Page 10

Koda must see it in my face, because he reaches across the table, his large green hand engulfing mine. "You miss it," he says. It's not a question.

I nod, blinking back unexpected tears. "I do. It's more than just a city to me, you know? It's where I finally felt like I belonged."

His thumb traces gentle circles on the back of my hand, the tender gesture at odds with his imposing appearance. "Tell me more," he urges.

And so I do. I tell him about the Mary Queen of Vietnam Church, how the Vietnamese Catholic community there became my second family. About my dreams of opening a fusion restaurant, blending the flavors of my heritage with the bold tastes of New Orleans cuisine.

As I speak, I realize how much I've been holding inside these past weeks, how much I've needed to share this part of myself.Koda listens with rapt attention, asking questions, genuinely interested in every detail of my life.

When I finally fall silent, my ph? has gone cold, but I feel lighter than I have in days. Koda squeezes my hand gently before releasing it to lean back in his chair. I smile, suddenly shy. "What about you? I've told you my life story, but I still know so little about yours."

Koda's expression darkens slightly, and for a moment I think I've overstepped. But then he sighs, running a hand over his face. "Not much to tell. Grew up in an orc enclave outside of Chicago. Rough neighborhood, rougher family life. Joined the military as soon as I could, figuring it was my ticket out."

He pauses, his gaze distant. I wait, giving him space to continue at his own pace.

"Turned out I had a talent for certain kinds of work. Ended up in special ops, then private military contracting. Mercenary, basically." His mouth twists in a humorless smile. "Did that for years, until, well, until I couldn't anymore."

"What happened?"

Koda shakes his head. "A job went bad. Real bad. I lost people I cared about, did things I'm not proud of. After that, I knew I had to get out. Ended up in New Orleans almost by accident. Figured it was as good a place as any to try and start over."

The pain in his voice touches me as I reach out this time, laying my hand on his arm. "I'm so sorry, Koda."

He covers my hand with his, his touch gentle despite the strength I know those hands possess. "Don't be. It led me here, didn't it?"

The intensity in his gaze makes my breath catch. There's so much left unsaid between us, so much we're both still figuring out. But at this moment, I feel closer to him than I've ever felt to anyone.

We sit in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds are the rain outside and the occasional creak of the cabin settling. Finally, I stand, gathering our bowls. "How about some dessert? I think we could both use something sweet."

Koda raises an eyebrow.

I laugh, the sound bright in the cozy cabin. "I did manage to find some condensed milk and coffee. How do you feel about Vietnamese coffee?"

His eyes light up with interest. "Never had it. Show me."

I busy myself with the preparation, explaining as I go. "Traditionally, it's made with a small metal filter called a phin. We don't have one here, so we'll have to improvise."

I layer sweetened condensed milk at the bottom of two glasses, then carefully pour over the strong, dark coffee I've brewed. The contrast is striking, dark coffee hovering over the pale, creamy layer below.

"Now for the fun part," I say, handing Koda a long spoon. "You stir it all together, mixing the coffee and condensed milk. It's like a little ceremony."

We stir our drinks in tandem, the clink of spoons against glass a pleasant counterpoint to the rain. It’s amusing, seeing his massive hands taking such care with the tiny-in-comparison glass and as the two layers swirl together, creating a rich, caramel-colored concoction, I think about Koda and me. Two very different beings, slowly blending together, creating something new and unexpected.

Koda takes a sip and his eyes widen in surprise. "This is wow. It's so rich and smooth."

I beam at him, pleased by his reaction. "It's one of my favorite things. A little bit of home, you know?"

He nods, understanding in his eyes. "Thank you, Pamela. All of it, the food, your stories, your past."

"Thank you for listening," I reply. "And for sharing your past with me too. I know it's not easy."

Koda sets down his glass, his expression serious. "There's still a lot you don't know about me. Things in my past aren’t pretty."

I reach out, laying my hand on his arm. "We've all got parts of our past we're not proud of, Koda. What matters is who we choose to be now, in this moment."

He covers my hand with his, his touch sending a frisson of warmth through me. "And who do you choose to be, Pamela?"

The question hangs in the air between us, weighted with possibilities. I take a deep breath, finding courage in the warmth of his gaze.