Ollie ran his thumb over the weathered leather binding, like the skin of an old reptile. He scanned the contents, filled with intricate groupings of letters and assigned codes, then wiped the cover with his sleeve and returned it to Susan.

“My father was in the artillery. They used it to send messages along the Western Front. Supposedly, the code was unbreakable. Or at least that’s what Grandfather led me to believe.” Susan smiled. “When I was small, Grandfather would often attach a secret message to one of his racing pigeons, even though it likely slowed its time. I’d wait in the loft until the pigeon with the message arrived. Then I’d decipher the code.” Susan slid the book into Ollie’s jacket pocket. “Let’s show Grandfather. He’d enjoy telling you about it.”

Ollie ran his hand over the lump in his jacket. “What were Bertie’s secret messages?”

“Important business. Usually where he had hidden a gift for me. A book. A piece of caramel. You should have seen my grandmother covering her ears as I clanged through her pots and pans trying to find a pack of gum.”

Ollie chuckled. “I wish I could have seen that.”

“Me too.”

Ollie looked at her. Their eyes briefly met, causing his stomach to quiver. Do you feel the same way?

Susan turned and looked at the emptied rows, then to the cages. A few of the pigeons squirmed in their tight quarters, while most had their heads tucked under their wings. Susan’s hands trembled.

Ollie gently clasped her hands. He struggled for the right words and simply said, “You’ve trained them well.”

She squeezed his fingers. “I’m tired of being scared and hungry. The constant air raids. I can’t seem to get the sirens out of my head. But most of all, I hate sending our pigeons to war. I know we have no choice, but I hate it.”

“Someday the war will be over,” he said. “There’ll be nights without bombs. Meals without rationing. Lofts without alarms. You’ll finish your studies at the university.”

“And you’ll go home,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper.

A jolt struck Ollie. The reality of their different paths felt like a wedge coming between them. He would join the fight. She would raise pigeons. But Susan had resurrected his hope and joy, and he wasn’t about to let anything drive them apart—not even a war. “I don’t want to leave,” he breathed.

Susan looked into his eyes.

“I want to be here—with you.”

She leaned in.

Ollie wrapped his arms around Susan, feeling her warmth, chest rising and falling, soft hair brushing against his chin.

Susan raised her head and placed her palm on his neck. She slowly stood on her toes.

He felt her heart thumping against his chest. His pulse pounded faster as her lips approached his own.

A car horn sounded.