Origano and Basilico

Over the next few weeks, their shifts continued to clash. Maya barely saw Carina in person, but somehow, there were traces of her everywhere.

It had all started with that first handwritten note. From there, the notes became more frequent, their tone light-hearted. Carina’s sense of humour was dry and quick-witted, always catching Maya off guard. As the weeks went by, Maya noticed herself looking forward to the notes. There was an easy rhythm to their exchanges—a gentle teasing and lightness that began to chip away at the walls Maya had built around herself.

After their first meal together, Maya found a note taped to her door after a late shift:

“Takeout again, Maya? Please. You are a lost cause. —C”

Maya chuckled, scrawling a response underneath:

“I like takeout. Don’t judge me. - M”

A few days later, another note appeared, this time tucked inside a container of homemade risotto on her doorstep. The teasing exchanges between them continued. Carina would leave random bits of humour or odd facts about Sicily, while Maya offered up her own strange, firefighting trivia or the occasional fire safety notice highlighting the perils of unattended candles. Maya felt there was a spark of something more than just friendly banter, but they both kept it light, unsure where the line was between friendship and something more.

“You saved me from faulty imported charging cables. This is me saving you from yourself. Eat it while it’s still good. —C”

Maya snorted. She took a bite and groaned. She’s right. It is good.

The next time, Maya left her own note on Carina’s door:

“What can I say? I’m a safety girl! The risotto was delicious. I know hate is a strong word, but I hate that you were right. But mostly, I hate that I now have standards. - M”

The next day, another container of food.

“Good. You should. Your body is a temple. —C”

It became their thing. The snatched conversations between shifts. The notes. The food. And with each one, Maya felt the anticipation building.

Carina DeLuca had slowly chipped away at her defences, one handwritten note and container of homemade Italian food at a time.

As the weeks turned into months, the messages took on a more personal tone. Maya’s life felt different now—there was someone else across the hall who seemed to care, and it felt easy. Effortless. Safe.

One day, after a particularly long shift, Maya found a note from Carina waiting for her. But this one wasn’t light-hearted—it felt deeper.

"Maya, I know we joke around, but I want you to know that becoming friends, especially with everything I’ve left behind, means more to me than I can say. What we have is fantastico (look it up 😉)— it means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me. – C” 

As Maya read and reread the note, something stirred inside her. It was such a simple sentiment, but it hit her harder than she expected. Carina’s honesty, her vulnerability made Maya’s heart twist in a way she hadn’t felt before.

Maya’s response came more slowly than the others. She wasn’t used to this kind of openness, and it took several attempts and a pile of scrunched-up notes for her to try and articulate how she felt.

"Carina, you mean a lot to me too. I didn’t know what I needed until you came along (a gardener 😉). It isn’t easy for me to let people in, but it feels easier with you. – M”

That was the first time Maya had truly acknowledged the bond forming between them. She wasn’t sure what it meant yet, but she knew it was something important. Something rare. She hoped Carina felt it too.

First day off shift
It was Spring. But try telling that to the Seattle skies. It had been raining for days. Sidewalks slick with it. Drains clogged with it. The clouds heavy, brooding. Like Maya’s mood. She had two days off between shifts and the first had been a washout. Heavy, incessant rain bouncing off pavements, turning roads into rivers. 

She needed to run. 

Growing up, Lane had made her run in all weathers. Rain. Thunderstorms. Sleet. Hail. There were no excuses. Now she could choose. When to run. Where to run. How to run. 

And she didn’t want this.

Not after the week she’d had. 

Running wouldn’t clear her head. It would cloud it.

Second day off shift
Maya woke to clear blue skies. The storm had passed.

So she ran.

She needed this. It had been a difficult week – Four families grieving their teenage sons, lost in a high-speed crash after a tyre blowout. They didn’t stand a chance. It never got easier. Every loss left a scar. It was what you did with those scars that mattered. 

So she ran.

Running hadn’t always been hers. As a child and teenager – Running belonged to Lane. It was structured, rigid, relentless. It had only one purpose – winning.

With Lane, every run was about speed, endurance, pushing through the pain. 

Stopping wasn’t an option.

And failure? Unacceptable.

Now, as an adult, running was hers again. 

The shift didn’t happen overnight. Lane had taken something she loved, something she was good at, and poisoned it. Tainted it. She wondered if she could ever see past that. Eventually, buried beneath the wreckage of gruelling schedules, punishments and impossible expectations, she found a way forward. A way to make running hers again. 

Now? Running was freedom.

It wasn’t about proving something. It was about processing. 

It wasn’t about punishment. It was about release.

Before, Lane was the one in control: timing her, pushing her, demanding perfection. Now, she was in control. She set her own pace, her own rhythm. When she needed to stop, she stopped. When she wanted to push harder, she did.

Ten minutes in, it happened. Like always. The shift. The moment where everything else faded and she got lost in the rhythm. The pounding of her feet. The sound of her breath. Drowning out the noise, grounding her.  

The things she couldn’t fix.

The things she couldn’t put into words.

Floated away with every exhale. 

And she felt lighter.

By the time Maya reached the apartment block, her muscles burned, but in a way that felt productive – not destructive. For the first time in days, her head was clear. 

She felt like herself again. 

Like she could breathe.

Maya heard Carina before she saw her. The faint sound of singing drifting from the garden outside her apartment. 

She slowed, her ears straining to catch the melody. Her lips curling at the edges as Carina’s voice floated over the hedge, soft, rich. She didn’t understand the words. She wished she did. But she could hear Carina’s smile. Feel the sentiment in every note. 

And then - she saw her. 

She was tending the window box, her back to Maya. Barefoot. Wearing a simple floral cotton dress that swayed as she moved. The delicate straps revealing sun-kissed skin along her neck and shoulders. Her long, brunette hair was twisted up in a clasp, loose strands framing her face. 

How did Carina make beauty seem so effortless? 

Maya’s breath hitched. Her feet stilled.

“Hey, Maya!” Andrew’s voice snapped her out of her trance and brought her back to reality as he strolled out of the front door towards the garden, tray in hand.  

Maya rubbed at the back of her neck, forcing herself to exhale, to steady herself. She barely had time to compose herself as Carina paused, lifting a hand to shield her face from the sun as she turned around to look at her. 

Carina’s lips parted in surprise, her head tilted slightly. A slow, knowing smile spreading across her face. Maya felt her pulse spike as Carina’s gaze swept over her, taking everything in. Then—a slight bite of her lower lip.

Maya forgot how to breathe. How to think.

Andrew set the tray down on the patio, “Lemonade, anyone?”

Silence. 

He glanced between the two of them, amusement flickering across his face.

“Earth calling Bishop.” His voice was more forceful this time. Maya’s head snapped towards him, her cheeks flushing as she caught his arched brow and teasing smirk.

“Do you want some homemade Sicilian lemonade?” He enunciated slowly, giving them both a pointed look, his lip curling into a playful grin.

“Why didn’t you say so, Andrea?” Carina smirked, throwing Maya a wink and earning an eye roll from her brother. 

Maya let out a steadying breath and wandered over to the table, peering into the large glass pitcher.

“Sicilian lemonade?” Maya questioned, relieved that her pulse had settled.

“The best lemonade.” Andrew stirred the contents slowly with a large spoon.

Maya shot Carina a mischievous look, “Surely, lemonade is just lemonade.” 

Andrew gasped dramatically, his bottom lip jutting out in mock offence. 

“Sweet, uneducated Maya,” he scoffed “You are a culinary heathen.” 

Maya rolled her eyes, chuckling despite herself.

“Educate me then, DeLuca” She folded her arms across her chest, tilting her hip. A move that earned a snort from Carina.

Andrew cleared his throat theatrically, “Traditional Sicilian Limonata is delicious, fragrant and refreshing. It’s made from fresh Sicilian Lemons, sparkling Italian spring water, honey and fresh mint leaves.” 

He plucked a handful of mint from the planter, stirring it into the jug with a flourish. “Unlike your inferior American offering, there are no artificial sweeteners or preservatives in limonata.” He shot Maya a mockingly disapproving glare, making her laugh. 

Carina swatted Andrew’s arm playfully, before picking up the pitcher and filling each glass. She handed one to Maya, fingers brushing, briefly, intentionally. Maya’s stomach fluttered.

She played along, swirling the cloudy liquid in her glass, examining it with exaggerated scrutiny. She took a sip.

Damn. Andrew was right. It was delicious.

It set her tastebuds tingling. She took another slow sip, enjoying the impatient glare Andrew was giving her as he waited for her assessment. She placed the glass down unhurriedly, teasingly.

She glanced at them both, sensing their anticipation. 

She shrugged, scrunching her nose. “I mean…It’s alright.” Andrew gasped, scandalised. Maya burst out laughing at Andrew’s adorable pout.

“Give it back, then!” Andrew made a grab for her glass, smirking.

“No! I’m kidding! I’m kidding” She chuckled, lifting the glass back off the tray and out of his reach, “You’re right! It is delicious. American lemonade is dead to me!” 

Andrew groaned dramatically, giving her a playful shove. 

Maya stumbled, off-balance…

And fell against Carina. 

Carina caught her effortlessly, her hands settling at Maya’s waist.

She didn’t let go. 

“I’ve got you.” Her breath was warm against Maya’s skin, sending a shiver down her spine.

Electricity.

“Right!” Andrew clapped his hands together, making them both jump. Maya immediately missed the loss of Carina’s touch. 

“We can’t sit around here all day! We have work to do.” He pointed between them.

“Me?” Maya questioned, arching an eyebrow, pointing at herself.

“Yes, you.” He waved dramatically towards the tray of drinks, “Sicilian limonata comes at a price, Maya Bishop. And now you must pay…In sweat!”

“You didn’t say there were conditions!” She protested, “I’ve already been sweating, DeLuca. I’ve just run 5k. I need a shower.”

Maya watched as Carina walked over to join Andrew, turning towards her, eyes dancing with mischief.

“No need, bella,” she smirked, casually twirling a loose strand of hair around her finger, “You are fine as you are.” 

Maya’s pulse spiked.

“You will just get all sweaty again.”

Her throat suddenly dry, Maya barely managed to choke out, “Planting herbs?” 

Carina exhaled sharply, scoffing, “No! I am not letting you anywhere near my herbs.”

Maya’s brow knitted together in mock offence, “Why not?” 

Carina folded her arms across her chest, lips twitching as she tried to suppress a smile. 

“Because you killed their friends.”

Andrew snorted.

“Wow!” Maya put her hands on her hips, eyes widening, “I let you use my window box, and you turned the plants against me. Betrayal!” 

Carina shrugged innocently, “What can I say? They’re holding a grudge.” 

“So, what am I allowed to do then?”

Carina tilted her head, licking her lips thoughtfully, “I need you for heavy lifting.”

Maya gulped, her posture straightened slightly.

Carina nodded towards the parking lot, “There are large plant pots in my car. And bags of compost.”

Maya frowned. “What about Andrew? He can lift!” She gestured toward him.

Andrew was already moving towards the potted herbs, shaking his head.

“Andrea is allowed to touch my herbs. You are not. I’ll let you finish your drink first, though.” Carina grinned.

“Gee, thanks.” Maya called after her as Carina walked toward the window box, swinging her hips with a little more emphasis than necessary.

Maya settled onto the garden step, nursing her drink. She watched as Carina and Andrew moved through the space with ease – laughing, teasing, falling into an easy rhythm. Their conversation slipping into the occasional burst of Italian words and phrases. 

And for the first time, Maya let herself admit it. 

She liked this.

She wanted this.

This feeling. This warmth blooming in her chest. She felt a sense of contentment. Peace. It was something she recognised in part. She felt it with her crew at Station 19. That sense of belonging, of being part of something bigger. A family. But this felt…different. More. 

Maya’s gaze drifted to Andrew as he picked up his camera. She smiled affectionately. He always had it with him. Ready to capture something others might overlook. A butterfly, an interesting leaf pattern, the way Carina absentmindedly poked out her tongue when she was concentrating. Photography wasn’t just a hobby for him. It was how he saw the world. 

Maya had once teased him about carrying his full camera kit everywhere, telling him phones had replaced cameras years ago. Andrew had looked horrified, launching into a passionate defence of lenses, depth of field and the beauty of imperfection. And when he showed her his photos…she got it. They were beautiful. They weren’t just pictures, they were moments. Patterns, colours, emotions – he took photos of everything and everyone – including her. At first Maya protested, self-conscious about being his subject. But at some point, that shifted. She no longer minded. Because when Andrew looked through his camera, he saw things others didn’t. And somehow, she felt seen.

Click.

“Andrea. You need to give the seedlings more space.” Carina pouted, pointing her pruning shears in the direction of one of the pots.

Andrew groaned, “Carina! I know what I’m doing.” He put his camera down and marched toward her, grumbling under his breath, “Maya’s the one with the black fingers!” 

“Hey! I’m right here!” Maya called out, feigning offence.

“I’m only trying to help.” Carina shrugged.

Andrew scoffed, “And I’m only ignoring you!” 

Carina gasped, “How dare you!”

Maya chuckled at their bickering, the ease of it, the gentle teasing. So full of warmth, full of life, full of love.

She’d never had this. Not with Mason. 

She felt it then. 

An ache settling deep in her chest. A wistfulness she hadn’t expected. Grieving something she never really had.

She wasn’t jealous. Not really. She was happy for them. But she found herself longing for something she’d lost, even though it had never been hers.

She stared down at her drink, her grip tightening around the glass, mirroring the tightness in her chest. Her eyes lost focus, her thoughts unravelling, tugging her down an unhelpful, dangerous path.

“Hey?” 

Maya glanced up, startled, meeting Carina’s gaze. Deep brown and unbearably soft. Her brows furrowing slightly, eyes searching. Maya felt careful fingers curl around her shoulder, anchoring her.

“Maya?” Carina’s voice was steady, insistent. Pulling her back. 

Maya exhaled, blinking. “I’m okay.”

Carina didn’t look convinced. Her gaze didn’t waver. 

“Are you sure?” A blink. A nod.

For a long moment, Carina didn’t speak. She just watched her. Then, as if she’d gathered all the information she needed, she gave a small, slow nod. Like she understood. Like she always understood. No judgment. No pity. Just quiet acceptance. 

She didn’t press for an explanation. 

She just stayed.

And somehow that made everything feel lighter. Like the weight didn’t have to be carried alone. 

Like Maya wasn’t alone.