Page 58 of Love In Translation

Awa’ an bile yer heid.

His nan’s favorite saying popped into his head. He had no idea how telling someone to “boil their head” translated to overreacting or making a needless fuss. But the Scottish message resonated; he might be making too much of nothing.

He would just have to be sensible and try to stay in the shallows.

A few days later, in Portland, Fletch rolled off Seb’s examination table, walked over to the visitor’s chair, and dropped into the seat, stretching out his long legs. He watched Seb write in his file, his handwriting an indecipherable scrawl.

Fletch had driven into Portland earlier, stopping to check on his tiny house before meeting up with Seb. In the small space, he’d felt hemmed in, so he flung the back door open and sat on the step, enjoying the early-morning sun on his face.

This was the first time he’d been properly alone in weeks. Oh, he and Rheo weren’t joined at the hip, but he always knew where she was, whether that was in her study gabbling away in Spanish, French, or Italian, visiting with Abi or in the garden tugging up Paddy’s flowers.

Conversation with Rheo came easily, their silences were never awkward, and she knew more about him, and his past, than ninety-nine percent of the people in his life. They’d been living together in the Pink House for over a month now, and he’d yet to feel the urge to pack up and move on. He was still waiting for the familiar feelings of irritation and being cooped up to arrive.

Was it possible his stone had stopped rolling? God, what a thought.

Seb looked up, closed the file, and leaned back in his chair. “Your checkup is over, you can breathe.”

“Everything good?’ Fletch asked, loathing his need for reassurance.

“Your bloodwork is fine.”

That was good to hear. Fletcher leaned forward. “So, I want to do a twelve-mile obstacle course in a couple of weeks. I was just going to do it without telling you, but I thought you deserved better.”

Seb sat back, folded his hands on top of the file, and nodded. “I do.”

“So, do I have your permission to do the run?”

“Even if I gave it, you would do whatever you wanted to,” Seb said, an annoying smirk on his face.

Strangling the dude was an option. Fletch scowled at him, thinking his comment didn’t deserve a response.

Seb tapped his file with his index finger, taking his time. “We’ve always operated on a ‘see how your body feels’ basis, Fletch. You know how you feel. Do you feel fit enough to do this race?”

He did. He wasn’t at his fittest, and he would need to do some serious training before he undertook another expedition, but he was relaxed, healthy, and energetic. “I do. It won’t be hard, and it’s not something I’m feeling competitive about or taking that seriously.”

Yeah, he was self-reliant and independent, but Seb was one of the few people whose advice he’d listen to. He was slowly learning to open up and lean on other people, just a little.

“CFS is a tiny bastard that sits on my shoulder, taunting me about coming back. It’s my biggest fear.”

Seb’s eyes didn’t leave his. “I can’t promise you that it will never return, but I can say you’ve been through a lot—pneumonia, malaria, frostbite, that damned scorpion sting in Zimbabwe. None of those triggered its return, but it’s only been four weeks, and I’d like you to take it easy for a while longer, at least another month if you won’t take the full three I recommended.”

“I am fine, Seb. I’m not expedition fit, but a twelve-mile run won’t cause me any issues.”

“Unlike the forty-mile trail run you passed on a few weeks back,” Seb murmured.

He knew he’d hear about it.

Seb lifted one shoulder. “You’ve picked up the weight you lost, and your vitamin levels are back to normal. Look, I have no medical grounds for asking you to delay the resumption of your training schedule. You’re well rested, and you look a lot brighter than you did the last time I saw you. Do the race, Fletch, if that’s what you want to do. I’d still like you to take it easy for another month, to only exercise enough to keep up your fitness levels, and to take more than your usual rest days.”

Fletch thought his suggestion more than fair. He needed time out to get his head straight, to give his body more time to recover. “You were right,” he told Seb, who grinned. “Don’t get used to hearing that.”

“So, what’s the plan? Do you still want to visit the Danakil Depression?”

He didn’t know how to answer that.

He now had Rheo in his life, and that was more heat than he could currently handle. He had decisions to make, one of which was how to reconcile his desire for freedom and his growing feelings for a woman who craved stability.

Chasing the horizon was something he knew how to do. The world was vast, and he still wanted to see every corner of it and experience everything it had to offer. But now there was Rheo...

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