They were only supposed to stay a couple of days—just long enough to restock supplies. But every morning since docking, Law found himself drifting toward the same quiet corner of the market, where your little fruit stand sat beneath a faded canopy.

He told himself it was the quality. That the strawberries were fresher here, that the citrus helped keep his crew healthy. But the truth was simpler.

It was you.

The way you greeted him with that soft, amused smile—like you already knew he wasn’t here for the fruit. The way your fingers brushed his as you handed him the change, how you never asked too much, never pried, just offered kindness without expectation.

Today, his hand lingered just a second longer. He didn’t meet your eyes at first. But as he took the small paper bag from you, his voice low and a bit rough, he said: “Last time I’ll bother you. We’re leaving in the morning.”