Page 31 of Signal No. Us

“It’s tight,” Robby admitted. “The mural needs to be further along than it is. And I need to be here for it, not chasing mangrove surveys two towns over.” He exhaled and reached for Allan’s hand again like it was the thing steadying him rather than the thing he was worried about losing. “Sorry. I didn’t want to bring work up here of all places.”

“You can bring it up,” Allan said. “I live here now too, apparently. And that one deliverable is mine. Might as well know the deadlines.”

Below them, the storm clouds kept building on the horizon, distant and enormous and, for once, not something either of them needed to be afraid of watching.

They hiked back down and rode home as the sun properly rose, Allan’s sketchbook tucked against his chest, one new drawing added to it that he had no intention of showing anyone but privately intended to keep forever: two small figures, hands linked, on a cliff above the Pacific, a lighthouse keeping watch in the distance, and dwarfed by an impossible sky.

Cora took one look at both of them stumbling into the kitchen, windblown and grinning and standing slightly too close together, and set down her coffee cup with the specific weariness of a woman who had, apparently, been expecting this for slightly longer than either of them realized.

“Finally,” she said, and went back to her coffee without further comment, which from Cora was practically a wedding blessing.

“That’s it?” Allan asked. “No interrogation? No list of eligible pig farmers as backup?”

“Why would I do that,” Cora said, unbothered, “when it’s obvious you already picked the right one.” She glanced at Robby over the rim of her cup, not unkindly. “Robby. Have you two eaten?”

“Not yet po, Tita.”

“Sit,” she said, already reaching for a plate, the matter, as far as she was concerned, completely settled. “And Robby: if you hurt him, you already know, it won’t just be me you have to answer to. Lagot ka sa BEBES.”

“I know po,” Robby said, with the grave solemnity of a man who understood exactly what kind of tribunal that would be.

“Good,” Cora said, and served him rice like it was both a peace treaty and a warning.

Allan watched them settle into an easy, teasing rapport that felt like it had been building for years without his notice, and thought that maybe this was what home had been quietly waiting to become the whole time he'd been too scared to come find it.

CHAPTER 15

“I would like it on record,” Allan said, watching Robby attempt to light a portable stove on the beach with the concentration of a man defusing a bomb, “that you specifically said, and I quote, ‘Don’t worry, magaling akong magluto.’”

“But I am!” Robby said, not looking up. “It’s just hard to find the right ingredients here.”

“That’s not the problem, Robby.”

“Just a little patience.”

They’d hiked out that Sunday to a small, mostly empty cove twenty minutes past the last sari-sari store, Robby’s idea of a proper first date, apparently, involving a rented cooler, two plastic chairs strapped precariously to the back of his motorcycle, and a bag of ingredients for what he’d promised would be “the best sinigang you’ll ever have on a beach.”

Forty minutes later, the “best sinigang” was a pot of lukewarm, faintly smoky water that had, at some point, given up on becoming soup altogether.

“Okay,” Robby admitted, staring into the pot with the grief of a man watching his own grand romantic gesture die in real time. “Maybe, maybe this wasn’t the best plan.”

“It’s genuinely terrible,” Allan agreed, delighted. “I love it so much.”

“You’re supposed to be impressed.”

“I am impressed. I’m impressed you thought a beach stove would out-cook my mother’s kitchen. That takes real confidence.”

“You’re really sabotaging my ego right now,” Robby said, but he was laughing now too, defeat settling into something warmer.

Robby’s phone rang before either of them could sit down properly. He answered on the second ring, tone shifting instantly, the easy laughter dropping into something more careful.

“Tita? Slow down. Yes he’s with me.” A pause, listening, jaw tight. “Okay. Is she talking normally? Yes. Is she dizzy?” Another pause, longer this time, Allan going still beside him. “Okay. Okay, good. Tell her to sit, drink water, and call the health center anyway just to log it. We’ll be there in twenty minutes if anything changes.”

He hung up, exhaling slowly.

“They’ve been trying to call you, but your phone cannot be reached. Your mom’s blood pressure monitor flagged something,” he said, already halfway to standing before he caught himself and sat back down. “Tita Becky panics first and reads the actual numbers second. She’s fine, probably. Resting.”

Allan was already reaching for his own phone before Robby finished the sentence, thumb hovering over Cora’s contact photo, the old ten-hours-on-a-ferry panic climbing straight up his spine like it had never actually left.