========== News From The Cove ==========

  The guys had turned the sink into an assembly line: one rinsing, one scrubbing, one providing commentary. Foam crept over the edge, and Davide blew a soap bubble off his fingertip as if he were putting out a candle.

  — Dishwasher’s barista, — Riccardo said with a smirk. — Two shots of foam and a smile.

  — Just don’t ask for tte art, — Evan snorted. — We only do ptes here.

  — And no distracting the muse, — Matteo tossed out, somewhere past everyone, eyes down.

  Laughter went around the sink, low and slippery.

  Sofia and Laya headed for the door. Sofia hadn’t changed: barefoot, in the light shirt with nothing underneath and short shorts, her movements smooth and economical. The heat in her was under control now, banked under the skin, no longer calling the shots.

  Laya adjusted one strap of her top and added hoop earrings, a little more shine than she would usually let herself wear.

  — We’ll take the list, — she said, matter-of-fact.

  — And water, — Sofia added.

  She nodded at Evan, and he handed over the bottle without a word.

  — Guys. — Davide’s voice cut through the room.

  He was looking at his phone now, all joking gone.

  — News. After the party the night before st, they found a body by the marina in the morning. A man.

  The kitchen tightened all at once.

  — Where exactly? — Evan asked quickly.

  — Here, in our cove. They’re saying ‘preliminary — accident.’ — Davide scrolled farther, his face draining.

  Matteo set down the sponge and rubbed his palms slowly under the stream, as if testing the temperature. He gnced at Sofia. This wasn’t show, wasn’t py — she had already straightened, already focused. The thought came to him, quiet and pin: she switched faster than anyone.

  — We’re not going to py investigators, — Sofia said evenly. — We’ve got enough food. We’re not going to the beach yet. And nothing goes in the chat until we know what’s clear.

  — Agreed. — Laya gave her forearm a brief squeeze. — And no gossip at the store.

  — Yeah, — Evan said. — I’ll check the local channels. See if there are barriers up.

  From the window came a thin clink: a gss shifting on the drying rack. The heat inside Sofia narrowed and found a channel.

  — We’ll go out for a bit and come back, — she said. — If anything changes, call.

  — Take windbreakers, — Riccardo said automatically. — The wind’s up.

  They both nodded. The door closed behind them, but not all the way; they left their usual gap for air, and for oversight.

  ...

  At the supermercat, the AC went straight through their thin jackets. Sofia was in sandals, step light; beneath the half-zipped jacket, her shirt still hung open. Laya wore a denim jacket and a short skirt, her earrings ticking softly when she turned her head.

  They picked up water, bread, citrus. A line snaked in front of the register. Two local women were talking without bothering to lower their voices, in the easy, unguarded tone people use with their own.

  — They saw him at that party, in the bck shed by the beach.

  — One of ours, from the vilge. The current carried him out toward the marina...

  — Mossos said no criminal element. Or that’s what they’re saying.

  Sofia listened from the side. That evening. The kiss. But there had been hundreds of people there; too many for coincidence to mean much. Inside, the heat stayed low and even. Outwardly, only precision. Laya caught her eye: okay? Sofia gave the smallest nod.

  — Bag? — the cashier asked.

  — Sí, gracias. — Calm.

  ...

  They took the green strip between the houses and the road. Tamarisk, urel, oleander made a wall on one side; below it, rosemary gave off a sharp, resinous smell.

  Between the houses were little pockets where angled walls and gazebo ttice cut off the view. Cicadas kept up a steady rasp. They walked in silence: the pstic bottle rings rustling in the bag, Laya’s heel catching now and then in a crack.

  Sofia sorted the facts: location, the bck shed; time, night; official version, accident. Put together, it was still dry data. Not enough for panic. Her mind moved to the next question.

  At the park entrance, a path curved behind a tall oleander bush. Under the pine stood a bench. Half the alley was visible; the other half fell into a blind spot. Sofia held her gaze there for two beats and made the choice: before they went back to the house, she needed a clear head. So: open pce, short window, safe. Release, by the rules.

  — We didn’t forget the lemons, — she said, shifting the bag as if she were only checking the shopping.

  — Didn’t forget, — Laya answered.

  ========== Coincidence? ==========

  A barely visible path ran behind the oleander. Wind moved through the leaves; children’s ughter drifted in from a distant alley, along with the squeak of swings. Sofia sat sideways on the edge of the bench so she could watch the approach. Her jacket hung open, warmth moving through the thin shirt underneath; the fabric y loose on her. Laya stood a little apart, one shoulder turned to the path, phone in hand as cover.

  — Three minutes, maybe, — Sofia exhaled. Her voice was even.

  Her movements were precise, economical. The fabric of her shorts moved against her skin; her wrist kept the rhythm, short and sure. Heat rose exactly where she wanted it. She looked up at Laya: standing watch, not looking away; her face caught between shock and concentration. That look fed it. Warmth rolled through Sofia and settled hard under her ribs.

  Footsteps. Male voices beyond the bushes: “Pues nada...” and then ughter. Laya tapped her own wrist twice — the pause signal. Sofia barely reacted; only her inhale lengthened. Her shoulders stayed loose. Her chin lifted a fraction. Oleander shadows striped her skin.

  Laya swallowed and kept her eyes on the path, but the edge of her vision kept dragging back to Sofia — and what she saw was a face Sofia herself couldn’t see: focused, almost feral in its frankness.

  The voices came closer, then turned away. For a moment the air went still. Sofia finished quickly and without a sound. A fsh, then relief. Quiet after. Her fingers lingered, then let go. A half-smile touched her mouth.

  Within seconds she had zipped her jacket. The shirt still hung loose, a couple of buttons undone, as if that had been the pn from the start.

  — Let’s go, — Laya whispered, all business now.

  — Let’s go. — Sofia’s step had its spring back: blood moving evenly again, gaze clear.

  They came out onto the main path and, without hurrying, passed a trio of guys arguing about football, oblivious. Laya slipped her phone into her pocket. Sofia checked her zipper in one smooth motion, and both of them let out a breath.

  ...

  The guys met them on the porch almost at a run: one took the bags, another held the door, a third moved a stool out of the way. Their eyes slid over both of them — Sofia composed, face calm; Laya still flushed, her earrings ticking when she turned.

  — Heavy? — Evan asked.

  — Lemons and water. — Sofia smiled.

  The faucet was running in the kitchen. The two of them reported what they’d heard, briefly.

  — They’re saying he was at that beach party, — Laya said. — The current carried him out to the marina.

  — Could be coincidence, — Sofia added evenly. — Officially: ‘no criminal element.’

  — On the chats they’re saying the patrol cordoned off part of the marina, — Davide said, eyes on his screen. — No name yet. Around twenty.

  — Somebody saw him wandering around at night, arguing with someone, — Riccardo said, drying his hands. — The cameras at the chiringuito might have caught it.

  — Beach is closed for the evening, for now, — Evan said. — Mossos are asking for witnesses.

  Sofia put the groceries away without haste: bread by the towels, lemons in a bowl, water on the floor. A flicker of unease passed through her — the kiss, the night, the chiringuito — and then the cold bottle in her hand cut through it. She breathed deeper. Her shoulders dropped. Her attention came back to the room.

  Matteo caught that moment and looked away first, reaching for the knives on the drying rack.

  — I’ll chop.

  — We’re staying in tonight, — Sofia said firmly. — Pasta, sad, lemonade. No beach, no clubs, no stories in the group chat.

  — Second that, — Laya said. — I’ll make the sauce.

  — I’ll check the news once an hour, — Evan said.

  — And we’ll find a movie. — Riccardo was already scrolling through a pylist.

  — Deal. — Davide switched off the TV.

  The refrigerator hummed steadily, almost like a metronome. Sofia washed her hands; water ran in thin lines over her wrists. Her head was clear again, she noticed, and she brushed Laya’s shoulder in silent thanks. Laya answered with a short nod.

  The house settled, slowly, into a new rhythm — quiet, domestic, no sudden moves.