Nadia has, she thinks, figured out the routine of this place - at least somewhat. The boats, or whatever they are, arrive somewhat irregularly, but they always seem to do so in the second half of the month - there's no point hanging about the docks the first two weeks or so of a new month.
But in the second half, she becomes a somewhat familiar sight, dropping by a few times a week, just to see if anyone new has arrived, anyone she might recognize. She doesn't necessarily expect it, but if they do, she would like to be here when it happens - to talk to them, help them if necessary. And help anyone else who might need it, really, as the explanations offered by the locals aren't always up to par.
She's spoken with people about hoping Cullen might arrive - to the friends she's made here, anyway. She doesn't like being separated from him, not at a point when she was just promising herself that she would never have to be apart from him again. But she doesn't really expect him to show up. Not really. She's not that lucky.
So when she spots the familiar golden hair, the warm brown eyes, the strong jaw, the beloved mouth - she stops, almost forgetting to breathe for a moment. It must be a trick. She must be seeing things. That can't really be - but, it is. It's him.
As soon as the realization hits her, all thought of maintaining her cool, friendly but somewhat distant public demeanor dissolves. All politeness dissolves, and Nadia pushes her way past anyone standing nearby, anyone standing between her and him. She doesn't quite have the balance she used to, so she can't, unfortunately, run to him and throw her arms around his neck in exactly the way she wants, but she's going to do the best facsimile of it that she can.
"Cullen," she calls, her face breaking out in the happiest grin she's had since he asked her to marry him, back at the Winter Palace. The mabari may be wagging his tail and barking a greeting, but she completely ignores the poor animal in favor of nearly bowling into her husband, her arm going around his broad shoulders, completely trusting in his ability to catch her and hold her close.
no subject
But in the second half, she becomes a somewhat familiar sight, dropping by a few times a week, just to see if anyone new has arrived, anyone she might recognize. She doesn't necessarily expect it, but if they do, she would like to be here when it happens - to talk to them, help them if necessary. And help anyone else who might need it, really, as the explanations offered by the locals aren't always up to par.
She's spoken with people about hoping Cullen might arrive - to the friends she's made here, anyway. She doesn't like being separated from him, not at a point when she was just promising herself that she would never have to be apart from him again. But she doesn't really expect him to show up. Not really. She's not that lucky.
So when she spots the familiar golden hair, the warm brown eyes, the strong jaw, the beloved mouth - she stops, almost forgetting to breathe for a moment. It must be a trick. She must be seeing things. That can't really be - but, it is. It's him.
As soon as the realization hits her, all thought of maintaining her cool, friendly but somewhat distant public demeanor dissolves. All politeness dissolves, and Nadia pushes her way past anyone standing nearby, anyone standing between her and him. She doesn't quite have the balance she used to, so she can't, unfortunately, run to him and throw her arms around his neck in exactly the way she wants, but she's going to do the best facsimile of it that she can.
"Cullen," she calls, her face breaking out in the happiest grin she's had since he asked her to marry him, back at the Winter Palace. The mabari may be wagging his tail and barking a greeting, but she completely ignores the poor animal in favor of nearly bowling into her husband, her arm going around his broad shoulders, completely trusting in his ability to catch her and hold her close.