“I’ve been here before. Patriarch, remember?”

Demetria’s expression said it all. Tough to remember when you’re always hanging around.

“Besides, I could use a change of clothes, too.” He pointed to his sorry attire.

It was amazing how quickly their attitude to Poe warmed once it became clear that he was offering to take responsibility for me. And how could I blame them? There was Spring Breaking to get on with. They hadn’t signed up to babysit a half-drowned brother who currently looked like a fully drowned rat. Within moments, the Diggirls had vamoosed, leaving me alone with Poe on the deck. I stood up at last.

“I just wanted to say—”

“That yours?” Poe interrupted, pointing to my yellow duffle. (It was the only one left on the deck.)

I nodded, noting as I did that Poe’s only luggage seemed to be the knapsack slung across his back. Well, he never had been much for fashion. Still, I remained concerned about what would happen with the clothes in that bag, as the T-shirt he wore was still so wet that it molded to his chest and shoulders. I looked away.

“You have another pair of shoes?” he said, taking in my bare feet. “The paths are all made of crushed shell. They’ll tear you up.”

I knelt and dug in the duffle until I found a pair of ballet flats. So much for showing off my pedicure.

Poe had my bag on his shoulder before I even stood up. We met Darren on the dock, where he was leaning against a pylon, head in hands.

“Feeling any better?” I asked him.

He nodded slightly, but didn’t look up. I wondered briefly if I should tell him that I didn’t blame him for my fall, but I clammed up once I caught Poe’s expression and the almost imperceptible shake of his head.

Of course. Poe would know. The last thing this teenager wanted from me was anything that carried a whiff of pity. He was already feeling guilty enough. I remembered the night Poe had ended up in the hospital after our crook. Nice to see he hadn’t matured much beyond his teens.

But neither was I capable of rolling out one of those guys’-guy faux-threatening comments in my current mental state. I couldn’t just laugh it off in any manner that would seem convincing. I think that ability was bundled with the Y chromosome.

And here we were always arguing for equality of the sexes.

So it was in silence that our little party trailed up the path and past the tour, where a man I supposed was Cavador’s caretaker was busy enlightening a knot of my brothers as to the geologic history of the island.

Maybe I was glad to skip this tour after all. My Spring Break–enthusiast Diggirls looked bored to death. As we passed, a few of my fellow knights twiddled their fingers in my direction, and George gave me a thumbs-up and raised his eyebrows. I smiled weakly in return and he looked relieved.

I’d give Cavador Key this: It may not be a luxury resort, but it sure was beautiful. The spring sunlight filtered through the leaves of shrub pines and palm trees, and the gray-white path snaked through thick palmetto ground cover toward a cluster of buildings. To my right, I saw a mangrove stand hugging the shoreline, and there were red and pink hibiscus flowers as big as my head on bushes all along the path.

We stopped by a low house hugging the path a little away from the main cluster of buildings. “Better stay here,” Poe whispered to me.

Must be the Gehrys’ house. He and Darren headed up the walk, but I don’t think the teen was interested in having the incident repeated to his parents, since he disappeared into the dark interior and shut the door in Poe’s face. Poe stood there for a moment, clearly torn between knocking or letting the whole issue slide. Personally, I’d vote the latter. I didn’t know if I wanted to know how Kurt Gehry would react to the news that Darren had almost killed me, accident or no.

He might be pleased.

After a moment, Poe returned to me. This of course is when I should have thanked him for saving my life. But for once, I, never at a loss for words, couldn’t think of anything to say that would get the job done. Eloquence deserted me. Even fluency seemed to be taking a coffee break. So instead I decided to have another coughing fit.

Poe paused on the path a few steps ahead of me and waited for me to finish.

The island was bigger than Clarissa and the others had led me to believe. At least, it seemed to take forever for us to get to the girls’ cabin. We trudged along in awkward silence, victim and savior, until finally we broke out of the scrub into a small clearing, and there it was, highly rundown, with dingy screens, a peeling green paint job, a sagging front porch, and a bright orange aluminum roof. I’d given up expecting luxury, and now merely hoped that the cabin would stand up to a rainstorm. (Doubtful.)

“There should be towels and sheets and stuff all set up for you,” Poe said, breaking the silence like a spell.

“Thank you,” I choked out. No. Not right. It sounded like I was thanking him for telling me about the linens. I reached out my arm. “No, really, P—Jamie. Thank you. How can I thank you? I could have died.”

He just looked at me, and then hefted the bag in his arms. “You’re welcome. Do you want me to take the bag in?”

“No,” I said. “I didn’t even want you to carry it this far. I could have found this place by myself.”

“It’s not a problem. Like I said, I need to change, too. So, the bag?”

“I’m fine.” I held out my hands. “Please.”

He handed me my luggage, and once again I faltered. Saying thank you wasn’t enough, even if I said it three times. Even if I said it three hundred. How could I let him carry my freaking bag after he’d saved my life? It was too stupid for words.

So it came out again. “I could have died.”

“I know.” He was quiet for a second. “That’s what happens when you don’t know how to swim.” He quirked his head in the direction of the cabin. “Go lie down for a while. Dinner’s not for hours.”

I made it up the path, my face burning with shame. Yep, way to thank the guy, Amy. And you’re supposed to be a writer.

But it wasn’t as if Poe had helped any. I mean, what kind of guy starts lecturing you about your swimming skills when you’re in the midst of confessing how you’d practically faced mortality that afternoon? Not the time, man, not the time.

The interior of the cabin was warm, and dust motes floated freely in the sunlight that sneaked through the slats and the screened-in windows. Three bunk beds were pushed against the wall, each equipped with fresh sheets, pillows, and sets of towels. There was also a lone dresser next to a sink. No closet. Lovely.

I dropped my stuff on one of the bottom bunks, then dug around in my bag until I found my pajamas and a fresh pair of underwear. I peeled off my still damp clothing, and set about seeing if the sink had hot water, hoping to save myself a trek to the shower house. Negative. I weighed the trouble of hiking back down the path against the hassle of a tepid sponge bath, and decided on the latter.

The towels were pretty scratchy and thin, but big, more like bath sheets. Beach towels, I realized. For people who go to the beach, who actually like the water. I wrapped my body in one towel, and my hair in another. Maybe I’d go sit on the porch until I felt warm again. I looked out the window.

And that’s when I saw him.

Poe was standing on the border of the clearing, acting most peculiarly. He took a few steps toward the cabin, then paused, shook his head, and marched back out. He repeated the move a few times before stomping off for good.

I stood at the window, confused as hell. Why in the world…and then it hit me, way, way harder than the water had when I’d fallen off the boat.

Poe liked me.