Oh, this was bad.
“I... uh... I should go,” I said quickly, stepping back as his tentacles retreated. He handed my supplies back, and I clutched them a little tighter, grinding my teeth against the embarrassment because he was still blushing, and now he looked just as flustered as I felt.
“Gotta check on that roof, you know,” I added, forcing out a nervous laugh. “Make sure my cottage doesn’t turn into the house at the end ofPoltergeist.”
“Wouldn’t want that,” he said, his expression smoothing back into something neutral, though there was still the faintest hint of pink in his cheeks and tentacles.
“Thanks,” I rushed on, already moving, because if I stayed another second, I was going to combust on the spot. “For the advice and the help. And, um... the card.”
I didn’t look back as I hurried toward the path, because I was absolutely not ready to process whatever had just happened. Not even a little bit.
Chapter 4: Octavius
IWAS NOT FOLLOWING HER.
At least, that was what I told myself as I made my way back to my cove, the same one that just so happened to sit directly below the cliff where her shack—I mean cottage—stood.
It had been a long day, though lighter than most, but still enough clients to leave a residual weight in me, enough that I could justify coming down to the water to bleed it out. That was the story I let myself settle into, layered with a lingering suspicion about what Kara might be hiding, because I knew there was still something more. So maybe standing watch was me doing my civic duty to the town.
But no, that wasn’t truly it either. Yes, I was suspicious of her, and yes, I had some built-up emotions to drain from the day’s work, but therealreason I was here was one I wasn’t used to feeling, not organically at least. Somewhere deep inside me, something had settled there.
Worry.
She was new to this town and might not fully understand why that home had stayed vacant for so long, why, against all odds, it was even still standing. Because if the storm building in the air broke the way I knew it would, her cottage, perched far too close to the edge, might not hold this time.
I drew in a slow breath, already catching the scent of rain on the wind. It would arrive within the hour, I had no doubt, starting slow before turning into something far worse.
Still, I remained where I was, seated along the edge of the cove, glancing up toward the cliff every few minutes, just to make sure her home was still standing. Because there was no telling whether her repair efforts had made things better or, more likely, much worse.
Kara irritated and intrigued me all at once, but I couldn’t let her know I was down here checking in on her. Not when she’d meet it with that false, easy cheer and tease me about it, or worse, challenge me on it, and I wasn’t in the mood for another round of snark with her.
Mina was the only one who knew I came here after my sessions. And when she found out Kara lived in the cottage above the cove, paired with the storm building and my “sudden need” to drain what should have been an easy day, something told me she knew I was here for other reasons. Like she could see straight through me.
That was Mina, though. My all-knowing little sea serpent secretary.
Surprisingly, she hadn’t questioned it, which in itself was suspicious, and I was fairly certain she had already constructed a version of events that involved far more emotional investment than I was willing to admit to.
She was, no doubt, already imagining outcomes that would never in a million years happen between me and Kara because, one,I wasn’t sure I could trust her, and two, I was a grumpy bastard set in my ways.
I had been alone for so long that it had become my default. I hadn’t even been on a date since moving to Crescent Cove. The last traces of anything resembling a love life had been left behind in Okinawa—relationships built on shallow attraction and physical desire I could always feel radiating from my partners whether I wanted to or not.
Feeling people’s emotions wasn’t always the kind of superpower people liked to imagine. Sometimes it was a curse, one that made me feel like I was prying into someone’s life without their knowledge while I kept up my human act. Other times, it left me hollow, especially when I picked up on feelings that didn’t match the sincerity my partners tried to sell with their words.
Over time, I got better at shutting it down, like flipping a switch. It took a lot of practice, but the truth was always there, and I couldn’t always ignore it. Pretending otherwise had always ruined any chance of something real lasting.
