Tomorrow. I'll figure out tomorrow.
Tonight I lie down on the bed, the blanket tucked under my arm, and listen to the sound of the sea through the open window until sleep finally comes.
Morning.I wake to sunlight streaming through the window and the sound of gulls.
My back aches from the too-soft mattress. I roll out of bed, duck under the light fixture, and splash water on my face in the cramped bathroom.
Repay her.
The thought's been circling since yesterday. Maris gave me coffee. Let me hold the kitten. Didn't flinch when the crowd stared. Didn't treat me like a spectacle.
I need to give something back.
Flowers, maybe. That's what people do, right? I've seen it in the human towns. Men bring flowers to women they're courting.
Not that I'm courting.
Except.
Her hands. The way she cradled the kitten. The scent of coffee and vanilla that clings to her apron. The tightness in my heart when she looks at me.
Fine.
Maybe I'm courting.
I dress quickly and head out.
The field behind the old docks is full of wildflowers. I've passed it a dozen times but never stopped to look. Now I crouch low and start picking. Yellow ones. Purple ones. A few white ones that smell sweet. I gather them in a bunch, careful not to crush the stems, and tie them with a piece of twine I find in my pocket.
They look good. A little lopsided, maybe, but colorful. Bright.
I carry them back to the café.
The morning crowd's just starting. A few people linger outside with coffee cups, chatting in the sun. I push through the door and the bell jingles.
Maris is at the counter. She's got flour on her cheek and a smudge of chocolate on her apron. Her hair's falling out of its bun.
She looks perfect.
I cross the room, flowers clutched in one hand, and realize too late that I'm blocking the line.
"Grath." She blinks at me, then at the flowers. "What?—"
"For you." I hold them out.
Her eyes widen. A flush creeps up her neck.
Someone behind me whispers. A phone camera clicks.
I ignore it. Focus on her.
She reaches for the flowers. Her fingers brush mine and the contact sends a jolt up my arm.
"They're beautiful," she says, soft enough that I almost miss it over the ambient noise.
I grin.
That's when I notice the stack of dishes by the sink.
