Ritual (Palm South University #5) - Kandi Steiner Page 0,69

She stops a few feet in front of me, crossing her arms and looking over the boat before her green eyes find mine.

“Thank you for meeting me.”

She nods, looking down at her shoes.

I want to pull her into me. I want to drop to my knees and beg for her forgiveness right here and now. But I rented the boat for a reason, and I’ve got way more in store for this girl than just a boy begging for forgiveness on a boat dock.

I reach out my hand for hers, and when she hesitantly takes it, I help her onto the boat before climbing on myself. It’s nothing fancy, a little twenty-five-foot deck boat that would be perfect for a trip to the sandbar with a group of friends. But tonight, it’ll take us to Boca Chita Key.

Cassie takes a seat at the back of the boat, and the fact that she’s letting me take her off the mainland tells me more than any words do that I still have a fighting chance here. If I were past the point of no-return, she would have fought me on the shore — or not shown up at all.

So, I put on a little music, deciding on one of her favorite artists — Jack Johnson — and we cruise out into Biscayne Bay, quiet but for the boat, the water, and the melody of “Monsoon.”

It only takes about forty-five minutes to get out to the key, and we’re greeted first by the lighthouse — one that I hope to take Cassie up in tomorrow, if she doesn’t demand I take her back to shore tonight. Chancing a glance back at her from where I’m driving, she’s not giving anything away. There’s no smile on her face, but she doesn’t seem in a hurry to run away, either.

She’s waiting for me to make my move.

I just hope it’s enough.

After I dock the boat, I grab her hand and walk her quietly onto the tiny island.

“What is this place?” she asks, looking around in wonder at the mangroves, the small, sandy shore, the crystal blue water, made darker by the sun setting over the coast.

“Boca Chita Key.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

I chuckle. “Well, we’re in college. I think we focus a little more on classes and partying than on cool places to camp.”

“Are we camping here?”

I swallow, pulling her to a stop along the shore. “I hope so.” Then, I look behind her.

She follows my gaze, and when she does, a soft gasp slips from her lips. She covers her mouth, and I hold my breath, hoping that reaction means everything I’ve set up is paying off.

Camping on the island is first-come, first-serve — so I came here early this morning, setting up a tent and working throughout the day to make it the most amazing campsite anyone could ask for. It took a little planning and a lot of figuring out how to do everything I wanted with just the power on the generator I bought for the Halloween party, but I pulled it off.

The two-person tent is cast in an orange glow, both from the setting sun and from the white string lights I hung above it. Two chairs wait by the fire, along with everything we need to make hot dogs and s’mores in a cooler and a couple reusable bags. There’s a bottle of wine in a bucket of ice that I set up just before going back to the mainland to pick her up, and two plastic wine glasses beside it.

Grabbing Cassie’s hand, I guide her toward the site, refilling the ice in the bucket as she looks around more. One peek inside the tent, and I know she’s seen that it’s filled with blankets and pillows and rose petals for a romantic touch. She closes the flap once more, standing, eyes tracing each and every detail of the scene before she looks at me.

“You did all this?”

My hands find my pockets, and I nod.

Her mouth parts, and she looks around in wonder, shaking her head. “It’s beautiful,” she whispers. “Are we the only ones out here?”

I look around at the vacant campsites. “It’s first-come, first-serve, and there are a few other spots to camp on the key. But it’s not really camping season. We very well might be.”

She nods, still taking it all in.

Everything about her is stunning in that moment — the glow of the sun on her fiery hair, the freckles dotting her cheeks, her wide,