Rye and I walk for a while in silence, but thankfully, it’s a nice enough silence that’s still filled richly with the wildness of Neverland. Twigs snapping under our feet, rivers racing, birds chirping, and Rye humming away tunelessly.
“Thank you,” I call to him. “For offering to take me away.”
He looks back and throws me a quick smile. “I want to see that about as much as you do.” He laughs. “Trust me.”
“So they’re close then?” I ask after a minute.
“Used to be.” He glances back. “They had that golden age from when Calla was about nine till she was fourteen or something, I don’t know. Back then, they were inseparable.”
“What happened when she was fourteen?”
“She turned fourteen.”
“So?” I frown.
Rye turns around and cups imaginary boobs, smirking at himself. “He couldn’t pretend she wasn’t growing up anymore.” He turns back around, touching trees gently as we pass them as though he’s greeting old friends. “But now that he’s older, they”—he spins around and cups the imaginary boobs again—“probably act more as an incentive than anything.”
I sigh.
“Don’t worry.” He gives me a quick smile. “He’ll forget about her later too.”
I sniff an indignant laugh. “Why do we like him again?”
“Beats me.” He shrugs as we step through a clearing onto a beach.
He points at a pirate ship I recognise. Gorgeous white sails that fold like duvets, dark wood, lots of navy, lots of gold. The ship’s figurehead is a tiger. I thought that was strange initially. Actually, I suppose I still find it rather odd now.
“That’s Hook’s. Do you know who that is?”
I purse my lips. “We’ve met.”
Rye glances down at me, intrigued. “Really?”
“Briefly!”
He smirks.
“What?” I frown, cheeks pink.
“And?” He says, eyebrows up, hint of a smirk a bit present. “What do you think?”
I frown defensively. “What are you making that face for?”
“Right.” He chuckles. “So you thought he was attractive.”
“What! I—” I shake my head. “No, I didn—”
“Sorry.” He rolls his eyes, grinning. “I meant dreamy.”
“No.” I scowl. “I—”？
Rye snorts, rolls his eyes, and keeps walking.
“Liar.” He calls back to me, and I chase after him down the beach and into the town, feeling a bit indignant and honestly rather embarrassed because I indeed did find the pirate to be both attractive and dreamy. That is until he murdered someone in front of me, whence I found myself, once again, dramatically unkicked.
Kind of. A bit. Well fine, I didn’t, but I should have.
And yes, sure, it was the tiniest bit attractive to be so defended, but defended so horribly! Ugh, grotesque! So actually, he isn’t dreamy, even if he is.
And besides, he isn’t. I’m just probably upset that Peter’s in a river with his hands all over the most beautiful girl in the world, whom he previously shared a deep-rooted, childhood connection with.*
“Well, well,” says a familiar voice.
I spin around and there he is. Jamison Hook. Arms folded over his now shirt-clad chest.?
I’m blushing instantly. I don’t know why I am blushing.
I say nothing, just stare up at him, and then he leans down close to me and whispers, “This here now would be the part where ye say hello, Daphne Belle Burmont-Darling.”
“It’s Beaumont.” I flick him a look.
“What is?” Rye asks, poking his head in.
I breathe out my nose. “Nothing—”
“Native.” Hook nods, and my mouth falls open in protest.
I go to say, “I don’t think you can call him tha—” but Rye cuts me off.
“Pirate.” Rye nods back at Hook, and it is then and only then that I realise they’re not actually being hostile.
“Girl.” Hook nods at me, suppressing a smile.
“Arse.” I glare at him, and his suppressed smile turns into a grin. I look over at Rye curiously. “Have your people always been on the island then?”
Hook looks between Rye and I. “Technically, they were colonists.”
I straighten myself up. “Be quiet! I don’t believe you for a second.”
Rye looks between us both and rolls his eyes, unfazed. “Calm yourselves.” Then he focuses on me. “We weren’t the first ones here.”