She knocked again. Again, no answer.
She peeked in the window and didn’t see any movement. Maybe he wasn’t home? Where else would he be? What if he was sick? What if he’d collapsed? He could’ve had his own internal injuries from the storm. He could have weakened himself fixing the stairs.
“Larran?” she called as she opened the door.
Silence.
Stepping inside, she called his name again. She peeked into the bedroom. He wasn’t there, and neither was the rescued woman. But the bed was made, the dishes were washed, and there was no sign of any disaster. Kiela set the jar of jam on the kitchen table.
Perhaps Ivor had taken his patient back to his house and Larran had accompanied them? If so, perhaps that was why he’d fixed the stairs. Not for Kiela, but for her.It still shows his kindness, no matter who it’s for.
Oh good grief, I’m notjealousof a nearly drowned woman, am I?
That would be absurd.
For one thing, Larran was just a neighbor who was very devoted to being neighborly. Despite the almost-kiss . . . which could have been entirely in her head anyway . . . they had no sort of relationship that would justify feeling jealous of anyone. For another, the woman was unconscious. It would make more sense for Kiela to be jealous of Sian.
She closed the door behind her as she left his house and considered what to do next. Visit Ivor behind his waterfall? Much too risky. Return home? That seemed silly, considering she’d already climbed down the cliff stairs.
She’d visit Bryn, she decided. Make sure her friend and the bakery had made it through the storm okay. And then she’d return home to help Caz and the cactus in the garden.
Decided, Kiela marched across the beach, or she tried to. It was still covered in so much driftwood that she had to climb over half of it and weave between the rest. Reaching the town, she saw the streets were not much better. Everything had been tossed around by the storm: carts, barrels, laundry, papers . . . but the worst was the fish. Dead fish had been flung into the streets and onto the roofs. On the streets, folk ran with baskets, gathering up the carcasses for either bait or stew. On the roofs, the winged cats were feasting. Everyone else was cleaning—more people than Kiela had seen on any of her visits to town—and she began to wish she’d chosen to simply slink back home.
Most ignored her, busy with their own tasks. A few waved. Others watched her with curious eyes as she dodged the chaos in the streets. She walked quicker and quicker, hoping her pace would be mistaken for purpose, not panic, until at last she saw the dry fountain and then beyond it, Bryn’s bakery.
Bryn weaved between the tables, dispensing pastries and beverages to very tired, very hungry people who’d come for a break from the hard work of storm cleanup. So far as Kiela could see, the bakery looked intact, mostly. The sign had been knocked off and now leaned against the wall. A few shingles had been ripped off, but the shutters had preserved the windows. Aside from blotches of seaweed spattered on the walls, it looked undamaged. She breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe the only casualty was the rescued woman’s boat.
“Kiela!” Bryn called. “How’d you like your first island storm?”
“I didn’t love it,” she admitted. “But the town seems okay.”
“Yeah, we build our homes strong on Caltrey.” Bryn slapped the wall, and a loose shingle tumbled off the roof. It landed with a smack, cracking in half.
Both of them stared at the shingle.
“Strong-ish,” Bryn clarified.
“Can I help you with anything?” she offered.
Bryn shook her head. “Oh no, you have your own—”
From inside, a boy shrieked, “Bryn! It’s smoking! What do I do?” The boy—her nephew, Tobin—stuck his head outside. “Never mind. I dumped water on it. All good now.”
Closing her eyes, Bryn visibly counted to ten before she opened them again. “Actually, yes, if you wouldn’t mind . . . If you could pour tea for everyone, I can make sure that Tobin stops flooding my oven. I’ll pay you for your time.”
“No need to pay me,” she said, and then thought of Caz. He wouldn’t have approved of her not valuing her time, but there was a storm, and Bryn was a friend. “Or you can pay me in cinnamon buns.” She’d lost track of what had happened to the soggy rolls she’d carried to Larran’s.I must have left them there.
“Deal,” Bryn said, before sprinting inside.
Kiela followed her inside the bakery to the counter. She set a row of cups onto saucers on the counter, added tea leaves to a strainer for each, and then filled them with hot water from the carafe. As she poured, she heard a familiar laugh through the open window.
Larran.
She hadn’t realized that she knew what his laugh sounded like, especially to recognize it instantly, but she didn’t even have to look to know it was him. Shedidlook, though, and she saw him position a chair for the fire-red-haired woman to sit. Kiela couldn’t see the woman’s face from this angle, but she did see his as he smiled at the woman.
A few seconds later, her view was obscured as other townspeople clustered around the new arrival, clamoring for her story, and Kiela listened as the tea steeped.
Her name was Radane, and she was from Alyssium.
