“Sorry my car was a total mess,” Marina says. “I should have asked if you wanted to drive.”
“I don’t actually have a car,” I admit and watch the upward quirk of her brows in response.
“Oh,” she says.
Marina is silent for a long while. It’s as if she’s having a very intense conversation with herself before letting out an unimpressed, “Okay.”
Right… Having a vehicle in the mortal realm is a sign of stability. The awkward moment passes as we walk past the rentals, big boats, and little shops designed for tourists who are passing through. Her hand doesn’t leave mine, so it seems it’s at least not a deal breaker.
The glamour only masks my appearance. If her fingers try to slide between mine, they’d feel the webbing, so I keep our hands cupped out of caution. I’ve already spooked her once; I don’t want to do it again.
“Do they always follow you around?” Marina asks, pointing behind us. I glance back and note the trail of lizards on our heels. I can’t blame them; if I were that small and scaly, I’d try to form an alliance with something bigger. Still, it’s strange that they can sense what’s different about me, even in this form.
“Sometimes,” I admit. “I’ve been known to attract all kinds of critters: frogs, snakes, lizards.” I laugh, careful to only name a few.
“Lucky.” Marina pouts. “I love all the creatures around here.”
That bodes well for me.
The springs are still fairly quiet, and considering the boat tours don’t start for another hour, it’s the perfect time to get back to Camp Mangrove. I pull the boat from its hiding place and turn back to her. “In the mood for a little adventure?”
“Yes!” she says, a toothy grin suddenly illuminating her face. Still, I notice something in her eyes shift, and her smile becomes something more digestible—pretty and small. As if she’s scared of being happy or loud. I wish she knew how good unbridled joy looks on her.
But right now, all I can do is lift her by the waist and help her into her seat. We played in these things as kids too. There was a very brief phase where she pretended to be a princess. Considering all my time spent paling around with Magnus, I didn’t mind taking up the role of prince for once. The game, the castle, the promise we’d see each other again—the marsh was our place, hidden from campers and counselors.
I doubt Marina dreams of being a princess anymore, but that doesn’t mean she deserves anything less. More than that? She deserves honesty, especially since soon she’ll be heading far away from this place again.
A band that’s going on tour.
It’s thrilling for her, of course. It’s undoubtedly everything she’s been looking for, but it does mean if I want to keep in touch (and I do), I’ll have to fess up about who and what I am soon.
It’s something I hem and haw over while we haul the canoe from its not-so-clever hiding spot away from the rentals, cradled in the mangrove’s roots.
She stares at me as I heave it into the water, her eyes lingering on what appears to be the lean muscle on my arms. Will she still have that same molten gaze when she can see my fins?
“Something the matter?” Marina asks, her voice quiet.
“Nothing to worry your head about, Splenda,” I say. The sound of her laugh untangles the knots that had formed in my stomach.
One thing’s for sure—I’m going to have to think of a better nickname.
As soon as we’re docked, something in the air shifts in Marina; her shoulders drop, and her searching eyes comb over the alcove.
“I know you came out here for some songwriting—don’t let me get in your way,” I say, taking a moment to secure the canoe to the shoreline.
“You really don’t mind?” She hesitates, her hand hovering above her tote bag; I assume to retrieve a notebook or her phone. “The band wants an original song for the audition, and I’ve barely started writing.”
“I’m happy to enjoy the scenery,” I admit, hoping it’s not lost on her that my gaze is locked on the way her hair is blowing in the breeze. It’s not as though I thought she didn’t have a life. We’re grown—it’s been a decade since she asked me to take her away from everything.
But the idea of distance so soon after finding each other again makes my unseen gills flare against my neck.
If this weekend is spent watching this beautiful woman hum and jot down ideas, then I’ll enjoy every moment.
“Alright then.” She sits back, retrieving a notebook from her bag. It’s worn, with weeds taped to the cover. It can’t be the same one she carried around when we were kids, can it?
She scrawls down a few notes and taps her pencil to the page. Humming, she shyly glances up at me, the notebook turned in such a way where I can make out faint scribbles on the back. “M + …”
My heart tightens. Please be a G, please be a G.
