The door clicked shut again, the latch settling with a soft snick, and she noted the time. Past six. The sky outside would soon turn deep lavender, the sinking sun streaking any clouds with gold and violet. She was missing the sunset.
Yes, it was time to wrap up. The job descriptions could wait. So could the conversation with David.
She pushed back from her desk, the chair's wheels rolling smoothly across the floor and stood, stretching her arms overhead until her shoulders popped. She would fix things.
Next time, she wouldn’t let him walk away hunched in on himself. She would remind him that not everyone needed perfect words or hard logic to see his worth—even if he didn’t always see it himself.
Chapter 13
Scattered Light
The midday sunsparkled on the surface of the water, throwing scattered light across the glass-topped table between them. A single hibiscus floated in the bud vase, its petals curling inward, wilting in the heat.
Lena sat back in her chair, the metal warm against her back, running one finger around the rim of her sweating glass. The condensation slicked her fingertip, cool and wet. Across from her, Kate nudged her sunglasses up into her hair and regarded her with mild curiosity, her golden eyes patient.
“You’ve got that look,” Kate said. “Like you’ve been replaying a conversation on a loop.”
Lena gave a wan smile, her chest tightening at being so transparent. “You’re not wrong.”
Kate waited, giving her space. The silence stretched between them, comfortable but expectant, filled only by the distant cry of seabirds and the rhythmic whisper of waves on the shore.
“I had an odd moment with David yesterday,” Lena said finally, her concern tumbling out with unintended force. “It wasn’t a fight, really. Just… a few words that landed wrong. He pulled back, got quiet. At first, I thought he was mad at me, but now I think he thinks he hurt me.”
“Did he?” Kate asked, her voice neutral.
“No,” Lena said, shaking her head, ponytail swinging against her neck. “He made a comment about people being illogical. I teased him—just lightly—said I wasn’t one of them. I mean, I’m the one who figured out the logic to fix the reservation system, right?”
The memory sharpened in her mind, gaining edges she had missed. “He muttered something about this being why he doesn’t go out in public, and he left. Bolted.” She swallowed hard, her throat tight. “At first, I thought I’d made him mad.”
The hurt of that moment pricked at her again, sharper now in hindsight, like a splinter she couldn’t quite reach. “But the more I replayed it, the more I realized—he thought he’d upset me. And it wrecked him.”
She looked down at her hands, turning them palm-up on the table. The late morning sun highlighted every line, every callus earned from years of work. “He had that look… like he’d failed some mission only he knew about. I hate that he left believing it.”
Kate winced in sympathy, leaning forward. “That sounds like a very David-esque reaction.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Lena admitted, drawing circles in the condensation on her glass, watching the water bead and reform. Her stomach churned with uncertainty. “I want to clear the air, but I’m probably overthinking it. What if I make it worse? What if he’s already decided I’m some wounded stray who needs coddling?”
The thought made her skin crawl. She’d worked too hard, survived too much, to be reduced to someone’s pity project.
Kate leaned in, her voice gentle but firm. “You’re not a stray. You’re a survivor. If anyone sees that clearly, it’s David.”
Lena huffed a laugh, but it came out bitter. “Maybe that’s the problem. He sees me. I don’t know how to deal with that.”
The admission hung between them, vulnerable and raw. Lena shivered from the feeling of exposure, like a layer of protective armor years in the making had been peeled back.
Kate didn’t push. She just said, “Then maybe let him see all of it.”
Lena nodded slowly, the movement heavier than it should be. “I will. I guess I needed to vent.”
She went still for a moment, listening to the waves, the breeze playing with strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail. The air smelled of salt and sunscreen and the faded sweetness of tropical flowers, while sunlight danced across the water’s surface.
“You want the real story? Why I still second-guess how to handle people who care about me?”
Kate folded her arms on the table, fully present, her expression open. “Only if you want to tell it.”
“I think I need to.” The words felt like a confession, and perhaps they were.
“Then I’d love to listen.”
