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“What else did he teach you?”

“Enough that Iggy went on a mad mission to grow yams that year. Didn’t pan out, but he made vodka from the wreckage.” I clamp a lid on the greens pot. “Worst hangover I’ve ever had.”

Oscar laughs, his shoulder jostling mine. “Your father is resourceful, no? And busy. Like you.” He points to the newly constructed hen house. “That was not here this morning.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I came by with your money before I went to sea. You were not here.”

Oscar cooks like a soul who knows how to eat. How to nourish. If I left him with the vegetables, he’d know what to do without me telling him. It’s the ideal time to duck away and wash the grime of the day from my skin.

But the faintest frown in the world is threatening his innate calm and a burning wheat field couldn’t drag me away.

The analogy has me shooting a glance to the horizon. But the fires next door have gone out for the day, leaving me free to focus on the one smouldering in my veins the longer I’m in Oscar’s presence without acting on the energy crackling between us. Everything about him, and me when I’m with him, is gentle and warm. Everything except that.

“What’s bothering you?” I speak without stopping to wonder if whatever’s on his mind is my business. If it isn’t, he’ll tell me…I think. “Are you worried about eating chicken here when they’re going to be running around the whole place before long?”

Oscar’s lips twitch and not for the first time or even the second or third, I wish I could hear his voice. “I was not thinking about chickens.”

That’s not a denial that something is on his mind.

So I wait, and eventually, he sighs. “Sol’s father bothers me. I saw him working here this morning.”

The greens are done. I take them off the fire and set the pot on a cracked paving stone. “You too, eh?”

“Me too?”

“You’re not the only one who doesn’t like him.”

“With good reason.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Oscar tilts his head. “How?”

“Sol told me he gambled their house away.”

“Did he tell you he put Sol’s boat up as collateral with a loan shark?”

“No, Folk told me that when he finally stopped by this afternoon. And that you and Sol were only at sea during that storm because Sol thought he needed the money.”

Oscar’s gaze flickers. “Your brother tells no lies.”

I really need that shower. But my stomach growls again and I reach for the resting chicken instead, lifting the board in one hand and the greens pot in the other. “Come sit.”

On the upturned apple crates near the house. We’ve sat here before, but it feels like we’re different people now. Or maybe it’s just me. Iggy says the land alters and shapes a man every day he works it. Is the sea the same?

Oscar has things to do before he can eat. I already know he doesn’t mind me watching, but I give him some space anyway and fetch water from the house.

He’s ready by the time I come back.

To eat.

To talk.

I start. “Who is Dav to you?”

Oscar breaks his fascination with the vegetables I’ve cooked him to consider the question. “He is just a man—a weak man. I know this, but Sol is important to me. We have been friends a long time. Sometimes he feels more like my brother than Matis. And Dav…he has hurt a lot of people. It is hard to not feel angry when I see him. Or protective of you now he is here.”