Chapter 4

The distinctive aroma of coffee brewing wafted past him, causing him to pause into the hallway as he inhaled deeply. Turning the corner, he saw her by the coffee maker, absorbed in reading a thin booklet. She was dressed in faded blue jeans and a dark green tank top, her hair swept up in a neat ponytail.

Always ready in the morning.

He smiled and walked into the kitchen. "Cornflakes?" He enquired, dropping into one of the chairs.

"Hey, James."

He picked up the cardboard box, surveying it appraisingly.

"I'm used to breakfast being a simple affair," she said, almost ruefully. "Cereal and milk is the norm around here."

"I reckon you don't eat much, lady," he remarked as he poured the crispy, golden flakes into his bowl. "Wanna join me?"

"I had coffee. Well, I was going to," she added.

He lifted his eyebrows at her reluctance. "Coffee ain't gonna fill an empty stomach and it ain't healthy."

"I do usually take tea, but I thought you'd like coffee."

"Ah, that's sweet, but I'm not much of a coffee drinker either." Cocking his head, he gestured to one of the unoccupied chairs. "Grab a bowl and take a seat. Don't want you faintin' on me when we go trekkin' around the island."

She bit her lower lip. In the end, she complied, not wanting to seem rude by declining his offer. As she set her utensils on the table, he reached over and grabbed the box, letting the contents tumble into her bowl. Then, he planted the milk carton in front of her. "There ya go," he drawled, giving her a wink. "Breakfast, most important meal."

They left the house, bags slung over their shoulders. As they descended the porch, they met a brown-haired woman with numerous smiley wrinkles lining her face.

"Ah, what incredible timing," she exclaimed with a broad smile.

"Morning, Amelia," Juliet greeted her. "This is Sawyer. He just arrived yesterday. He'll be joining us today."

"Nice to meet you, ma'am," he said, turning on his charm and letting his dimples show.

"Nice to meet you," she replied, first gazing at him, then at Juliet with a grin that he could only describe as cheeky. A replica of her grin appeared on his face when he saw the pretty blonde's cheeks redden slightly.

"The next meeting's at her house, by the way. The book club," the younger woman told him, quick to bring about a change of subject. "You'll have to go because she makes the best apple crumble tarts on the island and you can't miss those for the world."

He watched them exchange smiles, and was glad there was someone that Juliet could call a friend.

"Do you want to come over for lunch? I have Alex and Karl over. You can join them."

"Alex and Karl?"

"It's just a meal, Juliet. Ben's not gonna do anything," she said, lifting an eyebrow. "So, how about it?"

Juliet looked at him. He lifted a shoulder, letting her know that it was her call.

"Alright, but we've got to go right after."

The conversation turned to books and club members as they walked down the path which had trodden on so many times.

"The moment Sue chose Wuthering Heights, I've not heard the end of it from Adam. He hates reading it even more than Carrie."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"It's a big step for her. If it weren't for you and your Carrie revolution, we'd still be boring ourselves with books only suited for Adam or Ben."

He wasn't surprised then when some old guy, probably Adam, started to tear the novel apart during the meeting. He was tempted to stand up for the supporters of Wuthering Heights, but he had no intention to be the one responsible for turning the discussion into a debate session or his first meeting would most likely end up to be his only meeting with the club.

He watched and listened, and made a very interesting observation. The readers who adored the novel were female, and those who disliked it, like Adam, were, of course, male.

As for Ben, he didn't show his face. Someone mentioned he'd been complaining about back pain, but no one seemed to be all that concerned. He wondered how different it would have been with Ben's presence around. Would it have been as chaotic?

The discussion lasted a little over an hour with them proceeding to Amelia's house after. Juliet was dangerously silent when they were having lunch, obviously miffed. It was a little like the calm before a storm, he thought.

"I cannot stand him. I really can't."

Amelia reached across the table and patted the distraught blonde's hand. "It's not like you don't know Adam and his chauvinistic ways, dear."

Her eyes flashed. "Doesn't make it any better."

"I don't think we should be affected by ol' Grumpy."

They looked at him simultaneously, having forgotten he was there.

"He is a bugger."

That elicited a giggle from Juliet, and Amelia chuckled. He grinned and resumed eating his submarine sandwich, Italian bread filled with slices of ham, bacon, cheese and lettuce.

"You've read Wuthering Heights then?"

He swallowed his mouthful of food. "Good book."

"You're the first man on this island who likes it then," Juliet said dryly. "The rest of the male species detest all the books we women choose."

"Maybe they just don't like sad stories." He leaned back, crossing his legs under the table. "Heathcliff is a great character. Very pitiful. He loved Catherine but couldn't have her." Here, he cast a quick glance at Juliet.

Amelia's lips formed a silent 'oh' whereas the object of his attention merely blinked.

He wrinkled his forehead when the silence prolonged. "What?"

"You have to forgive us, Sawyer. We're just…unused to having men like you." Amelia threw Juliet a meaningful look, who feigned ignorance. "A Heathcliff sympathizer. I know someone who'd appreciate that."

"Amelia!" A yell from the front of the house stopped their conversation.

"That would be my other guests in need of some manners," the elderly woman said as she got up. "Excuse me."

"You never cease to surprise us, James."

"Ah, well, ever heard that appearances can be deceiving?"

"I guess—"

"Hello!" Alex bounded into the room, full of vitality, interrupting them once more. Karl appeared right behind her, visibly subdued. "Boy, those sandwiches look good."

Juliet cleared her throat discreetly.

"Oh. Hello. You must be Sawyer."

"And you must be Alex."

She looked pleased. "Correct. This is Karl. He's my boyfriend."

"Alex."

"Come on, Juliet," the young brunette complained, plopping into an empty chair. "Dad's not here anyway."

"She's right," Amelia re-joined them, two giant sandwiches resting on plates similar to those already on the table. "Ben's not here. He's not spying in my house."

Both youngsters nodded their heads vigorously, but both he, and Juliet, he realized, kept theirs very still.

They left near one in the afternoon and headed to their next stop, the recreation room, where everything was exactly the way he remembered it. The pool table, the arcade games, and even the board games were stacked in the same place, but unlike when he was here during the Dharma years, the room was dark and stuffy.

He meandered further in, she trailing behind.

"Perhaps life on the island ain't looking so bad after all," he remarked off-handedly. "You come here often?"

"Not really."

"No time for fun?"

She didn't reply. He dragged his fingers lightly over the roughening dark turquoise top of the pool table. He always got a kick out of it whenever she trumped the Dharma guys at the game, and it was often. Of course, he had been the one giving her tips and hadn't expected anything less. Not from her.

"What tickles?"

He jerked his head around. "Huh?"

"You were staring at the pool balls…and…grinning."

"Oh. Uh…pool brings back some memories." He managed a smile, thankful when the odd look on her face vanished.

"Well, I suppose you can play pool with Tom. He's pretty good."

He tried not to grimace at the thought. No, he wanted to stay far, far away from Zeke.

Then they were out in the fresh air again, heading away from the houses to the jungle.

"That's the sonar fence. It keeps out wildlife. You'll be surprised at the kind of animals we get here. Best not to be out alone. You don't know what may come attacking you." She regained walking, shoes making soft, squishy sounds on the grass. "There's a beach down that way. If you don't mind walking for a bit, I can take you there."

He knew the way there, perhaps even better than she did.

Standing at the edge of the beach, they looked at the long stretch of sand that beckoned them to sink their feet into its abundance of warm particles.

We used to visit this place a great deal. You'd step in my footsteps. Every time I looked back, I'd see one set of footprints, and you'd laugh and say angels don't leave footprints on the sand.

But he did not move. He was waiting. He wanted to see what she would do.

When she bent down and undid the laces on her shoes, he followed suit, slipping off his shoes and putting them on a patch of grass, next to hers. He kept his hands in his pockets as they strolled alongside each other, afraid that if he didn't, he might reach for her hand out of habit.

"So...ya ever think of getting' off this place?" He dug his feet deeper into the sand, feeling the bits trickle between his toes. "Miss your family?"

At the painful silence that followed his words, he felt regret creep into him for unintentionally causing her hurt. For a long time, the sound of waves crashing on the shore was all that he heard.

"You know," she finally started, a tremble in her voice. "Carrie was…is," she corrected, flinching at the mistake. "It's my sister's favorite book."

He glanced sideways at her, somber.

Rachel.

"I…I haven't…seen her for years." A tear trickled from the corner of her eye and down the side of her face.

His hands gripped the inside of his pockets, wads of cloth in his fists. He'd get her home. He'd get her off this island or die trying.

He wanted to tell her. He had to tell her.

"We should go back," she said, avoiding his gaze. "It'll be getting dark soon."

A missed opportunity.

He swallowed his disappointment and retraced his steps. Her footprints lay beside his, where the tide would wash them away even before they reached the barracks.

They trekked their way back, tramping on the long grass, brushing away the occasional creeper dangling mid-air. The crickets were out in full strength whereas the chirps of the birds were getting softer with each passing minute.

"I think we should've left a little earlier. It's getting really dark."

He grinned. "Ya scared of the dark?"

"If that was the only thing I was scared of," she replied in an equally playful tone. "I think I—" At that moment, she stumbled and her sentence ended with a yelp as she fell onto the ground.

"Juliet." Her name slipped from his lips as he saw her go down. He crouched down beside her, worry written all over his face.

"I tripped."

He twisted around. A protruding tree root stood out in the diminishing light of dusk, the guilty culprit.

He turned back to her. "Ya hurt?"

"I…cut my arm."

He gently held her wrist up to the fading light, where an angry-looking cut glistened with blood.

"It's all right. Just need to wash it when I get back." She tried to brush away his concern, wincing as he helped her up. "I must've sprained my ankle," she whispered in answer to his unspoken question.

"I'll carry you."

"No, it's okay. It's not that far to the barracks."

Ignoring her weak protests, he swept her up, one arm under her knees and the other supporting her back. He covered the rest of the journey with long, even strides and within a couple of minutes, they were back. She persuaded him to let her down at the porch, assuring him that she was fully capable of making her way in.

"We'll get it washed and I'll apply the medicine for ya."

He heard her breath hiss through her teeth when the cool water ran over the wound. Once it was washed clean, he helped her to a chair.

"Better?"

"Better." She gave him a faint smile, but he didn't buy it.

"Hang on." He ran into the bathroom, the one that was situated beside her bedroom. With a quick scan around the toilet, he located the small cupboard below the mirror.

A ghost of a grin appeared. His memory served him right.

He returned to her side with the first-aid kit in hand. "Just bear with it for a little while," he told her. Soaking the cotton bud in the medication, he paused for a split-second, then, pressed it to the cut. He felt her muscles twitch. "Sorry."

He tried to clean her wound as thoroughly and painlessly as he could, having seen her grit her teeth the one time he glanced up at her. He dabbed the last part of the injury and dropped the used cotton into the plastic bag.

As the sting from the medicine slowly faded, she watched him tear open a new packet of gauze and asked, "How did you know where to find the kit?"

He kept his head down. "I guessed it. Most people put their kits in the bathrooms."

"Oh."

It was done, but he wasn't ready to leave her.

Not just yet.

He kept his hand on her arm, letting his touch linger on her skin. He lifted eyes that burned with intensity, meeting hers, and he knew.

She felt it too.

You know me, Juliet. And you loved me once.

How long it took her to tear her eyes away from his, he didn't know, but when she shifted, he released his grasp on her.

"Uh…thanks for your help," she said quietly.

He merely smiled, just a trace of sadness in his eyes.

There was a nervous flitter in her stomach. Butterflies. She hadn't those in a long time. Then again, she hadn't landed herself in a situation like this in a while.

She felt the brush of his lips, then, he pressed them against hers, softly, sweetly. Her hand crept up to his cheek, resting there as she returned his kiss with slight pressure. His lips curved into a smile and she felt hers follow suit, matching his every movement.

"Hm. You taste like sunshine, sweetheart."

The hard spray of hot water drenched her hair, streaming down her golden locks and splashing onto the shower floor. Under normal circumstances, she would have turned down the temperature but she had decided that she needed the heat to shake her up a bit.

It confounded her, those dreams that kept recurring every night for the past week. She'd dismissed them the first few times, believing they were merely the result of her thinking too much about James, because that was all her dreams had in common.

What troubled her the most was that those dreams always seemed so…real.

Not to mention, this man, whom she barely had any knowledge of apart from the information in his file, never stopped giving her the impression that he knew her inside out. Every once in a while, she would catch him staring at her and she would feel as though he was looking into her, piercing right through those protective walls she'd built around her.

She inhaled through her mouth, keeping her breath in until the tightness in her chest became unbearable, forcing her to release the air trapped within her. She reached out to turn off the water, and stepped out from the shower. The steam from the hot shower had fogged the mirror, creating a hazy reflection that stared back at her.

There were those moments where he would astound her with his little remarks and actions. The other day, he'd made her a cup of tea exactly the way she liked it, and nobody but her sister, had ever managed to do that.

It had been pouring out that very same day. She'd sat on the couch, her knees drawn to her chest, staring out the window when he'd lowered himself next to her. At that moment, he softly told her that he loved gazing at the raindrops and hearing them splatter on the roof of the house. She'd been too stunned to say a word, almost expecting him to say it was a therapeutic experience next. The words that she would have said came from his mouth instead.

Perhaps he'd known her in another life.

Within the next hour, she got dressed, blow-dried her hair and fixed a quick dinner of macaroni and cheese. She was no great chef, certainly not like Amelia, but she was able to make a decent meal.

Dusk found her seated on the floor, using the couch as a backrest, with eyes glazing over, staring unseeingly at the words printed on the book she held in her hands.

The squeak, made from the swinging of the front door, finally shook her from her thoughts, preventing her from further delving into the mystifying situation. She lifted eyes to the tall, blond man who just walked in.

"You're back. Just in time."

"In time for?" He shut the door with a force that was uncalled for. "I tell ya, one day Danny boy's gonna get it from me."

"Did you rile him again?"

"I rile him?" He scoffed, pausing in the midst of pulling off his shoes. "Surely you are familiar with his temperament."

"As I am with yours, James. It's not as though I don't know you."

All negativity vanished in that instant as he brightened. "So that means you do."

She averted his seemingly overly hopeful gaze, somewhat uncomfortable with the way he responded to her. A change of topic would come in handy right now. "You best steer clear of Danny. He acts on impulse too often. You don't wanna be near him when he blows his top."

He raised his brows as he dropped beside her on the floor. "That man ain't exactly the kind of company I want to keep, Juliet, but I got a score to settle with him."

Her forehead puckered in a frown. "I'm serious, James. Don't even think about messing with him."

He observed her silently for a little too long, then, a quick smile formed on his face. "Whatever you say, Goldilocks."

"Good." She tossed a thick book onto his lap. "Shower, cowboy, and then it's time for Latin."

His head spun endlessly with the nouns and pronouns and whatnots of the Latin language. For the past minutes, he'd been struggling to soak in the first few pages of the book that was supposed to teach him the basics of what he sure was the toughest language he'd ever come across. He loved reading and he loved books, just not this sort. Frustrated, he shoved the offending item away from him.

Why, oh why was he doing this?

"Here you go." A tall glass of lemon tea with ice cubes was set before him. Its counterpart followed after with water droplets already forming on the outside.

Oh, right. He was doing this…for her.

"How's it going?"

"Just peachy," he remarked dryly. "But let's say I'd truly appreciate it if I had a little help here. Tell me again, why do I have to put myself through this?"

"It's a requisite, James. Everyone here needs to know how to speak Latin. Language of the enlightened, so I was told." She picked up the book, seating herself next to him. "We'll go slow, okay?"

He didn't reply. Struck by the closeness of her proximity for the first time within the week, he felt his heart go into overdrive. Her eyes were a stunning blue. He was reminded of the time he once told her he could lose himself in them. Those very same eyes had a tendency to turn a stormy grey whenever she got upset.

"Ita," she was saying.

His mouth formed the word, matching hers. "Ita."

"That means yes."

He could hardly focus on her words, much less learn them, but he whispered, "Yes." His arm brushed hers by accident, making his skin tingle.

"Nōn."

He swore he was suffering from brain fog. His mouth must be on autopilot because there was no way he knew what he was speaking. Her eyes were utterly mesmerizing.

"No."

His gaze dropped to her lips. They were tempting, so tempting.

"Exspectā."

Her voice had lowered to barely a whisper, and he knew that whatever it was, she felt it too.

He hadn't been aware, but he'd been leaning in, drawn towards her, until they were only inches apart. He caught the scent of her newly washed hair. Intoxicating.

"Please."

He felt the warmth of her breath as she spoke, heard his voice murmur a husky 'please', and then, their lips met. The last thing he saw was a flash of blue before her lids fell shut.

He wasn't sure how much time passed. Their kiss could've been a few seconds, or even minutes. All he knew was that it was the sweetest experience he had in a long time. It was alluring. It was all things at once and it felt like fire running through his veins.

When they broke apart, his heart was pounding in his chest, and before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out.

"You still taste like sunshine."

He watched as the slight smile slipped off her face, and she turned pale as her mouth fell slightly open, her eyes widening.

Her reaction struck him as odd. Why would his sentence have such an impact on her unless…unless she did have some recollection about him.

He drew a sharp intake of breath. Was it possible…

She had not taken her eyes off him, but the distance between them was most certainly growing, slowly but surely. There was incredulity written all over her face, incredulity and something else that he couldn't recognize.

Should he say something? But he was at a loss. He didn't know what to say.

When she pulled herself up, he followed suit, stuttering her name as she walked away from him, hoping she'd stop.

She didn't.

In a moment of desperation, he reached to the depths of his heart, releasing the words that he'd kept trapped inside. All the while, he'd been longing to say them and now, he could. Though they were spoken in a voice choked with emotion and by someone obviously unused to the language, they did what he prayed they'd do.

They brought her steps to a halt.

Hope rose within him. She twisted around with a hesitant look. All of a sudden, he was aware of his breathing, calm and even, as he watched the conflicting emotions play across her face.

"Te Amo, Juliet Burke," he repeated clearly, his voice steady and unwavering. Only the intensity in his eyes betrayed him. "I love you."