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The air in the cafe smelled of toasted sourdough and the sharp, floral acidity of Caleb's notoriously over-steeped morning coffee. It was a slow day. Most residents had returned to their hometowns for the Lanternet festival, leaving Linkon City unusually quiet. That meant fewer people dropping by Cafe Contrail since his cafe was situated in the CBD.
As Caleb sliced and prepared the avocados, he watched the yawning girl perched on the counter seat, scrolling through reels to keep herself awake. Formerly his "Pipsqueak," she is now officially his girlfriend. The dedicated, workaholic Hunter had finally been granted replacement leave after hunting down Wanderers day after day without any breaks. She scrolled absent-mindedly through vacation reels while he made her a deluxe-sized avocado toast with a side of poached eggs.
Her excuse for being here was whimsical as always. Her Astra-branded toaster had short-circuited the whole apartment, and since the technicians were investigating the power trip, she claimed she had nowhere to go but Cafe Contrail. Never mind that Cafe Cloud was actually a franchise much closer to her house. To her, any time was a good time to visit her barista boyfriend and demand a free breakfast, especially since she had made her way there in a hoodie she had stolen from him and loose-hanging culottes that favored comfort over style.
While he seasoned her eggs, he noticed her skipping past three beach resorts, her eyes lingering on mountain cabins instead. He knew exactly why. Recalling the incident she had described with such forced nonchalance, the time she nearly drowned saving a victim in a lake, made his heart tighten in his chest.
To anyone else, a swimming lesson was a vacation activity. To Caleb, it was a necessity. He did not settle for sufficient when it came to her life, and today, the clear skies meant there were no more excuses. Their relationship had shifted, and with it, the need for a deeper level of trust and growth. He wanted her to master her environment, not just survive it.
Previously, her excuse was that she was always too busy handling the department's paperwork, claiming she didn't want her partner, Xavier, to be overburdened. Caleb had met the man a few times. He was a deceptively harmless guy with starlight-colored hair and a permanent just-woke-up expression. In spite of his sleepy demeanor, he was highly competent in a fight.
Caleb had seen the way Xavier would move and close distance without seeming to walk. But a Light Evol user wasn't a lifeguard. Xavier could cut through a Wanderer, but he couldn't breathe for her if she went under. In a water-related accident, Xavier would have to perform CPR on her. As her partner, he would be fully qualified to give chest compressions and rescue breaths.
His train of thought immediately snapped. No. She is not getting away with another flimsy excuse today.
Caleb set her plate down on the wooden table with a decisive clack. He leaned back, his posture relaxed but his gaze tracking her with the sharp focus he usually reserved for his caffeinated brews.
"Change into your swimsuit," he announced. His tone was light, but it carried that underlying note of a command she knew better than to ignore.
"Huh? What do you mean, Caleb?"
She looked up from her phone and felt a sudden, cold knot of genuine apprehension form in her stomach. Having prided herself on her professional agency, deep down she wanted to master her swimming skills as well. Her experience with instructors being too touchy-feely had prevented her from progressing properly. And she knew that being bad at swimming felt like a glaring flaw in her otherwise stellar record, a vulnerability she preferred to avoid rather than confront.
"The weather conditions are perfect today. You are well rested and on leave. Why don't we spend the day helping you become a better Hunter?" Caleb explained while wiping down the table and clearing the cooking area.
She paused, a piece of toast halfway to her mouth. She narrowed her eyes. "I know how to be in the water, Caleb. I have survived every beach trip we have taken since we were kids."
"Surviving isn't the same as swimming," Caleb countered, a teasing glint in his eyes. "I have been going to the beach with you since we were kids, and your strategy has never changed. You find the largest inflatable possible, usually something neon and ridiculous, and stay on it until the tide literally drags you back to the sand. You aren't swimming. You are just drifting with style."
"It's called selective muscle movement," she argued while munching a large bite of her poached eggs. The rich, buttery yolk coated her lips in the process. In the past, Caleb would have told her not to talk while she was eating, but this time, he just sighed in resignation. Grabbing one of the neatly folded napkins on the counter, he reached out and wiped her lips with it. The rough texture of the paper contrasted with the gentle warmth of his fingers, making her smile.
"I am a high-ranking Hunter, Caleb," she insisted. "I have taken down Wanderer threats that would make your skin crawl. Besides, the Association's training includes a deep-water survival test. Legally and professionally, I am a capable swimmer."
Caleb let out a short, dry laugh as she pulled up her phone. She was determined to make a point, showing him photos from her recent team-building trips. In every shot, she was visibly standing in the shallowest parts of the stream, grinning at the camera to prove she and the water were getting along just fine.
"Alright, alright, I get your point," Caleb said, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Just don't choke on the avocado. It is not a good look for a talented Hunter."
"CALEB! You take that back right now."
"Or else?" Caleb challenged, leaning his elbows on the counter.
"Or else I will leave a few devastating one-star reviews for Cafe Contrail," she threatened, pointing her fork at him. "I will write that the avocado in the avocado toast was sliced haphazardly and caused me to choke."
"Oh, so that's how you want to play it? Okay." Caleb pulled out his own phone. "Funny thing about being a former Colonel with high-level clearance. Since they have yet to revoke my access to the files of Linkon-based Hunters, I took a peek at your actual training scores not too long ago, just out of curiosity."
"And your point is...?"
He shook his head as if he were disappointed in her. "Candidate appears to move through the water via a series of panicked, uncoordinated lunges. Score: 51 percent."
"Fifty-one percent is still a pass!" she shot back, her face flushing crimson with a mix of embarrassment and wounded professional pride.
"The Association deems you fit to not drown immediately in a calm pool while wearing a life vest," Caleb corrected. "I don't settle for sufficient when it comes to your safety. Your job does not mean you will only be subjected to water at the height of a kiddie pool, initiating an imaginary fight with a pool noodle."
She huffed, her indignation flaring. "First of all, I did not lose a fight with that pool noodle. I had only turned thirteen in November, meaning I was still within the maximum age requirement for a kiddie pool. Secondly, my choice to engage with it was in the name of self-defence. Did you see its face? Those googly eyes were glued on at a specific angle. It was side-eyeing me."
Caleb rubbed the bridge of his nose, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. "How you can recall such an old memory is one thing, but let's not forget what it is. It's a pool noodle. That's just pure foam, brat. It doesn't have a soul."
"That's what it wants you to think," she muttered. "It was mocking my technique. I had to teach it a lesson in respect."
"No one goes to a pool to start a fight, brat. But I digress."
Caleb began wiping down the espresso machine, preparing to shut it off completely. "Besides, I just turned down a catering order from one of the offices nearby. Lots of hungry workers are not getting their dose of Caleb's egg sandwiches and lemon tea because I want to make sure my girlfriend doesn't sink like a stone." He pulled out the order sheet that had just appeared on his takeaway device and showed it to her before tossing it aside. With a flourish, he informed the delivery representative that he wouldn't be able to fulfil the order due to technical difficulties in the kitchen. Caleb watched her as he made the cancellation, daring her to actually back off now from her decision.
She paused. Caleb actually did it. He stopped calling her brat, and she had now graduated to being the "girlfriend." His one and only. The bratty retort she had prepared died in her throat. She stared back at Caleb as he began to wipe down the counters and machinery, preparing to close the cafe, and realized this was simply Caleb watching out for her in his own deeply practical way. A wave of guilt washed over her, mixing with her lingering fear of the ocean. He was sacrificing his livelihood today just to ensure she felt capable and secure tomorrow.
Seeing her silence, Caleb laughed softly. He reached over the counter and gently tapped her forehead. "Don't look so tragic. If you promise to actually paddle, we can have a picnic on the sand before we swim. I will whip up some of those finger foods you like, just to get you motivated."
The mention of his cooking immediately brought the light back to her eyes. "Finger foods are a good start," she agreed, her gaze turning mischievous as she saw an opportunity to shift the power dynamic. "But if I am going to endure this, the stakes need to be sensational. If I pass your course today, you are cooking me a three-course meal tonight. Topless."
Caleb barked out a laugh. "Topless? You want me to handle spitting oil and raw meat with zero protection? That is a massive safety hazard. I am a cafe owner, meaning I manage risk. I do not invite second-degree burns to my chest."
He leaned down until they were eye-level. The scent of his cologne, a crisp blend of bergamot and high-altitude ozone wrapped around her. "I'll meet you halfway. Shirt stays off, but the apron stays on. Deal?"
Caleb watched as she hastily agreed and told him that she would be heading back to her apartment to pick up her swimsuit.
"That look in her eye tells me she is planning something..." he thought to himself as he helped himself to the plate of avocado toast that she had left half-eaten, just like old times when they were kids and she lost interest in her meal mid-way in order to scheme. "But as long as she wants to swim, I guess it’s fine."
Twenty minutes later, she returned to the cafe still wearing the oversized DAA hoodie that she had now legally claimed as her own. Her culottes had been replaced with a flowy skirt. Caleb looked up from his gear and asked where her swimsuit was. She smirked, looking as if she had been waiting for him to ask that very question.
She unzipped the hoodie with a single, slow pull, a move that she had picked up from somewhere. The orange monokini underneath was scandalous, skin-tight, and featured more cut-outs than a redacted government file. With a practiced sultry gaze directed at Caleb, she leaned against the doorframe and let her hair fall over one shoulder.
"Ready for my lesson, Instructor?"
Caleb went still. His hands, mid-check on a dry bag, stopped completely. He straightened slowly, his gaze traveling from her ankles upward with deliberate, unhurried intensity.
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning. She had him exactly where she wanted him.
But when Caleb approached, he didn't reach for her waist. He grabbed the zipper of the hoodie she was still half-wearing and yanked it all the way up to her chin.
"Hey! You are suffocating me here!" she yelped, struggling against the thick fleece.
"It is a safety hazard," Caleb corrected, his voice sounding slightly rougher than before. "We are making a stop at the beach store. I am buying you a new suit. Something with actual straps and enough fabric to survive a wave without causing a national emergency."
She grumbled, but she noticed that his ears had turned a deep shade of red as his voice went gruff. That alone meant she had succeeded in shaking his resolve. As Caleb began to close and lock the store, she quickly messaged Tara, asking for more tips she could use to seduce him in the future.
The shop smelled heavily of coconut-scented wax and fresh neoprene. Behind the counter, Uncle Sam looked up. "Caleb! Well, if it isn't the high-flyer himself."
"I used to work here," Caleb said shortly, already rifling through the athletic racks.
"He had three part-time jobs back then," Uncle Sam added, winking at her. "Worked himself to the bone just to buy some limited-edition toy pistol for a certain someone."
She felt a sharp, warm tug in her chest. She remembered that toy—the exact one she had cried for as a child. She looked at Caleb, but he was busy inspecting goggles.
"You worked here? For that?" she whispered.
Caleb tossed a sensible forest green athletic suit toward her. "You were a terrible shot with the cheap plastic ones. Go change."
She made a face but snatched the suit from the air and headed toward the changing room at the back of the shop. The curtain swished shut behind her, and for a moment, the only sounds were the distant crash of waves and the soft hum of the shop's ancient refrigerator.
Uncle Sam leaned his elbows on the glass counter, his weathered face creasing into a knowing grin. "So," he said, lowering his voice, "you buying her a new suit because the one she showed up in was too much for your liking? Or because you don't want anyone else seeing her and getting ideas?"
Caleb didn't look up from the pair of goggles he was pretending to examine. "Both," he admitted.
Uncle Sam chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "That so?"
Caleb set the goggles down and finally met the older man's eyes. His voice dropped, quieter than before. "The truth is, Uncle Sam, I'm the biggest predator out here. Not the strangers on the beach. Not some guy with wandering eyes." He paused, his jaw tightening. "I'm saving her from myself."
Uncle Sam's grin softened into something more thoughtful. He studied Caleb for a long moment, the way he used to when Caleb was a teenage boy working three jobs and lying about being tired.
"Son," Uncle Sam said gently, "things aren't looking too bad between you two. I've been around long enough to read people. That girl in there? She's interested. She wouldn't be here, wearing your hoodie, letting you drag her to a beach store at—" he glanced at the clock, "—nine in the morning if she wasn't."
Caleb swallowed. He didn't answer.
Uncle Sam reached across the counter and patted his arm. "You've always been too hard on yourself. Too careful. But here's the thing about instincts and desires—they're not something you need to lock away. You can trust yourself. And you can trust her to tell you if you're moving too fast."
Caleb gave a weak smile, the kind that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm not sure she's ready for the greedy version of me, Uncle Sam. The one that doesn't want to share. The one that wants to keep her in my sight at all times." He exhaled slowly. "This trip? The swimming lesson? It's a test. For me. To see if I can let her breathe without panicking."
Uncle Sam nodded slowly, respecting the honesty. "And if you can't?"
Caleb's gaze drifted toward the changing room curtain. "Then I try harder. Because she deserves better than a man who confuses love with a cage."
Before Uncle Sam could respond, the curtain swished open.
She stepped out in the forest green suit. It was modest compared to the orange monokini—thicker straps, higher cut on the legs but nothing scandalous, full coverage where it mattered. And yet, the way it hugged her curves, the way the color brought out the warmth in her skin, made Caleb's breath catch anyway.
She spun slowly, arms out. "Well? Do I pass inspection, or are you going to make me try on the whole rack?"
Caleb stared for a beat too long. Then he reached for his wallet, his ears burning.
"It'll do," he said, his voice rougher than he intended.
Uncle Sam laughed, loud and unrestrained, as he rang up the purchase. "It'll do," he repeated, winking at her. "Honey, that man is about three seconds from walking into a pole. Trust me. It does more than do."
She grinned, looking between them, clearly missing half the conversation but enjoying the effect she had on Caleb.
Caleb shoved his wallet back into his pocket and grabbed the shopping bag. "We're leaving," he announced, pointedly not looking at Uncle Sam.
"Come back anytime," Uncle Sam called after them, still chuckling. "I'll keep the good suits in the back for you."
Caleb didn't dignify that with a response. But as he held the door open for her, his hand found the small of her back—a light touch, brief, almost unconscious.
She glanced up at him, curious.
He said nothing. Just steered her toward the cove, his heart pounding in a rhythm he couldn't quite name.
The transition from the store to the cove was marked by the crunch of coarse sand underfoot and the rhythmic roar of the surf. The ocean breeze tasted sharply of salt, and the water was a biting cold against her ankles, making her shiver. Caleb put her through a rigorous warm-up before identifying the root of her failure.
"The problem is that you are fighting the water like it's a giant sea monster," he said, standing waist-deep in the surf. "You are bracing for impact. In the water, rigidity makes you sink."
He stepped closer, and the space between them felt highly charged. A few months ago, Caleb would have just grabbed her by the shoulders without a second thought. Now, the atmosphere was heavy with the new reality of what they were to each other.
He reached out, hesitating for a fraction of a second, before placing his large hands flush against her bare waist. She gasped softly. The water was freezing, but the heat of his palms felt like a brand against her skin.
"I am here, don’t worry..." Caleb murmured. His voice had dropped a register, vibrating with a quiet, intimate intensity. His thumbs instinctively stroked the curve of her waist, a small movement that betrayed his own hyper-awareness. "Trust the water to hold you, and trust me not to let you go."
He guided her to lean back. As she floated, his hands slid lower to support her hips and then gently gripped her thighs to correct her kicking posture. She fought the urge to panic as her feet left the sandy bottom. Giving up control went against every instinct she had developed as a Hunter.
She tried to focus, but her gaze kept drifting to Caleb's chest. Water beaded on his shoulders and slid down his stomach. Caleb was fighting his own battle, surprised by how light she felt in his hands and fighting the urge to pull her closer.
The tension reached a point where it felt like the air might catch fire. They gazed into each other's eyes, the beach fading around them, until a high-pitched voice broke the silence.
"Mommy, what are those two people doing?"
Both Caleb and she snapped their heads toward the shoreline. A group of young children stood in the shallow surf, clutching plastic buckets.
"Are they wrestling? In the sea?!" the smallest boy asked excitedly, pointing at Caleb's hands, which were still very much gripped around her waist.
"No," a slightly older girl chimed in. "I think the man is trying to dunk her. Look how serious he looks! He is like a giant sea monster suplexing a mermaid."
Caleb cleared his throat, his ears turning red as he retracted his hands. "Practicing," he muttered under his breath, a sheepish grin tugging at his mouth.
Slowly, the tension bled out of her, replaced by a bubbling laugh. She finally allowed herself to relax into the current, and she began to glide. Swimming, as it turns out, is just another way of moving to her, and instead of using her legs solely, her arms move in tandem as well. Soon, she was showing off and performing dramatic backstrokes.
"Can you believe this? I am actually swimming for real! Pretty sure a dolphin just stopped to take notes of my incredible form!!"
"Good job, squirt. I would upgrade you to a solid seventy-five percent," Caleb laughed, catching her by the ankle as she swam past. "You have earned that dinner."
Her face scrunched when Caleb called her something else instead of their lovey-dovey nicknames, and she took revenge by splashing water on him.
"Oops, what was that? Come again?"
Caleb, soaked to the bone from her antics, chuckled and slowly eyed her.
"Oh, you are definitely eating well tonight... babe."
As they walked back up the trail toward the car, she started wringing the cold water out of her hair. "So, once we get back to my place, how long do you think it will take to prep that three-course meal? My belly is chanting a lament at the moment."
Caleb didn't look toward the car. Instead, he pointed a finger further down the private coastal road toward a modern, white-washed villa perched on the edge of the cliffs. "We aren't going back to your place tonight."
She stopped in her tracks. "What? Did the toaster situation get worse?"
Caleb pulled his phone from the dry bag. "While we were swimming, the technicians called and left us a message. Turns out the short-circuit fried the main breaker panel. Your place is officially a dark zone tonight. Since we were already out here, I thought it was the perfect time for an impromptu getaway. I have already had your things moved. Consider it the bonus for surviving the deep end."
She looked at the villa, admiring the floor-to-ceiling glass and the luxury outdoor kitchen he had hinted at earlier. Her mouth fell open. "Caleb, this place is beautiful."
"If your toaster wants to sacrifice itself so we can have a night alone at the beach, who am I to argue?" he teased.
She smiled, her exhaustion vanishing entirely. "In that case, I believe you have an appointment with a stove. And remember," she added, her voice dropping to a playful whisper, "I am expecting that apron-only look. Do not think the fancy villa lets you get away without honouring our deal."
Caleb let out a low, resigned laugh. "I really should not have taught you how to negotiate."
"Of course you had to teach me nothing but the most valuable skills. Caleb is the best!"
The villa was even more stunning up close. Soft ambient lighting lined the hallway floors, and the distant sound of waves filtered through the massive windows. She kicked off her sandals and padded barefoot across the cool marble, already planning how she would claim the best spot on the oversized sofa after dinner.
Caleb disappeared into the kitchen to inspect the cookware, muttering something about subpar surfaces under his breath. For her, this was her time to perform a quick tour of the villa.
Opening the first door led her to the master bedroom. It featured a king-sized bed, crisp white linens, and a spectacular view of the moonlit sea. Perfect. She was already imagining curling up against Caleb's chest after a heartwarming meal when she turned and noticed a door at the end of the hallway.
Curious, she pushed it open.
Another bedroom. Smaller, but still elegant. A neatly made queen-sized bed sat in the centre. Her bag rested on the luggage rack.
Her face fell.
She walked back to the kitchen, arms crossed, trying very hard to look casual. Caleb was inspecting a set of knives, completely absorbed.
"So," she began, leaning against the counter. "Two bedrooms."
Caleb didn't look up. "Mm. The booking said two. Thought you would appreciate the space. You move around a lot in your sleep."
"I do not," she protested, then immediately backtracked. "And even if I did, that is not the point. The point is..." She scrambled for a reasonable excuse. "The nights at the villa must be cold. Chilly. Very low temperatures, which means... I might need to seek warmth later. From a secondary heat source, preferably, purely for survival."
Caleb finally looked up, one eyebrow raised. "Survival."
"Thermoregulation," she amended. "It is a biological necessity, Caleb. I read an article."
He set down the knife and wiped his hands on a towel, fighting a smile. "An article."
"A very scientific one," she said firmly. "With citations."
Caleb walked past her toward the hallway, and she followed, hope flickering in her chest. He stopped outside the smaller bedroom and pointed at the closet.
"Before you commit to any thermoregulation strategies," he said, his voice thick with amusement, "you should check in there. I made sure you had everything you needed."
She narrowed her eyes at him, highly suspicious, then slid open the closet door.
Tucked neatly on the shelf, wrapped in a crisp white pillowcase, was a bolster. A long, cylindrical body pillow. Thick. Plush. Absolutely incapable of holding her back or murmuring sweet things into her hair.
She stared at it.
Then she turned to Caleb.
He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, grin firmly in place. "That should keep you warm. High-quality fabric with a 700 thread count. Breathable cotton with a self-warming gel pad. Definitely the perfect secondary heat source for your needs."
She opened her mouth and closed it. After taking a deep breath, she opened it again.
"You are impossible," she finally said, punching the bolster with the same amount of vitriol that she had delivered to the googly-eyed pool noodle.
"And you are predictable," he replied, pushing off the doorframe. He walked past her toward the kitchen but paused at her shoulder, his breath warm against her ear. "Dinner is in an hour. Try not to punch the bolster to death before then."
She stood in the doorway of the smaller bedroom, clutching the bolster like a hostage, and watched him walk away.
Then she pulled out her phone and messaged Tara: New plan failed. He bought me a body pillow. Send reinforcements. I can’t let this chance slip away.
Tara replied almost instantly: Marry him. Need me to send you a ring?
She groaned and threw the bolster onto the bed. It bounced once and lay there, smug and inanimate. From the kitchen, the sound of Caleb chopping vegetables drifted through the villa, accompanied by the low, unmistakable hum of him laughing to himself.