Crossed Keys

Chapter Eleven - Dash

Back on the island, I was slowly splintering. 

Strike was the perfect boyfriend but I just couldn't believe it. There was a darkness swirling around over my head as the days counted down for him to leave. The first few days we were back, Strike settled in and went out fishing me daily.

He helped with cooking—even adding a limited addition to the stuff I cooked for my customers which was a hit. I was sure to tell them this wasn't an every day thing—that Strike was a guest.

A few were disappointed but I didn't have the skills Strike had to keep up with his additions.

One day Strike couldn't go with me was because he had an emergency at the restaurant. A pipe had broken and after emergency services had managed to turn off the water, one of the manager and a waitress went in to see the damage. Then it was a battle to get the damage surveyed to see what was needed to fix. Though Strike agreed to keep the place closed until everything sorted out, they still needed to find a company to come in and take care of what needed to be handled.

Even with his staff, he still called Bright who readily agreed to keep an eye on things and ensured everything was done in a timely manner and legally.

It was good watching Bright and Strike's friendship in motion.

Strike hadn't slept the night before, spending the entire time going from phone calls to video calls. Still, when I woke up, it was to breakfast.

"You didn't have to do this." I told him.

"I was up." He offered me a smile.

Though I kissed him before leaving, it felt different. I knew what I was doing was hurting him—I was withdrawing into myself because I was scared.

While he didn't tell me I was hurting him, I could tell by the tender way he held me, almost as if he was afraid I'd break him.

On the water, I hauled in my first net, ensured they were in enough water to stay fresh, then tossed both nets out again. I settled back in the boat, staring up at the sky, listening to the waves ripple around me.

Strike had suggested we dated—he wanted us to visit each other, go on dates, spend time with each other to see if this was more than a novelty. But while I was open to him coming down to see me, I wasn't a fan of going into the city.

Each time I thought about it, my test grew tight, and I wanted to just hide.

When I was a kid, I used to visit Chiang Mai regularly with my father. It was great memories for the most part. I'd sit in a corner, waiting for him to finish business. It wasn't on a grand level like Strike's business, but it helped to pay the bills for us.

As I grew older, I would bring a book to read while I waited.

When I was sixteen, I decided I was old enough to wander around the meeting place alone. And things were going great until I was attacked by two older boys. They stole my backpack, my very first cell phone that I'd worked my first job to buy then beat me so bad, I could barely walk afterward.

Every time I thought of going back, that fear—the nightmares had returned. So far, I'd managed to hide them from Strike—but for how long?

Shaking the worry off, I checked my horde and realized all my coolers were full. Though a little exhausted, I rowed back to the market, hefted everything to my area and faced the public. The line was still long, and though they asked for Strike, I managed to sell everything except some prawns I'd put aside for that night.

I was tempted on making a curry with them—served that with a rice and crunchy salad wit my mother's delicious peanut dressing.

It was a few days since I'd cooked for Strike. I knew I'd been withdrawing from him and I was hoping making him a nice dinner would start my way back to him.