2. The Garden
The glass-walled dining room buzzed with the comfortable chatter of wealthy vacationers. Ethan chose a corner table, positioning them away from the worst of the noise while maintaining a view of the hotel’s famous gardens. The space opened onto terraces that cascaded down toward the ocean, each level bursting with subtropical plants he couldn’t name.
“The waffles here are supposed to be excellent,” he told Lily, unfolding her napkin with the same precision he applied to quarterly reports. “With fresh strawberries. You used to love strawberries.”
She looked through him rather than at him, her gaze fixed on something beyond the windows—a butterfly, maybe, or the way the fountain caught the light. Dr. Harrison had said to keep talking to her, that maintaining normal conversation patterns was crucial even without response. Twenty-seven months of one-sided discussions had worn Ethan’s patience down to its frame.
A woman moved through his peripheral vision. Her movements were deliberate but unobtrusive. The hotel uniform marked her as staff; the cleaning supplies on her cart confirmed her position. She was young, maybe late 20s, with skin the color of burnished mahogany and eyes that seemed to take in everything while revealing nothing. Her name tag read Ava Thompson.
She worked with an economy of motion Ethan recognized from his best employees: efficiency without sacrificing thoroughness. Her hands moved steadily as she wiped down the nearby tables, but Ethan caught her glancing toward their corner more than once. Not at him—at Lily.
“Is there something you need?” The question came out sharper than intended.
Ava straightened slowly, meeting his gaze without flinching. “No, sir. Just ensuring your area is comfortable.”
“It’s fine.”
She didn’t immediately move away. Instead, she bent to retrieve something from the floor—a paper napkin that had fallen from their table. As she rose, she passed close enough to Lily that Ethan tensed, ready to intervene. The girl didn’t like strangers in her space, hadn’t since the accident. Yet Lily didn’t pull away. She watched Ava with the same distant attention she gave the fish in the lobby, as if the woman was simply another part of the scenery. Interesting, but unthreatening.
“The gardens are particularly beautiful this morning,” Ava said softly, addressing the space between them rather than anyone specific. “The morning glories just opened.” Then she was gone, pushing her cart toward the kitchen with that same measured pace.
