Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 147415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 737(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 491(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 737(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 491(@300wpm)
So much for trying to be quiet out here and using library voices.
“Funny, right?” I move closer, nudging his arm with my elbow. “People are more complex than you give them credit for.”
Wrong move.
He totally shuts down.
One minute, he’s teasing along with me, looking almost human and like he might be having fun.
Then his eyes shutter.
His mouth thins.
He goes right back to being the irritable, unapproachable frost king he shows the world—the same man I met in his office when he insulted me to my face.
I do not miss that man.
I also have zero desire to spend more time with him.
Clearing my throat, I try to ignore the fact that I nudged him as we start moving again, still close enough to touch in our silence.
Ignore him, ignore him.
Right.
That’s about as easy as ignoring a rampaging bear barreling at me.
Although maybe a bear would make less noise.
“Careful where you step with the leaves,” I tell him, pushing aside a few long strands of grass. “We don’t want to scare anything away.”
“That’s what this is for, isn’t it?” Without another word, he throws the small drone into the sky like he’s pitching a baseball.
It whirs to life instantly, hovering above us like an overgrown bee.
It’s the total lack of noise that catches me off guard.
The little machine is bizarrely quiet, you wouldn’t know it was there if you didn’t see it.
I’m legit impressed.
“Let the bug, as you call it, do the searching from here, Destiny,” he tells me, brushing his hand against mine.
I hold my breath, wondering if he’ll take it, but he moves forward again.
Ass.
Mysterious, uptight, annoyingly generous ass.
We continue along the back of the beach quietly while I hold in my sarcasm. With the drone deployed and moving just ahead of us at a comfortable pace, it’s all about the otters now.
My eyes feel sharper than ever.
Every black piece of seaweed, every distant ship, makes me think of them.
But no, after trudging half a mile along the uneven shore, there’s nothing. My eyes are tired and my shoulders slump.
I’m already feeling defeated as the drone slows and scans, turning in the air a full three-sixty.
It makes me wonder if we should waste more time here or cut our losses while we still have plenty of time to move to a better spot.
But then I see it.
At least, I see something.
It’s small, but noticeable, splashing in a tide pool formed by half-sunken rocks.
I throw up an arm, stopping Shepherd in his tracks, thunking my hand against his wall of a chest.
He knows better than to ask, but I think his excitement almost matches mine as a long, quick moving otter crawls out of the rocks, bats its eyes, and then dives back under again.
A second later, it pops its head up and flops on its back, gliding on the water like a drunken frat boy in a pool. It’s officially the sweetest, laziest, most unexpected surprise of my life.
Holy crap!
Holy shit.
When I grab his arm and pull, wordlessly sharing my thrill, he doesn’t protest.
Shepherd just nods and smiles when I look up from the amazing scene to see his face.
Meanwhile, I’m fumbling around in my bag like a madwoman, trying to find my binoculars.
“Relax. The drone’s footage goes straight to the cloud, even out here, thanks to Starlink. It can zoom in fifty times without losing image quality,” he whispers hotly in my ear.
Wow.
Even with the reassurance, I’m scared I’ll miss this if I even dare to breathe.
My heart pounds so hard I think I’m seeing double.
My hands are shaking.
This is too much. Too incredible.
Beside me, Shepherd lifts his own pair of binoculars. I didn’t notice him throw them around his neck, but he must’ve thought to earlier.
He passes them over, and together, we take turns otter watching.
No, otters.
Plural.
Several more of these living plushies emerge, grouping themselves together to sun on the rocks when they’re not splashing around like hyperactive ferrets.
I do my best to count them so I can send the state database an accurate report, though it’s pretty hard when my hands are this unsteady.
Five... six... seven.
Seven otters.
Wait, no, eight. Eight.
Eight sea otters!
I forget how to breathe.
I think this might be the best day of my life since Eliza and Dad taught me how to swim.
I’m watching endangered freaking sea otters in their natural habitat.
Otters playing in the surf, a peaceful little family. A viable breeding population.
Sighing gratefully, I pull out my phone and zoom in, snapping pictures like crazy.
I post a few pictures to Insta ASAP, typing a clumsy caption, then I bring up the Fish & Wildlife information form.
“What are you doing?” Shepherd asks, breathing the question more than speaking it out loud.
Um, trying not to die from the rush?
I can’t fathom how to tell him how grateful I truly am that he’s being so supportive.
All my energy goes straight into capturing the otters with my camera.