"I’m fine." I suppressed the fleeting thought that raced through my mind. I wasn’t sure if others also wore those rosy red diving suits. After all, we weren’t the only couples out on the waves.
I was fine; my palm just needed so dical attention. The yacht was equipped with a first-aid kit, and Jones carefully treated my wound and bandaged it up.
By the ti we had finished, it was ti for lunch. Catherine proposed, "Damon, why don’t we prepare lunch here with Ms. Brooks and her partner? What do you
think?"
She and Damon had caught so fresh seafood, which she’d brought on deck.
"Let’s just head back to the hotel," Jones declined quickly.
But I agreed, "It’s okay. Let’s all eat together. My hand is injured, so I might not be much help with the cooking."
Catherine laughed off my concern, "No worries. I’ll do the cooking. You guys can sample my culinary skills."
Without waiting for a response, she changed into more comfortable clothes and began preparing the al.
I sat quietly, watching Catherine hustle about. The open-air kitchen on the deck was well-equipped, and Catherine seed to handle everything with ease. Her skills suggested she cooked frequently.
She had been living abroad with her child, and given her affection for the child, it didn’t surprise that she’d learned to cook.
"Damon, could you get so ginger?" Catherine asked gently.
"Sure." Damon had never been much of a cook, but he seed to be doing fine as Catherine’s assistant, handling tasks like washing the vegetables.
Jones sat next to , not moving unless Catherine called him over.
"Why did you put that in so soon?" Catherine suddenly asked, sounding both amused and slightly exasperated.
Damon looked surprised, "Wasn’t it ti to put it in?"
"We need to wait until the oil is hot. You’re so sharp at work, but still a bit clueless in the kitchen," Catherine sounded both frustrated and fond. "I rember the first ti you made eggs. You put them in before the oil was hot. The taste was... well, it wasn’t great, but I’ve found myself missing that taste over the years."
So, the first ti he cooked wasn’t for . I laughed to myself and turned to admire the sea, tuning out their conversation.
Suddenly, I felt Jones take my hand, asking, "Does it hurt much?".
It did hurt a little, but it was bearable. I nodded, "Yeah, but it’s okay. Don’t worry."
Catherine overheard and teased, "Jones, are you feeling heartbroken? Seeing your wife’s hand injured, wish the wound was on you instead?"
She always made a point of highlighting Jones and my relationship, presumably to remind Damon of his current status. But she was overthinking. Damon had already chosen her, which ant his feelings for her were still strong.
Jones tightened his grip on my hand slightly, "Yes, it hurts. I should’ve taken better care of her."
"It’s not your fault. It’s just strange how that rope appeared underwater and wrapped around my foot," I said, watching Catherine carefully for her reaction.
She sighed, "People these days have no regard for the environnt. It’s probably so discarded trash. It’s normal for ropes to knot up in the currents. You just had so bad luck, Ms. Brooks."
I didn’t respond and just looked at my wounded hand.
Damon’s gaze sotis rested on , but it was normal, devoid of any extra emotion. It was as if his panic when he dived to save was just my imagination.
I was sure he still had so unique feelings for , but it didn’t matter.
"Do you rember when we first got together, we encountered a white stray dog? It would always hide under your car whenever you ca to pick up. I’d have to coax it out with imitation crab sticks," Catherine was lost in her sweet mories with Damon, her expression full of girlish charm. "You always said that those crab sticks were fake and that they were not real crab at. Now we have real crabs, but that little dog is gone."
"We can always get another one," Damon replied.
"Leo ntioned that you used to have a dog. I heard it was a white Tibetan mastiff. Where is it now?" Catherine asked curiously.
Damon looked surprised, "How did he know?" and then turned to look at .
Following Damon’s gaze, Catherine also looked at , then broke into a smile, "He heard it from his grandma. He wants a dog, and his grandma told him about the white dog you used to have. He rembered it and told ."
The Tibetan mastiff, Daisy, was now at my house, living with my parents. I wondered if she still rembered Damon, her first owner.
Dogs have good mories. They always rember the scent of their owners.
She should still recognize Damon.
"That dog was given away," Damon answered simply, "It was just a foster pet."
"I see. Should we get a puppy for Leo when we go back?" Catherine suggested.
"Suke, whatever you say," Damon answered, his voice steady but his words filled with indulgence.
Catherine bead at Damon, their love bubble almost drifting over to where I was sitting.
I chose not to dwell too much on it. It wasn’t worth adding to my own distress.
In the ti it took for my lunch to be prepared, I reached out to the hotel manager. I had added him on WhatsApp after the elevator incident the night before, and then I asked him about the diving suits. It turned out that they were all a uniform blend of gray and black. There were no rosy red ones, unless a guest brought their own.
I put down my phone and looked across the table at Catherine.
Was it her? Did she really just stand by and do nothing? A mory flickered in the back of my mind. The mont I felt sothing tangle around my foot,
I had sensed sothing swimming below . Back then, I thought it was a marine creature, and there was a dash of red.
Could it have been Catherine after all?
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