38. Ava
38
Ava
S weat trickled down my temples as I moved through the small market, the sun beating down on my back, where my loose cotton tunic clung to damp skin. My sandals kicked up dust, covering my toes. Colorful cotton awnings flared open along the street’s edge, their canopies casting patchy shade over the vendors’ faces.
Beside me, a skewer of chicken sizzled, the fat dripping onto glowing coals. A vendor stacked banana blossoms onto wooden crates. I'd tried one at the behest of a local the first week I arrived. She'd tossed it into a stir fry, and I devoured it as though I'd been starving.
All around, kids laughed, voices rose, in a language I'd worked my ass off to learn—cutting through the sticky, spice-filled air.
I slipped past the families and tourists crowding the narrow street, the sounds blending into a low, disjointed hum as everyone waved hello. A man waved a glossy calendar at me, flipping to the current month. I averted my eyes, stepping into the edge of the market traffic.
Seven months.
I don’t need the reminder.
The tropical air clung to my skin and filled my lungs with a mix of sea salt and charcoal smoke from nearby braziers.
A boy with a machete cracked open a coconut for a pair of German backpackers who laughed as the juice spilled over their hands.
I smiled and adjusted the strap of my knapsack, the sweat soaking the fabric under the canvas against my shoulder.
A child with a bundle of frangipani blossoms approached, her smile bright. "Káwai man i manumukó anggam?" Do you want some flowers?
I gasped at the spiraled, oval pink leaves, then nodded. "Mananya duber" They’re beautiful.
I slipped her five thousand Rupiah and carefully tucked the flowers into my knapsack.
Small transactions had become routine over the months as I'd learned the island's rhythm and language. It was enough time to stop and listen to the locals raving about the freshest mangosteen, or which fisherman docked early at the southern pier.
But seven months wasn’t enough to shake the silence.
No messages.
No sign of Nate.
I glanced toward the water, past the longboats tied to the docks. The calm emerald sea dotted with limestone islets under a blazing June sun.
Yet it offered no answers.
Only the crush of the market, the motorized tuk-tuks, and the heavy churn of too many days without a word.
Where was he?
Why hasn't he reached out?
Was it all for nothing?
My thoughts spun in endless loops, questions piling onto questions without a single answer in sight. All I could do was bide my time, try to blend in, and adapt to this new life he'd set me up for. At least Raja Ampat offered a stunning backdrop—waters so clear I could count every coral head, white sand soft enough to sink into, and a vibrant culture that hummed in the air around me—something he'd taught me over the course of the two weeks we'd been locked in a motel together.
He couldn't have picked a better place to hide out.
I stopped at a weathered stall, crates of fruit stacked haphazardly under a faded tarp. The heat radiating off the pavement bit at the soles of my sandals, and the air was thick with the sharp, sweet scent of ripe mangoes and dragon fruit. I adjusted my shoulder bag and nodded at the vendor, an older man with calloused hands.
“Hello,” he said in Biak . He picked up a dragon fruit and turned it over as if inspecting it, then placed it in a smaller basket.
I gave him a tight smile, scanning the table. “A few of those,” I said, pointing at the dragon fruit pile.
The man handed me the bag of dragon fruit as I placed money in his other hand.
" Wa wa . Selamat tinggal. " Thank you. Goodbye.
"Hati-hati ya. " Take care.
I put the dragon fruit in my knapsack.
"Learning the language is the first rule to adapting."
I froze, my heart seizing as his voice wrapped around me like silk. "I thought it was just to blend in?"
Turning, the thick tropical air refused to find my lungs as I laid eyes on him dressed in a white t-shirt and a pair of khaki shorts. "Nate..." I breathed out.
"Hey, my little recluse." He sported a healing cut under his eye with yellowing bruising surrounding it.
My legs moved faster than my thoughts. The street narrowing, the crowd noise dulling to a murmur. I ran, arms outstretched, the market’s colors blurring.
When I reached him, my body collided with his chest. A rough, breathless laugh rumbled from him as his arms wrapped around me, pulling me close.
My toes left the ground—the world steadying.
His warmth, the pressure of his hands at my back, the faint smell of sweat and ocean salt—it all settled something deep inside me. When my feet found the ground again, I clung to his neck, my fingers sliding into the short hair at his nape.
His mouth curved into a crooked smile, his lips brushing my ear as he muttered something I couldn’t quite catch. My voice wavered when I finally spoke. “I can’t believe you’re here. I thought I lost you.”
Nate pulled back and met my gaze—his grin widening. “It’ll take more than a corrupt agency to keep me away from you.”
I rose up on my toes and pressed my lips to his. His hands found my waist, pulling me closer as his lips moved against mine.
I’d imagined this moment so many times, I could have sworn I’d dreamed it. But the way he held me, the way his breath hitched when I tangled my fingers into his shirt—it was all too vivid, too present to be anything but real.
When we finally broke apart, I stared at him, my chest heaving, words tumbling out before I could stop them. “Wait—what happened? Was the story posted? Were you caught?”
Nate exhaled a short laugh, one hand brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. “I’ve got one hell of a story to tell you.”
A twenty-minute walk to the traditional home and a change of clothes later, I sat cross-legged on the bamboo floor, leaning against the bamboo bed frame—my thoughts churning as I stared at Nate.
He's here.
After everything...
I can't believe it.
He sat a few feet away, his elbows resting on his knees. He kept glancing toward the open door as if expecting someone to burst in. His bag rested against the doorframe with a swinging barn-style door, the woven walls with burned-in designs, allowing for a fresh breeze to seep through.
“Your article spread faster than wildfire, and all hell broke loose, basically overnight.” His jaw tightened as he spoke, the lines around his mouth harder than I remembered. “At first, it was a few reports, a couple of news stations picking it up,” he went on. “But then it snowballed. The agency wasn’t a shadow anymore. People saw it for what it was. They couldn’t hide what they’d done.” He shook his head. “I had to go into hiding. Ended up in this rundown cabin out in the middle of nowhere. No electricity, barely enough firewood for me, and a radio picking up the fallout.”
"Did they believe it?"
He nodded. “There was an investigation—huge, not just in the states. International organizations got involved. Didn't you hear about it?"
I glanced around my temporary home. "I don't exactly have a TV or radio here. Did they make any arrests?"
Nate cocked his head to the side. "Yeah, Mayor Haynes, a judge he'd been chummy with, a few senators, and some scientists.” He stood and paced.
“And Keith?” I swallowed hard, his name bitter on my tongue.
Nate’s shoulders stiffened. He turned, looking out the window, his hands on his hips. “I found him.”
My pulse quickened. “Did you...”
Nate turned back, his expression set like stone. “He’s not going to bother us.”
The finality of it hit me, sinking into my chest.
He scooted over to me and took my hand, his fingers warm and solid around mine.
“It might look on paper like this is over, but they'll never stop hunting us—the ones who didn't get named. You understand that, don't you?”
I nodded and gulped. "I don't care." Wrapping my arms around him, I climbed into his lap and straddled him, his warmth a soothing comfort. "As long as you're here with me, I don't care."
My lips found his, our bodies telling each other what our words couldn't.