A/N: Hi and welcome back to the island. Thank you so much for reviewing - I love reading what you think and I love all of you like Derek loves hair products. No, like Derek loves sulking. Anyway, you get the picture - a lot. This chapter is long, but that's totally okay because we're just about at mid-point in this story and the internet says the middle chapter can be longer. And if it's on the internet it's true, amirite? Thank you thank you for continuing to read and I hope you enjoy! #addekrevolution


.-.-.

Some Bright Morning
7. time for me will be no more

.-.-.


"Derek?"

He's turned away from her, but he can feel the mattress sink a little as she joins him in the bed that suddenly feels very small.

"What?"

"Are you awake?"

"I'm answering you, aren't I?"

For a few moments she doesn't speak.

"Thank you," she says finally, softly.

"For what?" He rolls onto his back, confused.

"For … coming here with me, and –"

"I came here for Savvy. And Weiss."

"I know, I just mean – that you're, you know, pretending, or … not fighting with me when they're around, and … I just wanted to say thank you."

"Okay." He stares at the long wooden slabs of the ceiling fan above the bed.

"Okay," she whispers.

He hears her moving around, trying to get comfortable. There's no way this is a queen bed. It doesn't even feel like a full, not with the two of them both trying to get enough space right now, and then –

"Ow!"

"Sorry," she mumbles.

He forgot how sharp her elbows are. "Can't you stay on your own side?"

"I'm trying! It's small!"

"We can't all have a California King like Mark…"

He hears her inhale sharply. "Can you go five minutes without throwing him in my face, Derek?"

"You don't get the high horse here, Addison." He pushes himself so far to the edge of the bed that half his weight is pitching toward the floorboards. "You're living with him."

"Derek, I'm not, I just … " Her voice is surprisingly small, shaking a little. "You know I hate sleeping alone," she says finally.

"That's why you slept with him? Because I wasn't home?"

"No, Derek, if I slept with someone else every time you didn't come home there'd be no one left in Manhattan I hadn't slept with at this point."

"I have a demanding job." His voice is dismissive. "Last time I checked, you don't exactly have a nine to five, either."

"No, but I tried to … put you first. I looked for you, I waited for you, I showed up for you. That's all I wanted."

"So I don't show up and you screw my best friend. Great plan, Addison."

Her voice shakes a little. "It wasn't a plan. It was a … it was a mistake. And I'm sorry, Derek, I really am. I wish I hadn't done it."

"You wish you hadn't done it so much that you moved in with him?" He shakes his head. "Your story needs some work."

"It's not a story. It's the truth. Derek, I just … didn't want to be alone."

"Addison…" He punches his pillow and turns it over, trying to get comfortable.

She keeps talking, her voice thin. "You left me. I was waiting for a call from a lawyer or … you or something, Derek, but you just took off and that was it. You left."

"How long did you wait after I left before you moved in with Mark?"

She doesn't respond. For long moments they're both quiet.

"Derek," she begins softly, but he cuts her off.

"Savvy's brother, Addison … really?"

"What about him?"

"You slept with him, which you conveniently forgot to tell me. Did you move in with him, too?"

"No, I didn't. I was nineteen." Her voice trembles a little. "And it was very-"

"You can spare me the details."

"Come on, Derek, you knew when we met that I wasn't a virgin."

"That's putting it mildly."

"Derek." She sits up and he turns more fully onto his side so he doesn't have to see her. "Stop it. You … you can hate me for things I did when we were married and I know I deserve it but not for something I did when I was nineteen. You married me, Derek. You married me anyway."

"I guess I didn't really know you."

"That's not fair." Her voice is running high and shaky now. "And it's stupid. It's stupid and unfair and I'm not listening to this anymore, Derek. And you have to stop. I'm – I never mentioned it because it's ancient history, okay? You're not … you're not allowed to ruin something that was actually…"

"…actually what?" he asks coldly.

"Nothing. Just forget it."

He hears fumbling, feels the mattress give and release. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

He sits up on his elbows to see her rummaging in the refrigerator. "Moonshine," he guesses. Just like Addison to deal with her problems in a healthy manner.

"White lightning," she corrects him, "and you don't have to sound so judgmental; you don't care what I do, remember?"

"I remember," he says coolly. "Just keep it down, please, so I can sleep."

"I'm not going to bother you, Derek, I'm going out on the porch."

"Fine." He punches his pillow back into a more pillow-like shape and turns his back to her.

"Derek…"

He groans at her tone, the placating one.

"Now what?"

"If I get eaten by an alligator … just remember that I promised Kathleen's girls my shoe collection."

And she lets the door swing shut behind her.

He flops back down, giving up on punching the pillow and just using it to cover his face instead.

.-.-.

She sinks into the porch swing, folding one pajama-clad leg underneath her and using her slippered foot to push off the wide wooden slats. The slippery fabric of her pajamas makes her feel a bit like she's sinking, or swimming. She hugs herself against the cool breeze moving in off the river. The swing makes a rhythmic sound as the chains move back and forth, one-two-three, one-two-three, he-hates-me, he-hates-me.

She draws a long, shaky breath. Closing her eyes for a moment, she listens to the soft island sounds around her: the movement of the water, the wind blowing through the reeds, the chirping of tree frogs, the giggling of a woman …

Wait.

Her eyes open and she sees a blonde ponytail swinging as its owner is swept into a passionate embrace in the reeds a few feet away.

Addison coughs politely to warn them of her presence.

"Ooh! I didn't see anyone there." The woman turns around giggling, and she sees it's Savvy's cousin Morgan. "Addie, gosh, it's late." She smiles, looking a little embarrassed. "I saw you before at the hearth but … um, it's been a long time."

"It has." Addison smiles. "You're a lot more grown up than you were as a junior bridesmaid."

"I'll say," the man adds, and Morgan giggles.

"Ignore him. This is Tyler, my husband," and Addison can tell from her tone that they're newlyweds, and sure enough, "we just got married in July. Ty, this is Addison, you know, Savvy's college roommate? We saw her and her husband at dinner?"

"Right." He nods, holding out a hand for her to shake, and Addison stands up, feeling a little foolish in her pajamas with a mason jar of white lightning – as yet untouched – resting on the wooden table next to the swing.

"So." She smiles at the happy couple. "What are you doing on this side of the island?"

"Same thing anyone does on the beach at this hour … looking for starfish." She grins at Addison with a wink.

"How about you?" Tyler frowns, looking concerned. "Why are you out here all alone? Where's that husband of yours?"

"He's … sleeping, I think."

Tyler exchanges a glance with Morgan. "Won't he worry if he wakes up and you're not there?"

"Um…" Addison tries to figure out how to answer that tactfully.

The door to Red Fox creaks open before she can answer; Derek stands in a crack of darkness, squinting a little. His hair is sleep-tousled in a terribly familiar way that makes Addison's stomach clench a little bit.

"I heard voices," he says by way of explanation.

"See?" Tyler indicates Derek with his head. "Sorry we woke you," he says. "We were just leaving."

"Bye, y'all," Morgan says casually, linking her arm through Tyler's. They make it only a few steps before stopping to kiss again, Morgan's giggling wafting through the quiet night.

Addison turns to see Derek is watching them too.

"Newlyweds," she explains.

Derek nods, leaning against the door jamb. "Think we should warn them?"

To her surprise, he's actually smiling a little, which takes some of the sting out of his words.

"Derek…"

"I'm going back to bed," he says abruptly.

"Derek, wait."

He turns to her expectantly. He's wearing a grey t-shirt with the faded insignia of the baseball team he played on for charity once as a senior resident. She bought him his plaid flannel pajama bottoms; they're red and green – Christmas, our season, and he told her he didn't even mind that they were probably hideously expensive because they were so comfortable. The shirt is clinging to his torso in a way that makes her want to walk straight into his arms. Forgive me. You'll forgive me eventually, right?

She fights confusion along with her exhaustion. She's tired; she doesn't know what she's thinking. She just remembers being young so young once, was it medical school, I would go anywhere with you.

Or maybe there's just something in the sea air that's making her feel funny.

"Addison … what is it?"

"I'm sorry," she whispers, surprising herself a little. "I'm sorry about everything."

He studies her for a moment. "Don't drink too much," he says, and closes the door behind him.

.-.-.

She wakes like she does most mornings: before the alarm, in stages, and the first one is the nicest: her cheek against his heartbeat, his warmer body – he's always warmer – firm and strong underneath hers. She exhales a little sigh and cuddles closer. They need to get up for work, but another minute or two until the alarm goes off won't-

And then a loud clanging – like an old-fashioned bell – rips through the room, and she jumps, and so does he, underneath her, and -

"Addison? What are you doing?"

She pulls away like she's been electrocuted. Because they're not in the sleigh bed she painstakingly picked out and that clanging was definitely not the alarm on her blackberry. They're on St. Cera's, and they're … whatever they are now … and Derek is looking at her much like he did that time they woke up in the Hamptons house and there was a mosquito perched on his wrist just waiting to drink his blood.

"Sorry," she says quickly. "I'm sorry. Just – habit or … muscle memory, sorry." Her cheeks burning, she scoots quickly back to her side of the bed, pulling the covers along with her.

"If this is your attempt to get me to sleep on the floor tonight so you can have the whole bed. … you can forget it."

"Okay," she says in a small voice, sitting up to draw her knees into her chest and hanging on tightly. She watches Derek swing his legs out of bed, the same way he always has. It's too early for the defenses she needs, for her not to want to crawl across the bed and press herself against his back like she used to when he'd get up, seeking his heat and the comforting feeling of his muscles against her.

"Are you cold?"

"Huh?" She glances at him.

"You're hugging yourself." He reaches into the carved wooden chest at the foot of the bed, pulling out an extra blanket that he tosses to her.

"Oh … thanks." She wraps the blanket around herself – it's a soft grey knit – and waits to feel warmer.

It's not what she wanted … but it's not nothing, either.

.-.-.

"Coffee," he mumbles, staggering across the wide wooden floorboards of the unfamiliar room. There's no coffeemaker in the room – it's not a hotel exactly, he reminds himself. Which is unfortunate because he needs caffeine so badly right now he's almost willing to settle for moonshine.

"There'll be coffee at the hearth. I think." Addison is still sitting against the headboard, he notices, wrapped in a grey knit blanket. There's a definite chill wafting through the room; the morning is crisp and it's too early for the strong sun he remembers from their arrival yesterday.

Right, the hearth. For mandatory breakfast duty.

But first … coffee. He spots a thick white ceramic mug sitting on the dresser.

"We bring our own mugs," Addison says, apparently noticing where he's looking. "To the hearth, I mean. That's how they do it."

"But there's just one mug here."

"Oh." She shrugs a little. "Maybe it's one per room then. You know … conservation and all. I guess we have to share."

Great.

He's ready before she is – the apocalypse could come and he'd still be ready before she is – but he's surprised by how quickly she gets dressed. He's waiting on the patio barely five minutes, tapping his foot against the floorboards, the empty white mug in one hand, before she breezes through the door.

She's dressed casually again, but warmer for the chilly morning in jeans, a thermal shirt, and a lightweight vest he's almost positive he bought for her years ago to try to convince her to go camping with him – figuring fashion was the quickest way to her heart. (Wilderness chic, that was what the saleswoman at Barney's called it.) Her hair is scraped back in a ponytail and she's not wearing makeup, leaving her face looking surprisingly young and almost … innocent.

Well. Appearances can be deceiving.

"You ready to, um…"

"Yeah." He starts walking without looking at her and lets her lead the way down the path that's almost familiar at this point, with the water on their right side and the endless green of the central, unsettled part of the island to their left.

They're not the first ones at the hearth. Beau and his wife are both already there along with several of their children, and another blonde woman he doesn't recognize is there as well. There's already a fire going in the big stone pit, with a large grill set across it. A huge, empty cast iron pan sits on one side, and Derek can see a cooler that presumably holds food resting on the smoothed-down natural floor. It feels early – very early – but the cool morning air feels busy and bustling, interrupted with the cry of gulls down the beach and the sounds of children playing.

"You made it!" Beau smiles at them, and to Derek's relief gestures at a camping percolator much like the one Derek bought himself – except significantly larger. "Coffee?"

"Yes, please." Addison beams, taking the mug from Derek's hand and holding it out to Beau.

"Cream?"

"Yes," Derek says, at the same time as Addison replies, "No."

Beau looks from one of them to the other.

"I don't suppose there's an extra mug…" Derek's voice trails off as Beau shakes his head.

"Nope. Sorry. Guess you'll just have to figure it out."

Is it his imagination or does Beau seem amused?

"Okay." Addison takes the mug from Beau and closes her eyes as she inhales the scent of the strong coffee like she always does, even with terrible, over-brewed hospital coffee. "I'll drink half, Derek, and then you can put cream in the other half."

"Fine."

It takes her no time at all to gulp half the mug; Derek adds cream from a glass jug to the other half and makes short work of it.

"Refill?" Beau is holding out his hand, smiling again.

They drink three cups of coffee, fast, in this strange assembly line: Beau filling the mug each time and passing it to Addison, who drinks half black before handing it to Derek, who adds cream, finishes the mug, then gives it back to Beau for a refill.

"Okay." Addison is smiling now. "I feel much better."

"Good." Beau folds his arms, surveying the hearth. "Because there's a lot to do."

Derek sees another blonde woman and a tall, dark haired man heading their way pulling an old-fashioned wagon filled with crates of – presumably food. He remembers that although the island is small, they need to cook breakfast for everyone on it, which as far as he can count …

Well, he's not sure. Thirty? Forty? He hasn't even cooked breakfast for four in as long as he can remember, much less forty.

"Meat!" The woman greets them cheerfully, indicating the crate filled with plump links of sausage.

"Eggs," the man adds, indicating another crate. Derek peers in to see eggs that look very different from the ones he buys at the store: they're uneven in size, some a pale blue and others tan, a few a greyish color in between.

"You're good to the chickens, the chickens are good to you," the man says cheerfully.

Derek looks at the first crate. "Is the sausage local too?"

"Of course," Beau says.

"There are pigs on the island?"

"There's a pig farmer on the island. The pig farm is back on the mainland." It's the woman who arrived with the crate – she looks like a younger version of Savvy, he sees now, taller with a high blonde ponytail and a blue-checked apron. Derek can't keep all their names straight except he knows all the girls were named after cities in Georgia. Is this one Atlanta? Macon? It probably won't do to guess.

"There's a pig farmer on the island? Where?" He looks around.

"Here," the woman says.

"You're a pig farmer?"

"Don't sound so surprised." She laughs at him. "And the pigs live great lives on our farm before they end up on the table. My kids are always saying they the pigs get treated better than they do."

"Cammie, you're too much." Beau smiles at her.

"Derek ... you don't have to be rude to Savvy's family," Addison whispers when they've turned back to poking through the ingredients for breakfast.

"I wasn't! I was just surprised."

"By Camden?"

"The pig farmer is Camden?" Isn't that in New Jersey? Must be one in Georgia too. "Well, yeah. I'm just saying she looks more like ... an underwear model than a pig farmer."

"Oh nice, Derek. What do you know about underwear models, anyway?"

"One of the interns in my new hospital happens to be a former underwear model," he says smugly, and Addison rolls her eyes. "…not the one I'm seeing, don't worry," he adds in a tone he knows is patronizing.

He turns to the sausages, examining the links.

"Wait."

He turns back to Addison. "What?"

"Did you just say not the one I'm seeing?"

"So?"

"So … you're seeing an intern?" She sounds horrified.

He could kick himself – that wasn't how he planned to-

"Wow," Addison shakes her head. "Dating an intern. God, Derek, that is just … tacky."

"Oh, I'm sorry, what's not tacky about screwing my best friend?"

"Daddy, what does screwing mean?"

Derek looks down to see one of Beau's boys, who has been neatly stacking the cardboard egg cartons next to them.

"It means using a Phillips on a fastener when you're building something, son," Beau says, appearing next to him and glaring at Derek, who mutters an apology.

"Maybe the two of you should focus more on cooking," Beau suggests, "and less on … fasteners."

"Right." Derek locates a large tin bowl and starts cracking eggs into it; there's a metal whisk in the crate they can use for scrambling. At least this is something he can do. He rests the bowl on the stone ledge at the top of the circle as he works, relieved to be doing something he can do well. He's a world-class surgeon, after all, and while he may not be accustomed to cooking breakfast, his hands are nothing if not accurate. His hands don't make mistakes.

"Mister Derek!"

Something is pulling on his shirt and he looks down to see a small blonde girl. She points at the bowl. "You're not s'posed to have the shells in there.'

"I know that," he says.

"Oh."

He feels another tug on his shirt.

"Yes … " He tries to remember her name.

"…Avery," she supplies.

"Right. Avery. What is it?"

"There's a lot of shells in there."

"Well…" He glances into the bowl, where numerous sharp little shards are floating among the eggs. The multicolored shells make it even more obvious.

"You have to get 'em out," she says patiently.

"I know," he tells her again, and reaches in to get the biggest one ... which promptly slides away from his fingers. Damn it. He tries again ... and the shell slips away from him at the last minute. The egg whites are slipping viscously around his hand, and the yolks are starting to break from the pressure, hiding the shells further. Damn it.

Avery is still watching him.

"Want me to help you get 'em out?"

He looks at her small fingers.

"Yes, please," he admits.

Avery beams and holds her arms up; Derek lifts her onto the stone bench so she can sit next to the bowl, and she dutifully fishes out every piece of shell.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

There's a loud sizzling noise just then. He looks over to see Addison is adding butter – at least he hopes it's butter and not lard, but he won't think too much about it – to the cast-iron pan sitting atop the grill.

"I'll cook the eggs." Addison reaches for the bowl, "and you can cook the sausage."

"I already cracked all the eggs," he protests.

"Well, I don't want to touch the sausage," she hisses, and he swallows a sarcastic reply. Only Addison can have no problem being elbow deep in a pregnant woman but refuse to lay a finger on raw meat if she can help it.

"Fine." He hands her the tin bowl and sets about placing the sausages on the grill; there are metal tongs, and he's not really sure what needs to be done other than … heat. So he stands there and watches them sizzle, figuring if he screws anything up beyond repair, hopefully Avery will notice before it's too late.

Meanwhile, Addison is standing on the other side of the fire pit, scowling into the cast iron pan. He has a moment of pleasure that she seems more lost than he is in this camping version of a kitchen.

"Need a hand, Addison?"

She glares at his overly cheerful tone. "I know how to make eggs, Derek."

"Really? I've never seen you make eggs."

"Just because you haven't seen me do something doesn't mean I don't know how to do it! I can do a lot of thing. I am a surgeon."

"Then you must know you have to actually scramble your … patients, unless you're trying to make an omelet."

"I know that," she says hastily, sticking the whisk into the pan and giving it a few whirls. "And maybe you should check on your own patients, Derek – those sausages are burning," she adds with an exaggerated sniff.

"They are?" Derek pokes at them experimentally with the tongs. In his experience, sausages are done when his mother or one of his sisters takes them off the stove. How is he supposed to know when they're finished? And whose idea was it to cook over an open hearth, anyway? Addison doesn't look like she's enjoying herself much more than he is; strands of long hair have come down from her ponytail and she's flushed from the heat of the fire pit; she keeps swiping an arm across her face and as a result there's a trail of butter along one cheek that he's pretty sure she doesn't know is there.

She catches him looking. "What?"

"Nothing."

And through all this, Beau is relaxing on a log bench with a cup of coffee. Derek uses every ounce of willpower he has not to glare at him.

There's smoke rising from the cast iron pan now, and when he peers over to her side again the bright yellow eggs have turned a worrying shade of tan.

"Addison –"

"What now?" She glares at him.

"Nothing," he says mildly. "Just, if those eggs are your patients … you might need a crash cart."

"Derek, just leave me alone!" She whirls around, annoyed, somehow knocking the pan off the grill in the process.

"Addison!"

She's managed to jump out of the way before the eggs or the pan can hit her – they've splattered on the smoothed-down floor of the hearth instead – but she must have hit the pan with her non-potholdered hand, because she curses and stuffs her finger into her mouth.

"Look what you made me do!"

Okay, he feels a little bad now.

Beau and Lily are at their sides. "Addie, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she says, her voice muffled around her hand.

They don't look convinced, both of them glaring at Derek. He sighs inwardly, remembering their agreement.

"Let me see," he says, turning back to Addison and reaching tentatively toward her.

She doesn't move. Derek sees Beau and Lily exchange a glance.

"Addison, come on," he says impatiently, wrapping his fingers around her wrist and pulling her hand away from her face.

"Let go." She scowls as he inspects the mark on the back of her hand.

"Addie, would you just – let me look," he mutters. "You burned your hand."

"Really? I didn't notice. Good thing you're here to – ow!" She tries to pull her hand back when he carefully probes the area around the burn, bringing his arm with it since he doesn't release her wrist. "You did that on purpose," she hisses.

"No I didn't, stop being ridiculous."

"Derek, let go of me," Addison snaps, apparently forgetting her end of the bargain and attempting to pry his hand off with her uninjured one, then letting out a noise of frustration.

"Just ... sit down and stop flipping out." He pushes her toward one of the rough-hewn log benches and waits for her to lower herself onto it

"Mama, why is he being so mean?" He turns around to see another one of Beau's little sons – or someone else's, there are so many blond children on this island there's no way to keep them separate.

"He's just grumpy." Lily shoots Derek a look that makes clear that had better be the answer. "Hey Addie … you all right?"

"She's fine," Derek repeats.

"Here." The underwear-model-pig-farmer passes him a first-aid kit. "I may not be a doctor, but I am a mother, so … have at it."

Addison is sitting on the log bench, glaring at him, holding her injured hand in the uninjured one.

Sighing, Derek takes the first aid kit and sits down next to her.

"Everyone is looking," he says quietly, turning his face toward her. "And I can see Savvy coming down the path. So if you still want people to think…"

"Fine, here." She holds out her hand.

The burn is just a small slash along the side of her pinky finger, only the first layer of skin affected; it could have been much worse. Someone passes him a cloth soaked in cool water; he places it over the burn.

Addison leans toward him, her long hair falling to cover them, and whispers, is everyone still looking?

He pulls back and nods, and she makes a face.

"Ow," she frowns when he removes the cloth and pats the injury dry.

"Sorry." He adds ointment and a loose gauze wrap, trying not to look at their audience.

"There," he mutters, not looking at her. "Done."

She's probably going to get out of kitchen duty now, too. He's preparing to stand up when a little voice cuts into his thoughts.

"Mister Derek…" He looks up to see Beau's daughter standing in front of the two of them with her hands on her hips.

"Yes, Avery?"

"You're not done yet."

"I'm not?"

"No, 'cause you forgot to kiss it."

"I forgot to … wait, what?"

"You're s'posed to kiss the owie after you put on the band-aid," she explains patiently.

"Oh. Um … I think that's just when kids hurt themselves, Avery."

"Nuh-uh." She shakes her head, blonde ringlets moving from side to side. "My daddy did when my mama cutted her leg, I was there."

"Right." Derek nods slowly. "Uh … okay."

He braves a glance at the gathering crowd: Savvy, Boswell, who's joined her, Beau, and Lily all look amused; Beau's children seem fascinated, and when he turns his head, he sees that Addison looks sheepish.

Avery, on the other hand, looks determined, and the sooner he finishes the sooner he can stand up – so he braces himself.

Lifting Addison's injured hand carefully, and steadfastly refusing to meet her eyes, he presses his lips quickly a safe distance from the gauze.

He raises his eyes afterwards, in spite of himself, and they meet hers.

For a moment, they freeze.

And that's when he realizes they are sitting on a log bench in the middle of nowhere and the breakfast they painstakingly tried to cook for everyone on the island is scattered in the grass and he just let a tiny little girl convince the most sought-after neurosurgeon on the east coast to … kiss an owie.

Addison's lips twitch first and then he can't help laughing too. He still holding her hand in the air and she has her other hand pressed to her mouth now, smothering giggles while he tries to get control of himself. It's just that he can't not laugh when she's laughing like this, he's never been able to; the musical sound of it always sets him off, and this is so ridiculous, so funny –

Except then he remembers where they are and why, and what happened to their marriage, and the moment is lost. The laughter dies on lips; realizing he's still holding her injured hand, he sets it down carefully on her leg and then looks away.

She goes quiet too then, gazing down at her lap.

"Addie … did that husband of yours just laugh?" Beau's voice cuts into the uncomfortable silence, sounding impressed rather than aggressive. "That's island magic for you, all right."

Addison glances quickly at Derek, then back to her lap. "I should, uh … help clean up the eggs."

"Right." Derek nods. "I'll get the … sausages."

He watches her join the others who are cleaning up, Savvy immediately ordering her not to try to help with her injured hand. Thankfully, Camden has attended to the sausages while he was treating his patient; they're a little blackened but they look … somewhat edible, at least.

"Hey, Derek."

He turns, tongs in hand, to see Beau looking at him.

"Addie said you like to fish?"

He nods warily.

"You want to come out with us after breakfast?"

Boswell nods, apparently seconding the invitation.

"With, uh, with the two of you?" Derek looks from one of them to the other.

"That's right. You in?"

No. Absolutely not. There's no way he's going to trap himself on the open water with two men who've made clear they don't like him, one of whom slept with Addison.

He opens his mouth to refuse as politely as possible.

"…sure," he says weakly, and both men smile broadly at him.

Damn magic island.


TBC. Hopefully soon. Sooner if you review (she says shamelessly, because she is shameless). xoxo and thank you!

Chapter title from Just a Closer Walk with Thee, traditional/author unknown. All the chapter titles for this story come from hymns but I bet you already knew that...