Chapter 19
Marina
Another lady.
What is that supposed to mean? As the two of us walk up the dock to Gil’s seashell-encrusted home on the water, even my jealousy isn’t able to overshadow how freakinggorgeousit is.
My breath catches as I stare at the floating house in the middle of the swamp. It looks roomy for just one person. I wonder if that’s whereshecomes into play? I shouldn’t get ahead of myself. This could be a best friend, a sister, or—
“Uh, Marina—” Gil begins.
And then I see it.
A white blur, faster than my eyes can register, huffing as it moves down the dock toward the two of us with its tail thudding all the way—a gator.
My gator?
I should move—jump into the water, zig-zag, run like the old camp songs burned into my memory. Instead, I bend down and let the oversized swamp kitten race into my arms.
Clawrece.
My eyes are suddenly glassy. It’s not that I’d forgotten her, it’s just—I never thought she’d be waiting too.
“Well now,” Gil says, with warmth in his Southern drawl. “Seems the whole gang is back together.”
He really is the type to keep his word.
A sudden cramp causes me to freeze once I’m back on my feet. The trip between realms has made it obvious how unpracticedmy swimming has become. I try to play it cool as we walk side-by-side down the dock with Clawrece clambering behind us.
“Tired?”
“A little,” I admit, trudging along to keep up with him. Effortlessly, he bends, scooping me up with one arm ’til I’m being carried in his arms like a new bride.
“You don’t have to lie, darlin’.” His voice is soft and low. “It was a long swim, wasn’t it?”
Heat pools at my lower stomach as he carries me through the threshold of his house in large strides. Clawrece moves between his feet like an oversized cat.
I have the distinct impression he dotes on her like a middle-aged woman would a Pomeranian. This gator is overfed, spoiled, and with every moment I’m in his arms, I wonder if I’ll end up the same way.
I don’t know if I’d mind.
Still, as soon as I’m placed on the hardwood floors, my hands find my hips as I shoot him a mock-angry glare. “You let me be jealous on purpose, didn’t you?” I ask, setting my bag down on the kitchen table.
“Hate to say it, darlin’, but you looked awfully cute,” Gil says with a smug grin. The turquoise scales that run along his neck turn a deep shade of green, and I wonder how he thought I could ever be afraid of him. Sure, the screaming didn’t help, but in my defense, I wasn’t exactly expecting to find him in my tub. And he was very,verynaked.
And he still is.
I avert my eyes, taking in the details of the house. I expected a cave next to a lagoon, or we’d be snuggled in some nest made of sea moss, but this? The decor is quirky in a way that feels like walking into a scrapbook. The carpet is burnt orange and shaggy with Clawrece instantly plopping in the center of it with a happy sounding growl. As I walk, I trace my fingers along indents ofwood paneling and note the family photos on the walls. It’s the kind of room an old armchair would fit right into without looking out of place.
“So, what do you think?” he asks, his body stalled in the doorway. He lazily leans against the doorframe while I step farther into the open-concept living room.
“Wow,” I say, staring at a mounted novelty singing bass. I’m no expert, but it feels retro; I think most of this, apart from the singing bass, is maybe from the 1970s? The colors are bold and happy, and everything has round edges. I wonder how much of the furniture came directly from the mortal realm.
“Did you decorate yourself?” I ask. “It’s so…” Words like “vintage” and “cozy” come to mind, but I can’t think of a word to really place it except “home.”
“Pardon?” Gil says, lips twisted into a smile.
“Homey,” I correct, not wanting to sound like I’m making a bid to move in with a guy I just met—childhood friend or not. Still, I’m struck by all the little details of this place—how real it is,how real he is.
