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half.
    “Mine,” he said, lifting the fruit closer when I took a moment too long to take it.
    My eyebrows knitted with confusion. If that was his, why was he holding it out for me?
    “Mine,” he repeated, practically dropping it into my hands when I stayed frozen.
    Still trying to figure out what he was saying, I managed to grab the fruit before it fell to the sand. Was this his way of stating that this was his fruit he’d gathered and prepared so that I’d realize I was somehow in his debt? Was it his way of letting me know that I owed him and when the time came, he expected me to pay up? Or was mine some word he’d latched onto and substituted it for every other word in the English language? For all I knew, mine could have been a word in a different language that meant something else entirely.
    I didn’t know. But as he stood there, holding his lesser half of the fruit and waiting for me to take the first bite, I accepted that I didn’t need to know. Wherever this journey led, wherever I wound up as a result, I’d found a measure of peace I hadn’t expected to ever really find in this lifetime. Whatever came next was an afterthought because, for the first time in my life, my soul felt at rest.
    Taking a bite, I smiled at him as I savored the juicy sweetness of the fruit. “Good.” I took another bite, feeling juice run down my chin. “Thank you.”
    Tarzan watched me eat, his light eyes softening just enough for me to notice. He gently drew my hand to his chest. Holding it there, he pressed my palm into it. His eyes never broke contact once.
    “Mine.”

6
    Jane
    A fter the first few days went by, I lost track of time. I didn’t worry about keeping track of the days that passed because they didn’t matter. I didn’t need to know if it was Thursday or Friday or how many days I’d been missing. I didn’t need to worry about appointments or showing up on time or anything like that. I didn’t need to know the exact time, at least not past what the sun’s position in the sky could tell me. Sunrises bled into sunsets, days drifted into weeks, until my life before the island felt almost like a dream.
    In the time I’d been on the island, I’d gotten stronger. Not only had I learned where the fresh water sources were so I could make water runs, I’d figured out how to climb a papaya tree all on my own. I kept to the shorter ones still, but it wouldn’t be long before I’d be scaling the tall ones Tarzan did. He’d managed to teach me everything through demonstration, as he remained silent, other than throwing out his favorite one-syllable word every so often.
    I’d managed to learn from him everything I needed to know in order to survive, without him speaking a single word of instruction. Our connection had deepened, almost to the point I felt as though I could read his thoughts at times and I knew that there’d been times he’d read mine. It was odd how silence could be so telling. How quiet could be so revealing.
    I still didn’t know his name or his story or his history, but I didn’t need to know any of that to feel like I knew him. I think he felt the same way about me.
    We settled into a routine that didn’t change much on any given day. Every night we fell asleep the way we had that first night after the storm, our bodies fitted together, his strong arms sheltering me. Every morning we woke up together, his body giving mine the same kind of pleasure. He held me close until I stopped quivering in his arms, then he headed out to catch our breakfast. He never allowed me to repay the favor, despite my regular attempts. I knew he was just as aroused as I was—I could feel it every morning straining against my body—but he wouldn’t allow reciprocation. He gave me mine, then he carried on with the day.
    No matter how insistent I was or how many attempts I made, he wouldn’t allow it. After holding my wrists behind my back until I stopped struggling, he’d move his mouth outside of my ear and