CASTAWAY ⚓ R.C, J.M

T E N

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K O O K   C O M P R O M I S E

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Figure Eight felt like a new island and yet didn't all at the same time. It was huge and the houses, in fact mansions, felt colossal. Everything was more spread out, everything had it's own space to exude... money. This place radiated riches. All of the finer things in the Outer Banks were no doubt on this side of the island.

The people looked that little bit happier here where there was less stress. Pricey cars and trucks filled driveways and streets.

"This way," Rafe whispered into Harley's ear.

They were nearing a large white mansion at the top of an oval driveway. Pristine blades of grass bordered the area, meticulously cut shrubs and tall palm trees. The second floor of the house boasted pretty balconies and large windows.

"Is this your house?" Harley stared in wonderment. The land was gorgeous.

"Yeah. C'mon." He jerked his head towards the back of the estate where tall hedges would obscure them.

Harley followed closely behind him, frowning at the back of his head.

"Why are we sneaking into your house?" She queried. The last thing Harley wanted to do was get caught trespassing and ruin her time with the Routledge family and disappointing her guardian. "Is this actually your house?"

Rafe ducked low away from a window guiding Harley in the same direction.

"Yes it is. I'm just trying to avoid my annoying, kid sister who'll go rat me out to my dad."

"Why would she do that? Are you grounded or something."

"Or something," Rafe murmured back.

The two came to a set of open french doors and billowing white, lace curtains. Rafe pulled the delicate material aside and gestured for Harley to take the lead. Not able to take the time to admire the huge back garden of the Cameron manor, Harley crept through the curtains onto wooden flooring, then an antiquated red and gold rug.

It felt like stumbling into the past. The dark, worn wood floors. The high ceilings and walls lined with time-worn paintings or dust embellished books. Wooden chairs with plush, cushioned seats and backs. A brown, leather, wing-backed chair sat behind a large desk decorated with neatly placed papers and tiny antiques. The décor could throw anybody back into the eighteenth-century whilst keeping them bound in the twenty-first.

"You can look around another time, when I bring you back," Rafe commented. Harley hadn't noticed that the boy had made his way to the door and was peeking out. "We're just here to get something."

Rafe came back towards her, eye contact not faltering. She straightened up a bit by the desk she was stood by staring at him warily. He came close invading her personal bubble and smiled down at her. Harley's breath hitched, she wasn't used to close proximity like this with other people, let alone boys. Her eyes widened when his hand brushed over the skin of her arm. He stepped that little bit closer, so Harley averted her surprised eyes to his chest. Rafe chuckled and reached for something behind the girl. He took his time, letting his touch and smell linger. He smelt like the sea and the warm breeze; like mint and smoke. Harley felt herself subtly breathe in.

Suddenly, he stepped back and flashed a black card between his forefinger and middle finger. "Keep a hold of this for me." Another statement in a questioning tone sewn together with a lazy smirk.