, “it’s not much, but it’ll keep you warm.” She looks up at him, her eyes meeting his, and for a moment, the tension between them seems to evaporate. She nods, slipping her arms through the makeshift cover, as the fabric clings to her wet skin, and he can’t help but admire her beauty in this stark, primitive setting. “We have water and there’s nutrition bars for a couple days. This current is making rowing pointless, so, you need to get some rest, Miss Sydney.”

Sydney nods, her teeth are chattering slightly as she pulls the shirt closer around her, “Thanks, Nick,” she murmurs, feeling the warmth of his body seep into the fabric. She curls up in the corner of the dinghy, as her eyes are drooping with exhaustion. The rocking of the waves, and the steady sound of Nick’s breathing, lull her into a fitful sleep, with her dreams filled with images of flaming boats and endless oceans.

The night passes with Nick keeping vigil, with his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of rescue. The stars above twinkle like distant promises, offering no real comfort in their solitude. Twenty-four hours later, as they are bounced in the waves of the vast Pacific, the sun rises over the horizon, casting a soft, warm glow over the endless expanse of water. Sydney stirs from her fitful slumber, the salty air is drying the tears that had stained her cheeks during the night, and as she sits up slowly, the reality of their situation hits her like a ton of bricks. She sees Nick, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, his powerful arms still rowing with surprising strength, “We’re going to die, aren’t we?” she asks, her voice is cracking with fear.

Nick’s eyes never leave the horizon as he responds, “We’re not gonna die, not if I can help it.”

Sydney wipes the sleep from her eyes, the harsh light of the rising sun illuminating the stark lines of fear etched on her face, she watches Nick’s unwavering determination, as the muscles in his arms and back ripple as he rows, and for the first time, she feels something other than annoyance towards him. “How can you be so sure?” she asks, her voice trembles slightly. She takes a deep breath, the salty air filles her lungs, and she tries to push the fear down. “You’re so ... so strong,” she murmurs, almost to herself, unable to fully express the admiration that’s creeping into her voice.

Nick’s eyes flicker towards her briefly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face, “It’s just what you do when you’re in a tough spot,” he says, his voice seems gruff, but with a hint of kindness. He pauses in his rowing, letting the dinghy drift for a moment, as he assesses their supplies, “We’ve got water, and these bars should keep us going for a bit. But we need to be smart about this,” he adds, his eyes scanning the vastness of the sea. “We need to ration, and we need to keep our spirits up.” He glances back at her, his expression is earnest, “We’re not going to die out here, Sydney. I won’t let that happen. I’m just trying to keep the bow into the waves so we don’t roll, but I don’t know where the current is taking us.”

Sydney’s stomach lurches as she takes in the vast expanse of water around them, because she’s never felt so insignificant in her life. The glitz and glamour of Hollywood seems a million miles away, as the stark reality of their situation sinks in. She looks over at Nick, his jaw is set with determination as he battles the waves, and despite his words of reassurance, the doubt in his eyes is unmistakable. She bites her lip, trying not to let the fear overwhelm her, “What do we do now?” she asks, her voice seems small and unsure.

Nick smiles to reassure her and says, “Ration the water. Just take sips.”

Sydney nods, as she takes a small sip of water from the bottle that Nick handed her. The coolness does little to quench the dryness in her throat, but she knows he’s right, they need to be careful. She watches as Nick starts rowing again, his muscles straining against the tide, the sound of the oars dipping into the water, and the occasional splash as waves break over the side of the dinghy, are the only noises in their silent world. She feels a strange kinship with him now, a bond forged in adversity, that she never would have imagined. “What’s your story, Nick?” she asks, hoping to distract them both from their grim situation.

Nick’s eyes remained on the horizon as he considers her question. For a moment, he’s silent, lost in his thoughts, then, “I grew up on the water,” he finally says, his voice carries the faintest hint of nostalgia. “My old man was a fisherman, taught me everything I know, so, when I got too big for his boat, I signed up with the navy, and saw the world. After that, I just couldn’t go back to shore life.” He looks over at her, his gaze piercing in the early morning light, “What about you? What’s a Hollywood starlet like you doing on a boat like this?”

Sydney takes another small sip of water, the cool liquid offering a brief respite from the oppressive heat of the sun, then she looks at Nick, his rugged good looks, and the way his muscles move with each stroke of the oars, is making her feel a bit less lonely in the vast, empty sea. She takes a deep breath, the salt air filling her lungs, as she decides to open up, “I guess I needed an escape,” she admits, her voice was softer than he’s ever heard it. “The cameras, the fans, the pressure ... it’s all so much. I thought a private yacht would be the perfect getaway.” She laughs bitterly, the sound lost in the vastness surrounding them, “I never thought I’d find myself adrift with nothing but the sea and a man who despises me for company.” She glances at him, her eyes searching for a reaction, a sign that he doesn’t despise her as much as she fears.

Nick glanced at her, and says, “I’ve seen your pictures. You have no modesty in showing your body.”

Sydney’s cheeks flushed at Nick’s remark, a rare occurrence for the usually unflappable starlet, she couldn’t deny the truth in his words, but the way he said it stung. She felt a strange mix of embarrassment and defensiveness, “It’s part of the job,” she says, her voice sounds a bit more defensive than she intends. She adjusts her position in the dinghy, as the fabric of Nick’s shirt is still sticking to her salty skin, “You get used to it, I guess.” She looks away from him, her eyes scanning the horizon, as if willing a rescue to appear.

Despite her bravado, she can’t help but feel a pang of vulnerability, knowing that she’s never truly been in a situation where she had to rely on someone else. “I’m not just my body, you know,” she murmurs, her voice is barely audible over the waves, “There’s more to me than what you see on the big screen.” She takes another sip of water, her hand is shaking slightly, as the sun is starting to beat down on them, and the reality of their predicament is setting in.

Nick’s eyes never leave the horizon as he speaks, his voice is measured, “I know that, Sydney. We all have more to us than what we show the world. But right now, we need to focus on survival.” He glances at her briefly, his expression, a mix of understanding and irritation, “We’re in this together, whether we like it or not. So, let’s keep our heads and try to enjoy what we can of this ... unexpected adventure.” He tries to keep his tone light, hoping to ease the tension between them, but the truth is, he’s starting to see a different side to Sydney, one that’s not all glamour and demands. “Stay under that tarp, because this sun will dry you out,” he tells her.

Sydney nods, moving to the shaded area of the dinghy, as the tarp is casting a welcome relief from the sun’s glare. She pulls the fabric over her, feeling a sense of security in the shadow it provides, “Thank you,” she says, her voice is a bit softer than before. She watches Nick as he continues to row, his movements are efficient and precise, and despite their less-than-ideal circumstances, she finds herself drawn to his quiet strength. The rhythm of his rowing and the gentle sway of the waves, lulls her into a state of contemplation. She thinks about the life she left behind, the shallow relationships, and the never-ending pursuit of perfection. Here, in the vastness of the ocean, those things seem so trivial, as she looks up at the endless horizon, and feeling both lost and found. “What’s it like?” she asks, breaking the silence, “The ocean, I mean. When you’re not just passing through for work, but when you’re really, out here.”

Nick’s eyes never stray from the horizon, but his expression softens, as he considers her question. He wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, leaving a salty streak across his tanned forehead, “The ocean is ... beautiful,” he says, his voice is filled with a reverence she’s never heard from him before. “It’s a world unto itself, full of life and danger, serenity and chaos. It’s a place where you can’t hide, where you face everything head-on, it’s honest.” He pauses for a moment, with the oars resting in the water, “It’s not like Hollywood, where everyone’s got a mask. Out here, you are who you are, and the sea doesn’t care about your status, or your bank account.” He starts rowing again, his muscles flexing under the strain, “It’s a good place to find yourself, if you’re willing to get lost first.” He glances at her, as a hint of a smile is playing on his lips.

Sydney then asks him, “You don’t like me, do you?”

Nick’s rowing slows for a moment as he considers her question. He turns to face her, his expression unreadable in the harsh light of the midday sun, “It’s not about liking or disliking, Sydney,” he says, his voice steady. “You’re a guest on this boat and I have a job to do, but I’ll be honest, your ... spoiled attitude doesn’t make it easy.” He takes a deep breath, his chest expanding with the effort, “But we’re in this together now, and I’ll do what I have to do to keep us both alive.” His eyes held hers for a moment before he looks away, focusing on the endless stretch of water ahead, as the waves seem to whisper secrets to him, and he’s reminded of the capricious nature of the sea. He starts rowing again with renewed vigor, his thoughts swirling like the currents beneath them.

A day has passed, and Nick has quit paddling in the calm ocean, as the current and wind carries them. Sydney stirs from her fitful sleep, the gentle rocking of the dinghy, a stark contrast to the chaos of the previous days. She watches Nick, his eyes closed and face tilted towards the sun, his chest rising and falling with even breaths, and despite their circumstances, she can’t help but feel a pang of annoyance that he seems so at peace. She pulls the tarp away from her, letting the warmth of the sun dry her skin, “Nick,” she says, as her voice cuts through the silence, “is there anything to eat?”

Nick opens his eyes lazily, as the sun’s glare is piercing through his eyelids. He’s been taking turns with Sydney to keep watch for any signs of rescue, but it’s been hours since they’ve spoken. He sits up, his muscles protesting from the lack of movement, and grabs the emergency ration pack, “Only these bars,” he says, his voice is gruff with sleep, “But we have to keep our strength up.” He hands her one of the bars, the plastic wrapper crackling in the quiet, and as she takes it, her stomach is growling at the thought of food. As she unwraps it, the scent of coconut and chocolate fills the air, and she can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment at the meager offering. She takes a bite, the taste surprisingly pleasant on her parched tongue, and as she chews, she can feel her body begin to respond, with the calories and nutrients flooding her system. “Thanks,” she says, her voice softer than usual.

Nick then says, “Just take a couple bites, because we must ration what we need.”

Sydney looks down at the half-eaten bar in her hand, the sweet taste of coconut and chocolate lingers on her tongue, as she nods, swallowing hard, “Okay,” she says, her voice small and subdued. She wraps the remaining bar back in its foil, tucking it into the pocket of Nick’s shirt that she’s wearing. The gesture feels strangely intimate, and she can’t help but feel a flicker of something she can’t quite put her finger on. She watches him as he adjusts his sunglasses and starts scanning the horizon again. His dedication to their survival is undeniable, and she can’t help but feel a begrudging respect for him. She takes a sip of water, the cool liquid soothing her dry throat, “What do you think will happen to us?” she asks, as her voice is barely above a whisper. She doesn’t expect an answer, but the question hangs in the air between them, a silent acknowledgment of the gravity of their situation.

Nick thinks a minute and then says, “We are far from the shipping lanes, and I have no idea where this current is carrying us, so, I don’t think anyone is looking for us. Right now, we must conserve everything we have, as it looks bleak at the moment.”

The starkness of Nick’s words hangs heavily in the air, as the gravity of their situation is settling into the pit of Sydney’s stomach like a lead weight. She chews the last of her ration bar slowly, savoring the taste as if it were a five-star meal. The sun beats down on them, unforgiving, and turning their tiny vessel into a sauna. The ocean around them stretches on forever, a vast, uncaring expanse, that mirrors the bleakness in their hearts. She looks at Nick, his jaw is set, as he stares into the distance, and she feels a strange mix of anger and admiration. He’s right of course, they’re in a dire situation, but she can’t help but resent his calm acceptance of their fate. She wipes the sweat from her brow and adjusts her makeshift sunhat, a shirt tied around her head. “How do you do it?” she asks, her voice is strained, “How do you stay so ... so composed?”

Nick glances at Sydney, his eyes are squinting against the glare of the sun, but he doesn’t answer right away, instead, taking a moment to consider her question, “You do what you gotta do,” he says finally, his voice low and gruff. “I’ve been in tough spots before. You learn to deal with it.” He then turns back to the horizon, as his eyes are searching for any sign of life, “Besides,” he adds, “complaining won’t change anything out here. We’ve got each other, and we’ve got the ocean. That’s more than enough to keep fighting.” He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with the salty air, “But we need to stay sharp,” he says, turning to her, “so, keep your eyes peeled for anything that could help us, such as debris, fish, birds ... anything that might mean we’re getting closer to land, or help.”

Another day has passed, and Sydney notices that Nick is not drinking from the last bottle of water they have. She continues to watch Nick closely, his stoicism in the face of their desperate situation, is both frustrating and fascinating. The sun has started to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the dinghy as she reaches for the last bottle of water, her hand is shaking with thirst. “Aren’t you going to drink?” she asks, her voice now cracking.

Nick shakes his head, his eyes never leave the horizon, “I’m fine,” he says gruffly, “you take it.” He’s been rationing his water more than her, so, despite her protests, the sight of his self-sacrifice makes Sydney’s chest tighten. She takes the bottle, the cool plastic a comfort in her trembling hand, and as she brings it to her lips, the sweet, life-giving liquid trickles down her throat. As she drinks, she can’t help but feel guilty, “Nick,” she says softly, “you’ve got to drink too. You’re working so hard.”

Without looking at her, Nick takes the bottle and takes a small sip. His throat moves as he swallows, and the sound of his gulp echoes in the quiet. “I’ve had enough,” he insists. “You need it more than I do.” He hands the bottle back to her, and his hand brushes against hers briefly. The contact sends a shiver down her spine, and she quickly pulls her hand away. She knows he’s lying, but she doesn’t argue, instead, she takes another sip and tries to ignore the ache in her throat. “We’re going to get out of this,” she says, more to convince herself than him. “We’re going to be found.”

The next morning, she awakes and looks over the side of the dinghy, “Nick, I see land!” she screams.

Nick’s head snaps up at Sydney’s sudden exclamation, and his eyes widening with hope. For a moment, he forgets the cramps in his muscles and the gnawing hunger in his stomach, as he squints into the distance. His heart is racing, as he tries to discern the shape she’s pointing at. The horizon is a blur of blue and green, but as his vision clears, he can make out the faint outline of an island, “You’re right,” he says, his voice fills with a mix of disbelief and relief. “It looks like we’ve got ourselves a shot.” He starts to row again with renewed energy, the promise of land is propelling him forward and the waves seem to part for them, as if the sea itself is eager to return them to solid ground. The island grows larger, a mirage of lush vegetation, and white sand beaches. Sydney’s eyes are glued to the horizon, a smile is playing on her lips, “We did it,” she whispers, as her voice is filled with wonder.

As they draw closer, the smell of the island fills the air, with a mix of salt, vegetation, and something wild and untamed. Nick’s eyes are locked on the island, his strokes are becoming more powerful as the shore comes into view, and the sight of the island fills him with a mix of relief, and anticipation. He’s been stranded before, but never with someone like Sydney. Despite her bratty demeanor, she’s proven to be surprisingly resilient. He can’t help but feel a twinge of admiration for the way she’s held up under the circumstances. “Looks like paradise,” he says, his voice, tinged with sarcasm, “but we can’t let our guard down. We don’t know what’s waiting for us out there.” He glances at her, his expression is serious, “We’re going to have to work together if we want to make it.”

As the island grows closer, the waves, breaking against the shore, create a symphony of white noise that’s music to their sun-parched ears. Nick pulls the dinghy through the surf as Syndey swims ashore, and they lay on the sand above the breakers.

Sydney’s legs felt like jelly as she stumbled out of the water and onto the sandy beach, and her eyes never left the horizon where the dinghy bobbed. She fell onto the sand, letting the warmth of the sun seep into her bones, with the grit between her teeth, and the salt crusting her skin, being a stark reminder of their ordeal. She turned to Nick, who’s dragging the dinghy up the shore, with his muscles straining, “Thank you,” she says, her voice was hoarse from dehydration. “Thank you for not giving up on me.” She watches him, his eyes never leaving the boat, and she can’t help but feel a swell of gratitude towards this man who’s become her lifeline. She reaches out a hand to him, her fingers trembling slightly, “We made it,” she whispers, the reality of their survival finally sinking in.

Nick’s eyes met hers, and for the first time, he saw something other than annoyance in them. There’s a flicker of something warm, something human, as he takes her hand, his grip firm and reassuring, “We did,” he agrees, a smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth. He pulls her to her feet, his touch surprisingly gentle, “Now let’s see what this island has to offer.” He scans the area, his eyes are sharp and assessing, “We need to find water and shelter before nightfall.” He releases her hand, and she feels a sudden emptiness, as they start to walk along the shoreline, their footprints are the only marks on the pristine beach

The island is untouched by civilization, which is a stark contrast to the luxury yacht they were on. Palm trees sway in the breeze, and the sound of exotic birds fills the air, as Nick’s gaze sweeps over the island, his eyes narrowing as he assesses the landscape. The vegetation is dense, but there’s a clear path leading away from the beach. He points towards the trees, “We should follow that,” he says, his voice sounds gruff but is filled with excitement. “Could lead us to a freshwater source.”

He starts to walk, as his boots are sinking into the soft sand, but despite his weariness, he moves with a surprising agility, his years of experience on the water are serving him well. He glances back at Sydney, who’s still standing by the water’s edge, her eyes wide with wonder, “Come on,” he calls out, beckoning her with a crooked smile. “We’ve got to keep moving.” Sydney hesitates for a moment, the sand is sticking to her legs as she walks towards him, and the warmth of the sun on her skin feels foreign after days adrift on the open sea. She takes a deep breath, filling her lungs with the sweet scent of the island, and starts to follow him, her bare feet are sinking into the sand. Sydney follows Nick’s lead, her eyes widen as she takes in the lush jungle that unfolds before them. The vibrant greens of the foliage are a stark contrast to the blues of the sea they’ve left behind. She stumbles slightly, her legs still weak from the ordeal, but Nick’s steady hand is there to catch her, his grip firm and reassuring. She can’t help but feel a spark of something she’s never felt for a man before, gratitude, mixed with admiration. “What do we do first?” she asks, with her voice sounding a little too high. Nick’s confidence is contagious, and she finds herself leaning on his knowledge and strength, in a way she never has before.