CHAPTER 51: A SURPRISE

Georgia’s POV

"A kiss..."

Nick said it right to my face—brazen and shameless. For a second, I was ready to throw the bag at him again. But then I paused.

Something was changing in him.

The cold, uptight, all-business Captain I’d met just days ago was slowly fading. In his place was someone warmer, more daring... playful even.

Without a word, I leaned in and gave him a quick smack on the cheek, then pointed both hands at the tree. "There. You got your kiss. Now climb."

But the man didn’t move. Instead, he planted both hands on his hips and looked at me like I’d just insulted his dignity.

"That’s not a kiss," he said, dead serious. "I’m not a toddler, Georgia. I want a real one. I’m about to climb that damn tree and risk my life just to get your coconuts. What if I slip, break my neck, and die? The least you can do... is give me one proper kiss. On the lips."

And just like that, Captain Nicholas Knight turned into a full-blown drama king.

A dangerously persuasive one.

I let out a long, exhausted sigh and rolled my eyes. There was no winning with this man. Either I gave in now, or he’d drag this out until the moon was up and we’d still be coconut-less and starving.

"Fine. One kiss. That’s it. No more theatrics after this, alright? It’s getting late and I want to go back," I muttered, already regretting my life choices.

Nick grinned and lowered his head slightly, waiting like a smug bastard because he knew I wouldn’t reach him otherwise.

I tiptoed and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, simple, chaste, just to shut him up.

But the moment our lips met, his arms shot around my waist, dragging me against him. His mouth crushed mine with heat and hunger. I gasped at the sudden movement, and that was all the opening he needed. His tongue slid into my mouth, claiming it like he owned it.

I didn’t push him away. I didn’t want to.

When he finally pulled back, breathless and slow, he kissed my forehead and whispered, "Thanks. That gave me the courage I needed."

Then he walked toward the tree like he had just had his last kiss before war.

What the actual hell?

That tree wasn’t even that high, maybe ten, twelve feet tops. He didn’t need courage. He needed a spotlight and a stage.

Unbelievable. My very own drama king. But if he gets those damn coconuts, I’ll shut up, at least for now.

He scaled the tree like it was nothing. No hesitation, no struggle, just swift, confident movements. It must be all that time he spent training on ships. In no time, he sliced the coconuts off their stalks and dropped them just like that.

I moved quickly, helping him tie them down with the rope for easy transport. Then, without wasting a second, we made our way to the rocky shore to search for seashells.

My eyes landed on something scattered between the flat rocks, dark green, glistening, and swaying gently with the waves.

Seaweed.

I bolted toward it and crouched down, running my fingers through the slick strands. A smile tugged at my lips. These were definitely edible. Jackpot.

"Nick!" I called, holding up the dripping handful. "Look! More food!"

He didn’t share my excitement. In fact, he looked appalled.

"What is that?" he asked warily, taking slow steps toward me.

"It’s seaweed," I said, grinning. "Perfect with mussels or oysters."

He still looked unconvinced. "You’re sure we can eat that?"

I laughed. "Just trust me, Mr. Rich-kid. This isn’t poison."

He gave me a look, half amused, half horrified.

"I’ll gather these. You go get the shells," I said, already piling the seaweed into the bag.

To my surprise, he didn’t argue. Just turned and did exactly as I told him.

I gathered all the seaweed I could find, sorting them quickly by type—sea grapes, guso, and pyropia. My heart raced with excitement. Pyropia was a rare find. That’s the kind used in making nori.

I rushed to rinse them clean, then spread the pyropia flat across a sunlit rock to dry. It wouldn’t be perfect, but it would do. Survival didn’t ask for gourmet.

As soon as I finished, I scanned the shore. Nick was still at work, prying oysters from the rocks with his knife. Focused. Determined. Shirtless. Distractingly hot.

I stepped forward to join him, but froze when he barked, "Stop!"

He turned his head sharply, eyes narrowing. "The rocks here are slippery. Don’t go here. I’m almost done, just stay on the shore."

There was no room for argument in his voice. So I held still, heart thudding—not from fear, but from the strange heat that pulsed through me every time he looked at me like that. Like I was his to protect.

This was starting to feel way too real. Sure, we agreed to get married, but only because we had a shared goal, a deal that made sense for both of us.

Yes, we’ve done things, intimate things. But that didn’t automatically mean we were in a relationship, right? We’re adults. We consented. It was heat, chemistry, timing. Nothing more... wasn’t it?

Then why was he acting like I belonged to him?

Maybe I was just reading into it too much. Maybe he was just being... thoughtful. Polite. A gentleman.

Still, when he finished, he rushed over, grinning, almost running.

"What’s going on?" I asked, brows furrowed.

He slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled something out. "Give me your hand. And close your eyes," he said, eyes gleaming. "I have a surprise. You’re going to love this."

I hesitated. My heart thudded in my chest like a warning I couldn’t decipher. Still, I lifted my hand, slowly, and shut my eyes.

His fingers brushed against my palm, warm and sure. Then, something cool and hard settled onto it.

"Okay," he whispered, voice softer now. "Open them."

I blinked my eyes open and gasped.

"No way!" I exclaimed, not believing what he had found.