“Um, when I was a kid I once got a rash on my wrist, but…”

“I meant, are you here alone?”

“Oh.” I laugh. “Yeah.”

His smile widens. I wait for a flutter of something to flap its wings in my stomach, a skipped heartbeat, a glimmer of interest—in vain. It’s been a recurring problem. My gaze strays to Conor, who briefly excused himself to take a call by the balustrade. He stares past the cliff, half cloaked in shadow.

Maybe it’s time you did something to solve this problem, Maya.

After all, it’s nice talking to Paul. Easy. By the time the first course arrives, penne with cream sauce and chunks of salmon, I know everything about his mechanical-arm project, and he’s called me a childish brat exactly zero times.

We are, I think, the odd men out. The ones who don’t have a horse in the race when a table-wide fight over a trade deal breaks out, Nyota and Conor leading opposite sides, with the argumentative relish of people who love disagreeing about their circumscribed interests.

He laughs several times—Conor, that is. Often in response to something Avery said. Once or twice after talking, hushed, with Tamryn. Each time, my stomach politely asks me if it could keel over. No, I say flatly. In this body, we endure.

Before dessert, a smiling, statuesque woman whose English vocabulary seems to consist of the words Good and Eat steps out from the house. Lucrezia, the housekeeper, makes a round of the table—to both vigorously squeeze everyone’s hand, and to shake her head in disappointment at those of us who didn’t polish their plates. Kaede begins to fidget, and with Minami’s permission, I let her lead me back to her favorite jasmine shrub.

It’s nice, the short respite from the constant chatter. “Are you taking me on an adventure, princess?”

I smile at the faint stumble of her little steps, the way she turns back to make sure that I’m keeping up. Her brown eyes widen, take in all the wonders of the world, reach for the strings of overhead lights that flood the garden with amber hues.

“Those two are so cute,” I overhear an unknown, Irish voice say behind me. Tamryn, I think.

“Maya’s so good with kids,” Avery agrees.

Conor’s voice is a low rumble. “She was one most recently.”

My stomach asks if self-implosion is still off the table.

“…kind of endearing, that the person Maya has the most in common with is a not-quite-two-year-old,” Diego says.

“Maybe we should set up a kids’ table for the under-thirty?” Tisha muses.

“Will you stop trying to kick off an intergenerational war?” Nyota asks.

“With you? Never.”

I take a deep breath. Let the rest of the conversation flow around me as I keep an eye on Kaede, smiling when Tiny joins us, tail wagging furiously. She points at a tree with a noise that sounds like her version of What’s that? “Lemon, baby. A lemon tree.” She must like the answer. Because she plops down and starts playing with the low-hanging fruits.