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Luka’s gaze lingers on me, as if he’s waiting for me to say more. But I can’t seem to conjure the right words.

His expression hardens at my hesitation. “I should get to work,” he says. “See you later, maybe.”

I watch him as he walks away, a ghost of longing hovering over me.

When I head back into the kitchen, Karmela shuffles to my side. “What’s wrong? Did something happen between you two?”

Where do I begin? I slump into a chair as a surge of emotions storms inside me—shame and guilt and sadness and fear. Why couldn’t I just tell him how I feel?

“Talk to me, Petra,” Karmela says, taking the seat beside me. “I am very old, if you haven’t noticed. I may have some advice.”

I release a long sigh. “At the gala . . . he told me he wanted to be with me.”

Karmela’s face lights up. “That is great news.” At my strained expression, she adds, “Is it not?”

I stare down at the table, unsure how to explain. “If you knew what happened—would happen—to Šime, that he . . .” I pause and Karmela nods, catching my drift. “Would you still have married him?”

She answers without hesitation. “Of course.”

I blink in surprise. “Why?”

“Because . . .” She purses her lips as she ponders her reply. “Because love is always worth it. Loving someone, truly loving them, means accepting the possibility of heartbreak. When I married Šime, I knew there was a chance I might lose him. I knew the family curse might be real, even if I was told not to believe it. But I also knew that our time together would be filled with love, laughter, and memories . . . and all that would carry me through the hardest times.” She pauses, her brows furrowing. “What are you worried will happen?”

I pick at a piece of chipped wood. My own fears seem paltry now in comparison to what Karmela faced. “Well . . . what if he doesn’t want me anymore? Or what if it doesn’t work out? Like things are good for a while, but then they are bad, and then we can’t even be friends?” I shake my head, wishing I could banish my doubts completely.

“Petra, look at me.”

I obey, meeting her steady gaze. She places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Heartbreak is painful, but regret is far worse. Take it from someone who has lived through both. Love is worth everything. When you find it, or the possibility of it, you must take it.”

As she says it, she squeezes my hand. Her touch is firm yet soothing, unraveling all my rigid knots of fear. “You’re right,” I say softly. Magdalena was wrong about love. It isn’t foolish—it’s brave. Karmela, my mom, my ancestors after Nikola who lived with the curse, even Luka—they all chose love over fear, even when they knew it could end in pain. And now I feel ready to do the same.

Maybe I could still catch Luka before he starts work. “I need to—”

Karmela smiles and nods, brushing me away with a flick of her hand. “Go.”

When I arrive at Ko Doma, I scan the restaurant, searching for Luka. Instead, I find his mom, who gives me a cautious look. Not quite welcoming, but not hostile either—a slight improvement from before.

“Luka is at the boat,” she tells me, her voice neutral.

“Thanks.” Without hesitation, I dash toward the pier. Sure enough, I spot Luka at the end, unloading boxes from the boat. I run up to him, heart still racing. “Hey, can we talk?”

He turns, surprise flashing across his face. “What about?” And then, “Did you . . . run here?”

“Yes,” I say, panting, bending over to catch my breath. The salty sea air fills my lungs, a familiar scent I’ve grown to love.

“I have something else I need to say.”

Luka watches me warily, folding his arms across his chest.

“I’m sorry for not saying this earlier. I was . . . nervous. I wasn’t sure if your feelings had . . . changed after the fire. I was scared too, of saying aloud what I want.”

Luka steps closer, his tall figure casting a shadow over me. “And what exactly is it that you want?”

“I want . . .” It’s harder than I thought it would be, trying to capture all my feelings in a sentence.

So, I decide to start small. “I want . . . to go to the beach with you and lie in the sun. I want to learn how to cook like you do. I want to sit all day and have coffee and gossip about who arrived on the ferry.” This earns the faintest hint of a smile from Luka, and suddenly the words flow easier. “I want to know more about your life, your childhood, your mistakes, your dreams. I want to argue about stupid, trivial things that don’t really matter.” My voice lowers as I go on. “I want to kiss you. Not just now in the summer, but in the fall and winter too—all the seasons. And even though I don’t know what the future holds, and that scares me . . . that’s alright. I want to find out, together.”

Silence envelops us, broken only by the gentle rocking of the boats and the distant cries of seagulls. Luka’s gaze pours into mine, intense and unreadable. Maybe I’ll be hurt after all. “I’m sorry for putting you on the spot. I just—”