He drops to one knee and only then does Ayers get it: the second surprise.

“This is why I went to St. Thomas,” he whispers. He pulls a box out of the pocket of his swim trunks and says into the microphone so that every single person they work and live with on the tiny island that is St. John USVI can hear, “Ayers Wilson, will you marry me? Will you be my wife?”

Ayers isn’t sure where Cash is, but she can feel his eyes boring into her. Swan Seeley claps a hand over her mouth and then everyone starts chanting, “Say yes! Say yes! Say yes!”

Gordon, who never barks, is pressing his flank against Ayers’s leg, barking.

A public proposal is never a good idea, Ayers thinks. Or is it? She can’t say no. She can’t dive off the boat and seek asylum on Little St. James Island. She could, she supposes, beg Cash and Tilda to take her back to Cruz Bay. Yes, that’s what she should do.

But what a buzzkill. What a depressing end to such a well-executed surprise. Ayers realizes that a good number of these people must have been in on it. Nobody knows that Ayers and Mick broke up and that Ayers embarked on a new relationship. They’re all caught up in the theatrics.

Rosie? Ayers thinks with a glance skyward.

But there’s no answer.

Ayers presents her left hand to Mick and he slips the ring on her finger, then stands and pulls her in for a kiss.

The crowd cheers. Ayers studies the diamond. It’s a beautiful ring; she has to give him that. The stone sparkles so brightly that Ayers is, temporarily, blinded.

Cash

Cash takes a picture of Mick down on one knee, holding out a ring to Ayers. He sends it to Baker with a caption that reads She said yes, dude. Sorry.

Maybe, just maybe, it was all for show. Cash always wondered about guys who thought it was a good idea to propose during the seventh-inning stretch of a Colorado Rockies game or up on the stage during a Jason Aldean concert. Was it to guarantee a yes because most women wouldn’t say no in front of twenty thousand people? But then, later, was the ring pulled off the finger, put back in the box, and taken to the nearest pawnshop? Ayers looked surprised but not necessarily happy.

On the boat ride home, he asks Tilda for her opinion.

“She looked dazzled,” Tilda says. “In the best possible way. And who can blame her? Those two have been together forever, they’ve had their issues and come out the other side. They’ll get married and have kids. They’ll be great parents. They dote on Mick’s dog, Gordon.”

“Okay,” Cash says.

“Please don’t tell me seeing that upset you,” Tilda says. “If it did, I’ll drop you off at the National Park Service dock right now and you can walk home. Or find another unsuspecting woman to pick you up hitchhiking.”

“It didn’t bother me in the slightest,” Cash says. Which is true. His feelings for Ayers have changed dramatically in the past few days. “I’m worried for my brother. He really likes her. Maybe I shouldn’t have sent him that text.”

Sure enough, as soon as they get back to Cruz Bay, Cash’s phone starts ringing. Baker.

Cash sends him to voicemail. He and Tilda are going to her villa to “hang out,” then they’re heading into town for dinner.

La Tapa is closed so they decide to go to the Longboard—Tilda is in the mood for their frozen rosé—and who should they happen across but Ayers, Mick, and Maia, who are enjoying more champagne and platters of tacos.

When Maia sees Cash, she jumps to her feet. “Bro!” she says. “Did you hear the news?”

“I did,” Cash says. He smiles at Mick and Ayers. “Congratulations, you two.”

Mick puts an arm around Ayers and squeezes her. “I should have done this a long time ago.”

Ayers’s expression can only be described as dazed. Or maybe she’s just drunk. “I meant to text you,” she says. “The boat has a mechanical issue and we had to cancel the charter for tomorrow.”

“She wouldn’t have been able to go anyway,” Mick says. “I want to keep her in bed all day.”

“Really?” Maia says. “We’re eating!”

Yeah, Cash thinks. The idea of Mick and Ayers in bed is enough to turn his stomach as well. He can feel his phone buzzing away in his pocket. Baker. Baker. Baker.

“Well, if I don’t have work,” Cash says, “that means we can finally hike to the baobab tree.”

“After school?” Maia says. “Can we leave at four so my friend Shane can come?”

“Works for me,” Cash says.

“And me,” Tilda says.

“Pick us up at the ferry dock, please,” Maia says. “And bring plenty of water.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cash says.

“She’s a force,” Ayers says. Her eyes mist over. “Just like her mother.”

At four o’clock the next day, Cash and Tilda pick up Maia and Shane in Tilda’s Range Rover, which both kids find impressive; immediately, they start taking pictures of themselves in the back. Cash has probably overprepared for the hike. In his backpack, he has eight bottles of water, two of them frozen, as well as trail mix, four Kind bars, two spare clean bandannas, and a first-aid kit. He and Tilda are both dressed in hiking shorts and boots. Tilda has six bottles of water in her pack, plus sunscreen, bug spray, peanut butter–filled pretzels, a selfie stick, and a paper map from the National Park Service.

“You guys are so…gung ho,” Maia says. She holds her phone over her head and snaps a photo of herself making a fish face. “We’re just gonna hike in our Chucks.”

“Yeah,” Shane says. They all climb out of the Rover and Shane gives Cash and Tilda the once-over. “But when I climb Everest, I’m bringing you guys with me.”

“Smart aleck,” Tilda says.

Chucks aren’t really the proper footwear for a hike but Maia and Shane have youth and exuberance on their side. They bound down the trail, and in a couple of minutes, they’re so far ahead, they’re out of sight.

“Hey, wait up!” Cash calls out. “It’s not a race!” He would like to look around, take in the scenery, maybe stop to identify some plants—though that clearly isn’t happening.

“So this company I want to start,” Tilda says, “would provide guides for every hike on the island. You wouldn’t need a map, and you’d have someone there to point out the pineapple cactus and the catch-and-keep, and someone to explain the historical significance of the ruins. The National Parks just aren’t staffed to keep up with demand.”

“I should quit Treasure Island and come work for you,” Cash says. “I’m much more comfortable on land.”

“We should be partners,” Tilda says.

“I have no money,” Cash says. “I might get some once my father’s estate is settled.” This isn’t something Cash lets himself think about often, but it’s always there, twinkling like a star in the distance—a possible inheritance.

“Sweat equity,” Tilda says, then she nods down the trail. “Look.”

Maia and Shane are up ahead, holding hands. Cash says, “I saw them holding hands last week in town. It’s cute, as long as that’s all they’re doing.”