Page 52 of Issued

“She sounds like a lovely woman.”

“She was—is. We thought the cancer would take her, but it wasn’t fast enough.” He turns his head over his shoulder toward me, his expression stark. It’s a blade through the very center of my being. “She won’t even be able to put her son in the ground. There isn’t enough of him to send home.”

I can’t stand the distance. Sliding from the counter, I go to him, setting my coffee aside so I can wrap my arms around his waist from behind and bury my face against the curve of his spine. My arms tighten as he works to find an easy breath that doesn’t shake on the exhale. I pray my heart close to his will give him strength.

After a moment, he nods and pats the back of my hand. “It’s almost ready. Can you grab some plates and pour me some coffee?”

Placing a kiss against his back, I comply.

We work in silence for a few minutes. I make my way to the front door to grab his paper off the porch. I’m scanning the pages, looking for the comic section, when the smell hits me. One moment, I’m padding barefoot into the kitchen and the next, I’m nine years old andEmeeis pressing a kiss to my cheek.

Alagh is with the ancestors now. Peace, child.

I drop the paper on the tabletop with a muffled sob. When Jim hands me a plate ofgambir, his face warring between grief and nervousness, my knees give out, and I fold into the nook seat. The plate warm in my hands and confectionary comfort kisses all my demons to sleep.

“You made Mongolian pancakes.” I’m staring down at the fried dough stuffed with sugar and shiny with melted butter. It’s home wrapped in a flaky crust. Jim placed sliced bananas and blueberries on top. Drizzled over that is melted chocolate and a fine layer of powdered sugar. Tears prick my eyes.

“I heard you mention your grandmother at the ball.” He shrugs as if that small confession explains everything.

“I stayed with her for a while, after my mom died.” Glancing up, I smile slightly at the tentative pride that begins to creep over him. “Dad...” I swallow the tears and try again. “Dad was having a hard time, and he needed a break. She made these for me every morning for a week. I never got to watch her make them. I just woke up, and they were there, like magic.”

Jim would have had to research this and buy the ingredients. All because of a passing comment. No one has ever done something like this for me. He paid attention, not only to what I said but what I didn’t say. I’m supposed to be comforting him, but this...

Something irrevocable blossoms fully within me, and my world shifts on its axis.

“How is it?” There’s nervousness in his voice, and I want to wrap him in my arms and protect him from the world. Is this really the same man that terrorized me upon my arrival? It can’t be.

I take a bite. “Just likeEmeeused to make.”

I meet his eyes, and the grin he levels on me is like the sun coming out from behind a thick veil of clouds. The corners of his eyes crinkle, and he’s transformed from dour Jim into someone ten times more alluring, more... perfect.

We eat in relative silence, and after the plates have been licked clean and set aside, I get up to get us both more coffee. I make two trips because of the cast, but it’s a fair exchange for Jim’s cooking.

Sunshine streams through the windows of the kitchen. It’s a montage of warmth across the tile, and I sag against the windows of the nook, luxuriating in the view and the warmth of the coffee cup in my hands. Jim sits across from me.

I take another sip of coffee and try not to bite my lower lip. Invisible ants crawl along my skin, and I fail to stifle a wracking shudder.

“Cold?” A few months ago, he would’ve ignored me. Now there’s genuine interest in his voice. I smile, shifting amongst the cushions so I can throw my legs over his. He pulls me close, rubbing my bare outer thigh.

“Not anymore.” His T-shirt, soft and defeated after years of use, slips down one shoulder. Ducking my head, I take a deep breath of sandalwood and ocean breezes.

Jim and I are intertwined in more ways than one.

“You should go green.” I smooth the paper in my lap and smile at one of the panels in comic section. “The internet has made newspapers obsolete.”

“I like something tangible.” Before I can protest, he reaches across me to pull several pages free. Handing me the rest, he settles back on his side.

“I was reading that.” I furrow my brows and pout.

“No.” He shakes the page straight so he can read the headline. “You were hiding behind it.”

“Hiding from what?”

“Hiding from the fact that you still owe me more information on the whole search and rescue thing.” He folds the paper and sets it down on the table. “Let’s get back to where we left off. Why didn’t you tell me?”

The answer doesn’t come easily but in for a penny, in for a pound. He’s bound to discover what a mess I am soon enough. I lay my half of the paper on top of his discarded section, so he isn’t tempted to pursue his curiosity about the article featuring Santoro.

“I was ashamed.” The words bringing tears to my eyes. “My stepmother used to make fun of me for it. Not many people get it. I’m a volunteer, so I don’t get paid or anything.” I shrug as if it doesn’t bother me. “If it weren’t for the people I’ve saved...” The sentence hangs there, unfinished. Honestly, I’m not sure how to finish it. I love being a part of search and rescue. It’s fulfilling in a way I can’t put a name to.

---