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This morning, I collected myself enough to leave the room only to learn Elio went ashore early. Thinking of him going off upset and possibly sleep-deprived has me sick with worry. He likely went in the little transfer boat before the sun had risen, which seems dangerous in itself. And I can’t imagine why he’d leave because it’s Thanksgiving Day. What could he possibly need to do when the entire city is shut down?

My nerves tingle and prick under my skin all morning, keeping me on edge. When the delicious smells of lunch carry to our cabin, I decide to head back upstairs. The sounds of a motorboat catch my ear on the way up. I double my speed up the stairs and hurry for the closest window in time to see Elio bringing the transfer boat around to dry dock inside the yacht.

Relief buckles my knees.

I hobble to the lounge sofa across the room and try to rein in my emotions. When Elio enters the room, I offer a hopeful smile because I don’t like fighting and want him to see I’m open to talking.

He returns the gesture with a smile of his own, though his eyes remain haunted. My lips part to ask him why when Michael and Evie come into view.

“The smells coming from the kitchen are amazing,” Evie announces, grinning. “I’m so glad it’s finally time to eat. I peeked earlier and saw they’re making two of my favorites—green bean casserole and a cherry pie.”

Drake, Yannis, and Pavlos follow them, along with some of the younger crew carrying serving dishes. Michael, Evie, and the three senior crew take places at the table. I give Elio a tight smile. He nods his understanding that talking will have to wait and guides me to the table.

Turkey with gravy and a warm, buttery roll. Cranberry sauce and stuffing. The kitchen staff outdid themselves with so many holiday favorites. It makes me a little sad to think about Dad. I hope someone in the family forced him to spend the day with them so he wouldn’t be all alone. Nobody should be alone on Thanksgiving.

Elio’s presence during the meal is quiet but reassuring. He loads up my plate with food, and I take that as a good sign. I can’t imagine he’d bother with my plate if he was too upset with me.

Conversation flows effortlessly, and spirits are high. The meal is a lovely escape from the emotional roller coaster that life has been in recent weeks. We devour our food but stay at the table for some time enjoying the company until Elio scoots his chair out and stands.

It seems, despite his relaxed demeanor, he hasn’t forgotten that we never resolved our argument. He excuses us from the table and leads me down to our room. Inside, I see an old shoebox on the bed. I look from the box to Elio in question.

“Open it.” His soft command nudges me forward.

“What is it?”

“That’s our story. Our past. It contains every note you tucked away for me inside the C volume of the encyclopedia in the little free library near your house. Remember? I kept them all in a box under a floorboard in my bedroom closet. Those notes represent every stolen minute together. Each oath and admission. Every single kiss. My Isa does exist, and my proof is on each of those scrawled pages.”

I sit on the bed next to the box and run my trembling fingers along the top. I want to know what’s inside, but I’m also scared. Of what, I’m not sure.

I open the lid and see dozens and dozens of notes, maybe hundreds—some short snippets on scraps of paper, others long texts on folded notebook paper.

All of them in my handwriting.

Tears flood my vision as I scan the bubbly words. “I miss your kiss … D almost caught me looking at you … I would have failed biology if it wasn’t for you … next picnic, I’ll bring the sandwiches…”

So much love infused in every word.

Each signed with a heart and my name.

And I don’t remember writing a single one.

Crushing guilt hollows out my chest when I lift my watery gaze to his and see the radiant light of hope extinguish, leaving his cavernous eyes empty. He’d hedged everything on these letters jogging my memories. By denying him, I might as well have carved a jagged hole in his heart. I can see with my own eyes that he’s bleeding out on the floor all around him.

“I’m so sorry,” I offer in a broken whisper before he turns and walks away.

CHAPTER 46

ELIO

The captain’s cabin is a tiny bedroom suite next to the bridge, usually provided to whoever is hired to captain a yacht. In our case, the room has never been assigned to anyone since the boat owner and captain are one and the same. Our protocol is to allow whoever is manning the bridge use of the captain’s suite while on duty.

I haven’t been on night duty, yet I’ve spent the last several nights in the captain’s cabin licking my wounds. The first night was because of the fight. Then I was so devastated by Isa’s response to the letters that I couldn't pretend everything was fine. I’ve needed space to think.

I was certain Isa would take one look at her notes and remember. How could she not? She wrote the damn things.

Even after time apart, I’m still slogging through waist-deep frustrations, so I order myself back to the gym. Maybe I’ll be able to sweat out the answers to my problems. The heartbroken apology in Isa’s eyes fuels me as I lower myself into the first of my push-ups.

I don’t count. I’ll know I’m done when my arms give out.