She didn’t mind.
The work was physical, consuming—one of the few things that kept her from unraveling completely.
But it didn’t stop the ache. Nothing stopped the ache.
The worst part wasn’t the silence—it was the relentless throb of her breaking heart. Night after night, the ache came like clockwork, hollowing her out until she forgot what peace felt like.
She’d lost weight. She could feel it in her bones. No amount of makeup could hide the shadows beneath her eyes. The boys in the yard had stopped teasing her after the first week. Now they just left coffee on the workbench and kept their distance.
She didn’t blame them.
She wasn’t good company.
Today was no better. Her stomach churn and her thoughts were a mess of wrenching memories and half-formed regrets. Her hands paused on the socket wrench. She flexed her fingers to stop the trembling.
“Dani,mou!”
She blinked and turned. Maria’s voice broke through her fog, bright and sweet like a bell.
She smiled as the other woman wove her way through the rows of boats and benches, her dark hair swept into a messy knot, a paper bag held high like a peace offering.
Dani felt the corner of her mouth twitch. Despite everything, Maria’s energy was infectious.
“I brought your favorite,” Maria announced proudly, waving the bag. “Prosciutto, arugula, fig jam on that rustic olive bread you love. Still warm.”
Dani pulled off her gloves, wiped her hands on a rag, and crossed to meet her friend.
They kissed on each cheek, the familiar greeting grounding her more than she cared to admit.
“I thought you were done with feeding me,” Dani teased weakly, trying to summon a genuine smile.
“I’m half-Greek. Feeding the people we love is practically our love language.”
Dani’s stomach twisted, not with hunger but with something closer to dread.
She took the bag with a grateful nod but didn’t open it. Her fingers went still.
Maria kept chatting—something about a café she’d discovered, a new job lead—but her words blurred at the edges as Dani stared at the paper sack.
That sandwich.
It wasn’t just a favorite—it was comfort food. Her comfort food. One only her grandfather ever made—making it for the first time after he had purchased the trawler.
Her fingers tightened.
Maria’s voice faltered. “Dani? Is everything okay?”
Dani looked up slowly, her voice quieter than her expression. “How long have you been working undercover for my grandfather?”
Maria blinked. “What? I don’t?—”
Her friend’s eyes darted to the bag, realization dawning in slow motion.
She sighed. “Damn. I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”
“So, it’s true.”
Maria shrugged one shoulder, the movement half apology, half resignation. “Stuart asked me to keep an eye on you. Just… make sure you were okay. I didn’t lie to you, Dani. I just didn’t tell you everything.”
