“They’re good kids,” he says, watching Stefan attempt to skip a stone and hit Andrei instead.
“They are.” I take a sip from my bottle, water already warm. “Cristian notices everything.”
“Yeah.” He hesitates. “Does that bother you? That they’ve noticed us?”
I think about the question. About how it would have felt a week ago.
“No,” I say. “Should it?”
He shakes his head. “Just checking.”
Raluca wades into the reeds to inspect something withintense focus. Andrei attempts to demonstrate fish-scaling with confidence and no actual skill.
“You want to tell him he’s doing it backward?” Kieran asks.
“I want to see how long it takes him to realize.”
He laughs, easy in his own skin.
When I call that it’s time to head back, the kids gather gear with the efficiency of people who’ve learned that things go faster when everyone helps.
As we load the skiffs, Kieran reaches for the same rope I do. Our hands brush. Brief. Unremarked. He doesn’t pull away. Neither do I.
We push off, settling into motion—him ahead now, me following. At the next fork, he slows and looks back. I check the GPS and point left. He nods and takes us through without hesitation.
Trust built in small increments. Steady. Real.
By the time we reach base camp, the sun is angling low, light turning honeyed. Mihai waits on the platform, already counting heads.
The kids spill out, talking over each other about near-misses and improbable fish stories. Kieran secures the lines. I gather the charts.
When we’re done, we stand for a moment watching the kids drift toward the tents, their voices carrying across the water in a jumble that somehow makes sense.
“Good day,” Kieran says quietly.
I look at him closely. Sunburn across his nose. Hair sticking up where he’s run his fingers through it. Shirt damp with sweat and river water. Tired. Content. Grounded.
“Yeah,” I say. “Good day.”
That night, lying in my tent, listening to the Delta settle into darkness, I think about Cristian’s words.
“You work good together.”
We do.
And for the first time in months, that doesn’t scare me.
It just is.
The next day,while the kids are busy sorting gear and Mihai argues with one of the boys about knots that are very obviously not the problem, Kieran finds me by the supply table.
I’m checking batteries, lining them up by size. I don’t look up right away.
“Wren,” he says, careful. Then, after a beat, “Can I say something? If now’s not a good time, I won’t.”
It matters that he gives me the out.
I cap the marker and set it down. “Okay.”
