She had enjoyed sitting on the sofa with him, telling him things she had never told others. Around Ollie, she felt a sense of comfort that she had never felt around any other man. Tonight would be dreadful, her pigeons dropped into war while another round of Luftwaffe bombs were likely to fall on London. But she took comfort in knowing that Ollie would be by her side, at least for the next few months, until he was free to join the RAF. She’d worry about that when the time came. For now, she would take what time they had together.

Bertie hobbled into the kitchen.

Susan looked up. “Tea will be done soon.”

Bertie pointed to the stove.

Susan noticed she had forgotten to light the burner. “I may be a trifle distracted.”

“Understandable, my dear.”

Susan got up and lit the burner.

Bertie took a seat. “Thinking about our pigeons?”

“Yes.”

“And Ollie?”

Her face turned warm. She hesitated, then nodded.

He smiled, pulled a chair beside him, and tapped the seat.

Susan rubbed her arms and sat.

“He’ll be leaving,” he said.

“I’m aware,” Susan said. She expected to hear a lecture, perhaps on the proper etiquette of a lady or the risks of fraternizing with a foreigner, let alone a man who would soon be going off to war. But he surprised her.

“Our Oliver from Maine has taken to the pigeons quite well.” Bertie pulled his pipe from his pocket.

She hesitated. “Yes, quite well.”

He packed his pipe with tobacco, struck a match, and inhaled on the stem. “We’re running low on grain. Tomorrow, perhaps you and Oliver should go to the village for supplies.”

Susan felt tension fade from her shoulders. “Do you need tobacco?”

Bertie shook his head. “No need for such extravagance while the country is rationing. I’ll make due with something from the garden.”

“It’s only a little tobacco.”

He smiled and touched her arm. “How about some good tea, something we can all enjoy. Oliver must think we’re quite uncivilized. It’d be nice to give him a proper cup of tea.”

Susan hugged him, breathing in the scent of homemade soap and stale tobacco. She went to the stove, removed the kettle, and poured steaming water into a teapot. The afternoon sun beamed through the window, warming her face. As she watched the water slowly turn the shade of lightly baked bread, she thought of Ollie. He’d be home soon. They’d wait for the pigeons to return. Together.

As Susan carried a tray filled with a teapot and cups to the table, the siren sounded. She jumped. China shattered on the floor. Hot tea splattered her legs. She rubbed her skin and looked at her grandfather. “I’m fine,” she said.

Bertie struggled to stand.