He puffed his chest and let out a soft coo—very different from his usual ear-shattering cries. This was the sound he saved for me. TheI know you’re a pushover and I have all daysound. His good wing stretched out a fraction, reminding me of his scars, as if to say:I am exactly as cute as I think I am, and we both know it.
I felt it again—that faint warm hum in my fingertips. El Soldado wasn’t stressed or injured. Lupe said he was my familiar. I think that gave this relationship way too much credit. He was just choosing to be here, on this counter, with me, when the entire Atlantic coastline was available to him.
It’s possible I was projecting. It’s also possible that a seagull with a crooked wing was the most reliable male relationship in my life. I tried not to think about that too hard.
“Fine.” I tossed him the remainder of last night’s fries.Sucker.
He caught them midair with a deftness that professional athletes would envy, which felt like a personal attack given that I was a professional athlete, or had almost been one, or could have been one, or—whatever.
The point was that the bird had good reflexes.
Satisfied, El Soldado flapped away with the smug satisfaction of a bird who knew he’d be back tomorrow.
“I feel like having those rats with wings on your counters is some kind of health code violation,” Elliot said as he approached the shack, still dripping from his morning swim, lowering himself onto his usual barstool with the grace of a man whose body hadn’t fully committed to being land-based yet.
“El Soldado is a valued customer, and my best tipper.”
“Fair enough.” He grinned and tilted his head, which was uncannily similar to the seagull, and I chuckled.
“The usual?” I asked, already reaching for the protein powder he preferred.
“Make it a double.” He leaned against the counter, and the wood of my barstool groaned under his weight. In human form, Elliot looked like your typical ripped and sun-baked surfer. In his shifted sea lion form, he was the size of a small boat. I’d never asked how much he weighed—rude—but I worried for my stools.
“Rough night?” I scooped the extra helping of the powder into the blender.
Elliot ran his hand through his chestnut hair. “Couldn’t sleep. Had to check on the turtle nest sites before dawn anyway—we’ve got three active nests on the north shore. Good thing I did, some tourist nearly collapsed it trying to get Instagram content or something. The flags are there for a reason, people.” He set his forehead down on the counter, exhausted. The rehab center was his life’s work—anything the ocean spit out broken and confused, Elliot helped. I bet that would get him into trouble one of these days.
“Well, I have one less thing for you to worry about. The volleyball tournament planning is going well,” I reassuredhim, pouring the smoothie into a tall cup. “I feel like this is going to be a great year. We’re going to raise a ton of money, I can feel it!”
“Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about that—” he started when my phone buzzed.
Madre
Missed Call (1)
The voicemail notification pulsed ominously.
“Sorry, give me a second,” I said to Elliot. He nodded, looking between me and the phone. One didn’t keep my mother waiting.
I thought about the last voicemail she had left me:
Mija, I’m at the farmer’s market and there’s a girl here selling the ugliest little shell necklaces. It reminded me so much of you and your beach shack—I almost bought one.
She’d laughed at the end, warm, as if she’d handed me a compliment. I’d listened to it four times, trying to find the version where it was one.
I took a deep breath. I was a grown woman. I could listen to my mother’s voicemail.
Everything was going to be just fine…right?
CHAPTER TWO
Chase
What wasthis guy’s name again? Jerry? Who cares.
He was still talking. He’d been talking for forty-five minutes, which I knew because I’d been staring at the clock on the wall behind his head for most of them. It was above one of those motivational office posters, the kind that said SYNERGY underneath it. The RipTide offices were full of shit like that. Inspirational quotes on the walls, a surfboard mounted above the reception desk that had clearly never touched water, and a juice bar in the lobby staffed by a girl who looked like she’d rather be literally anywhere else.
Same, juice-bar girl. Same.
