Page 99 of 'Til All the Seas Run Dry

He didn’t answer. Instead, he repeated the dumping action once more before taking a wooden spoon and stirring the large bowl. He spun and set the big bowl on the island in front of her with a wide smile and a gleam in his eyes.

“See? Science.”

“Oh my god, Robbie. This smells amazing.”

“I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving,” Jory said with a laugh.

“Lately I am, anyway.” He looked immensely proud of himself. “I wish I’d known it was that easy all along. I’ve burned so many bags in the microwave.”

Jory smiled. She could picture Robbie staring down into a bag of microwave popcorn and seeing half the kernels popped and half burned.

“Movie time!” Robbie said, snatching up the bowl and skirting the island. He flopped into the corner of the couch and brought his legs up to sit cross-legged with the big bowl cradled between his knees.

“Callum will be up soon,” Jory said, coming to join him at the other end of the couch.

“Boss likes movies,” Robbie said, his mouth full of popcorn.

She liked them too, but this was another small puzzle piece sliding into place, the picture of who Callum had become in the modern era coming into view. They hadn’t had movies before. They hadn’t had books. They’d had the land and work and the sea and play and each other. She wondered what movies he liked, what books he read.

Jory liked comedies. She avoided dramas almost entirely because, for the longest time, her life had been sad enough on its own. She hadn’t needed her escapes to be sad too. But as she picked up her embroidery again and Robbie scrolled through the movie options, it struck her hownotsad she’d been lately. How enriched her life had become with friendship and… love. Every kind of love. She didn’t know what to do with it. She didn’t know how toleaveit.

Eventually, Robbie selectedPlanet Earth. As David Attenborough began describing life in the Atacama desert, Jory heard Callum’s voice drifting closer.

“That’s fantastic news. I knew you could do it.”

The broom closet door opened and Callum stepped out, wearing a pair of joggers and a crew neck sweatshirt that had holes around the neck and looked like it had been in heavy rotation since the 1980s. It probably had been, another fact that made her smile. He might wear two-thousand-dollar shoes, but he had a favorite sweatshirt from thirty plus years ago that had probably cost twenty.

He shut the closet door behind him and raked a hand through his hair.

“I’ll talk to my business partner, and we’ll be in touch. Good. Aye… Congratulations, again… Alright. Bye now.”

He set his smartphone carefully down on the counter and walked with purpose to the couch before scooping Jory up and crushing her against his chest.

“Careful!” Jory shrieked. “I don’t want to stab you with a needle!”

“Do your worst,” Callum said against her neck, his voice muffled and lips cool and soft against her skin. She dropped her embroidery hoop onto the couch and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding tight, breathing him in.

“Hey lovebirds,” Robbie called out. “You make a better door than a window.”

Callum snorted and set her down, sitting on the middle cushion between Jory and Robbie.

“You’re awfully chipper,” she said.

“Aye,” he said with a bright smile. “Dr. Alton has finished the product and its testing.”

“That’s fuckin’ amazing!” Robbie crowed, punching Callum in the shoulder.

It was. And within forty-five minutes, Nat burst through the door. Niamh followed, closing it quietly behind her. She looked good today. She wasn’t weeping and didn’t seem to be in any pain, something that could not be said for every day. Before long, the three of them sat around the table, multiple notebooks open in front of them as well as Callum’s laptop, as they discussed what needed to happen next.

As it turned out, Niamh was the daughter of one of Ireland’s most successful whiskey distillers in the nineteenth century. And while much had changed about the business of bottling and distribution, Niamh had a sharp understanding of what made a brand successful. Jory made a pot of coffee for Niamh and herself and then went back to join Robbie on the couch.

Over the sounds of David Attenborough’s narration, she heard them setting in place the bones of the business based around Nat’s idea. The plan was to sell the artificial blood in nightclubs like Callum’s at first. The profits from those sales would fund the nonprofit arm of the business, which would provide free artificial blood for human emergency use.

After a while, Niamh shyly approached. “My part of the evening is done,” she said quietly. “Best let them work. Can I join you?”

“Just sit right here, Nevie,” Robbie said, stuffing a full handful of popcorn into his mouth. “You want some?”