Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
Light filtered through the open shutters, carrying with it the distant sound of waves and the faint clatter of dishes from the orphanage kitchen. The air had warmed again, the coolness of the night retreating.
Eira woke first. She didn’t move, just studied his face in the daylight. There was the faint scar near his temple and the relaxed set of his mouth. He looked younger like this.
His hand tightened reflexively at her hip before loosening when he realized where he was. “Morning,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
“Good morning.” She slipped from the bed and reached for a light cotton robe hanging behind the door. She tied the robe loosely and crossed to the small kitchen alcove, setting water to heat.
Behind her, the mattress shifted then floorboards creaked as he stepped into the doorway, barefoot, hair slightly disordered. He paused, taking her in as she stood at the stove.
“You look like you’ve done this a thousand times,” he said.
“I have,” she replied. “Just not with company.”
His mouth twitched faintly as she poured two small cups of coffee. When she handed him one, their fingers brushed. “You can shower,” she said after a sip. “Water pressure is unpredictable, so don’t adjust it too quickly.”
“Understood.”
He disappeared down the short hallway. Moments later, water began running, pipes humming faintly through the walls.
Eira moved with efficient purpose. She folded the bedding back, opened the windows wider, and pulled a small stack of neatly laundered clinic scrubs from a drawer in her dresser. They were navy blue, island-stitched, and practical.
When he returned, towel slung low at his waist, steam still clinging to his skin, she handed them to him. “These should fit, or be close enough.”
He glanced down at the folded fabric. “You keep spare scrubs for unexpected overnight guests?”
“For volunteers who forget or lose luggage,” she replied evenly.
Ford’s eyes twinkled. He dressed while she turned to tidy the kitchen again, granting him privacy without ceremony.
When he stepped back into the main room, he looked less like a visitor and more like he belonged. She looked up. The sight caught her slightly off guard.
He noticed. “What?”
“Nothing.” She smiled. “They suit you.”
He adjusted the hem of the sleeve. “I’ll try not to bleed on them.”
“That would be appreciated.”
Outside, the clinic bell rang once, Karine’s signal that the first patients were already gathering. Eira reached for her sandals near the door. Ford picked up the empty cups and rinsed them without being asked.
When she turned back, he was waiting. Ready. She studied him for a brief second, not as a soldier, not as a patient, not even as the man who had shared her bed. He was someone choosing to stay in the fight.
“Breakfast first,” she said. “Before I see patients, we’ll check Varga’s labs again.”
THE CAFE
The sky over the horizon was not entirely clear. Far out past the reef, the blue deepened into a darker line.
The café sat at the edge of the shoreline. It had a wide wooden deck and faded blue shutters thrown open to the breeze. Inside, ceiling fans turned steadily above mismatched tables. A chalkboard menu leaned near the counter: fresh bread, mango, papaya, eggs, lentil cakes, thick island coffee.
Mirela looked up as they entered, wiping her hands on her apron. “Well,” her eyes narrowed with amusement, “Dr. Montgomery brings company.”
Eira didn’t break stride. “We’re here to eat, not entertain you.”
Mirela snorted, but her gaze shifted briefly past them to the water. “Sit. I’ll bring food before you pretend you’re not hungry.” Almost to herself, she added, “And eat while you can. Storm’s building.”
Eira paused. “What kind?”
“Pressure dropped overnight. Fishermen felt it before dawn. See that line?” Mirela gestured toward the horizon through the open shutters. “That’s not just weather passing through.”
“When?” Eira asked.
“Later today. Maybe sooner if it gains speed.” Mirela gave her a pointed look. “Tie down what matters.”
Eira absorbed that without visible reaction. “Thank you.”
They chose a table near the railing where the ocean stretched uninterrupted to the horizon. Boats rocked gently in the harbor below, but the rhythm felt subtly tighter now.
Ford rested his forearms on the table, watching fishermen secure crates more firmly than usual. “You come here often?”
“When I remember to,” she said.
“That often, huh?”
She gave him a sideways look as Mirela returned with two thick ceramic mugs and a plate piled with warm bread, sliced fruit, and soft-scrambled eggs flecked with herbs.
“Eat,” Mirela commanded. “And, Doctor, check your generator before noon. Wind like this loves weak wiring.”
“I will,” Eira said.
Mirela nodded and disappeared back toward the kitchen.
Ford tore a piece of bread in half and handed part to Eira before taking a bite.
She noticed. “You’re adapting quickly.”
“I’ve been retrained before.”
“To what end?”
He leaned back slightly in his chair. “Sustainability.”
She smiled and reached for a slice of mango.
For a few minutes, they ate without speaking. The simple rhythm of it felt unfamiliar and grounding all at once. There were no alarms and no reports. It was just silverware against their plates and waves. The distant call of seabirds shifted inland earlier than usual.
A stronger breeze swept across the deck now, lifting the edge of a napkin. Eira steadied her mug. “You don’t have to stay.”
“I know.”
“And yet.”
He set his coffee down. “And yet.”
Her gaze drifted briefly back toward the darkening line on the horizon. “Kasavoa is not neutral territory. Storms don’t ask permission. Neither do outbreaks. Or Tevenne.”
“I don’t do quiet,” he replied.
She exhaled softly. “That’s what worries me.”
“I don’t burn things indiscriminately.” He reached across the table and brushed his thumb lightly against the back of her hand. “And I don’t leave people, especially those I care about, exposed.”
Her fingers shifted slightly beneath his. “You always speak like you’re writing an operational brief.”
“Occupational hazard.”
A group of children from the orphanage ran past the café deck toward their building, waving when they spotted Eira. Véronique shouted something about securing the mango tree before the storm. Kavi insisted he could tie knots better than anyone.
Ford watched them disappear down the path. “They’ve already decided I’m staying.”
“They decide quickly,” Eira replied.
“And you?”
She stood, brushing crumbs from her hands. “We have labs to review.”
As they stepped off the café deck and back toward the clinic path, the wind shifted again, carrying the faint scent of coming rain. Patients were still arriving despite the sky’s warning. Breakfast was the calm before something larger. Somewhere beyond the reef, the water darkened.