Sam's eyes flickered with disappointment as she watched her boyfriend retreat into denial once again.
But she forced a smile onto her face.
"You made your famous chili. Did something good happen?"
"Uh..."
Jared flinched, embarrassment coloring his cheeks. He didn't know how to tell her that he had punched his boss and gotten fired. Again.
"You know me," he mumbled, dodging her gaze. "Chili and quinoa bread are the only things I can cook."
Sam went silent. The mood in the trailer plummeted.
Jared wasn't stupid. He realized instantly that Sam already knew. She had dozens of admirers on the island—one of them must have eagerly told her the news.
A wave of irrational anger rose in his chest.
Since convincing Sam to date him last year, Jared had lived in a constant state of euphoria mixed with deep insecurity. He knew he had hit the jackpot with her. Sam was kind, hardworking, and stunningly beautiful.
He also knew she was too good for him. Any one of the local business owners or wealthy tourists would kill to give her a better life.
That insecurity was the fuel for his obsession. Every time he failed in the real world, he retreated to his fantasy of finding pirate gold and proving everyone wrong.
Sam's smile was strained now. "The time before last, you made chili because your ex-girlfriend came back to the island. The last time, it was because you found a pregnant stray dog."
She tried to make a joke of it, to lighten the heavy atmosphere.
But Jared, defensive and prickly, snapped.
"The storm a few days ago churned up the seabed," he blurted out. "Lots of wreck debris washed into the shallows. You know Jin? He found a gold cross on the north beach yesterday."
Sam's smile vanished completely. "So... that's why you made the chili?"
Jared couldn't look her in the eye. He heard the exhaustion in her voice.
"I'm going to take the boat out. I have to try."
Sam opened her mouth to argue, but stopped. She had had this fight a hundred times. It never changed anything.
After a long silence, she spoke quietly.
"I took a side job as a private guide. Starting tomorrow, I'll be taking a tourist around the island and the local waters for a few days."
"Man or woman?"
Jared's head snapped up, his "treasure hunter" reverie instantly replaced by jealousy.
Sam frowned, annoyed by his tone. "A man."
Jared's face darkened instantly. "Can't you turn it down?"
Sam looked at him, disbelief warring with disappointment.
"The pay is two hundred US dollars a day," she said flatly.
Jared licked his lips. He knew what that kind of money meant for them. It was a fortune. But the thought of his girlfriend spending all day alone with a rich tourist made his stomach turn.
He opened his mouth to tell her to quit, to demand she stay away from him.
But Sam cut him off, her voice devoid of emotion.
"We have no money, Jared. The food is almost gone. And your boat... if you want to fix it, you need parts. Do you really think that rust bucket can make it out to sea without repairs?"
Sam waited. Part of her desperate heart hoped he would be a man—that he would forbid her from going, promise to find a real job, and take care of things.
But she was disappointed. Again.
Jared's face was a mask of sullen anger, but he didn't say no. He needed the money.
Sam saw his silence for what it was: permission bought with her dignity. Even for someone as grounded as her, a sliver of regret pierced her heart.
"I'm going to bed. I have to be up early tomorrow."
A boat horn sounded in the distance. Sam turned and walked away, not wanting him to see the look on her face.
Left alone on the rotting deck of his father's boat, Jared watched her go. Shame and rage boiled over, and he stomped his foot violently.
CRACK.
The rotten wood gave way.
"Ah!"
Jared's leg plunged through the deck, sending him sprawling onto the fiberglass with a pained yelp.
"Hahaha!"
Laughter drifted across the water.
A converted salvage trawler was passing by. On the bridge, a bearded man in sunglasses watched the scene with amusement.
"Hey, Jared! Heard you got fired again! Trouble in paradise with Sam?"
It was Bates. A local rival. Unlike Jared, Bates came from money and ran a successful (if shady) salvage operation with a real crew and real equipment.
Jared pulled his leg out of the hole, his shin scraped and bleeding. He shot Bates the middle finger.
"Screw you, Bates."
Bates just laughed louder. "Your boat looks like firewood, man. Want my crew to patch it up for you?"
"I don't need your charity!"
"Suit yourself," Bates called out, leaning over the railing. "You know, you're wasting your talent. Come work for me. You're the best diver on the island besides Sam."
"I told you," Jared spat. "We're partners or nothing. I find the spots, you provide the gear, fifty-fifty split."
Bates shook his head, chuckling at the audacity. "Fifty-fifty? You're delusional, kid."
He slapped the window of his wheelhouse. "Let's go."
The trawler blasted its horn and motored away, leaving Jared alone with his bleeding leg and his broken boat.
The next morning.
Hunter woke up well after sunrise.
Yesterday, after securing Sam, he had gone to Nassau to stock up on groceries since Paradise Island lacked a proper supermarket. He spent the night cross-referencing Stansfield's treasure maps with modern nautical charts, working until 3:00 AM.
Thanks to his enhanced constitution, four hours of sleep was all he needed to fully recharge.
He took a cold shower and walked into the kitchen of the seaside villa.
He was just dicing beef for a "Hunter-style" tomato beef stew when the doorbell rang.
Hunter wiped his hands and opened the door.
Standing on his porch was Sam.
She was wearing a tank top and denim cut-offs so short they were barely legal. The tank top was loose enough to reveal the flash of a brightly colored bikini top underneath.
She looked fresh, sexy, and ready for work.
Hunter smiled.
"Good morning, Sam."
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