Page 55 of Crashing Tides

“Like Aspen?”

“Uh,” he says, starting to grin again. “Not exactly. We’re a little more rural than that."

“Probably not anywhere I’ve ever heard of, huh?”

“Not if you’re as midwestern as I think you are.” He quirks a brow and my stomach does a rebellious little flip.

“Hey, Chicago is awesome,” I tell him, even though I’ve never actually lived there. “And I’ve been to Colorado.”

It was a layover at the Denver airport. But close enough.

“Yeah?” he says. “Where?”

“Denver,” I say, crossing my arms.

“Magnificent how it’s right in the middle of the mountains, huh?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “There was a hiking trail behind our hotel. I saw a bobcat.”

He smirks. “You liar. Not in Denver.”

“What do you mean? It’s literally in the mountains!”

“Denver is on the plains,” he says. “The mountains are about an hour away. More, if there’s traffic.” He gestures to the empty road in front of us.

“That’s not⁠—”

“You’re thinking of Salt Lake City.” He’s enjoying this way too much.

I cross my arms. “OK, fine, I’ve never been to Denver. It’s a flyover city, anyway.”

“Liar,” he huffs, but he’s grinning at me like he’s charmed rather than disgusted, so I guess it’s OK.

We pull into a parking lot along the beach. This time of afternoon, it’s crowded, but not so bad that we can’t find a spot. I hop out of the car, inhaling the salty ocean air.

“I can’t believe I don’t smell like a fish,” I grumble, annoyed. It doesn’t make sense. I should at least smell like a shark or something.

Duncan must have exceptional hearing, because I spot him watching me over the hood of the Mercedes, one eyebrow raised. “Are you disappointed?”

“I mean, kinda. I thought maybe I’d be different somehow.” A breeze bites through the hole in my sleeve. I wrap my arms around myself and look out over the horizon. Miles of sand lie between us and the water, but I’m still wary, half-afraid that too much exposure to the humid ocean air might make me shift. Even if shifters weren’t banned from Halea, transforming in public is probably frowned upon.

Then I remember that merfolk are endangered, and I wonder if anyone might actually hunt me down, hurt me, sell me for parts.

My mood sours.

“You smell sick again.”

“I’m just having a bad day,” I insist.

“If you say so.”

“Can you smell everyone’s emotions?” I say, maybe a little too demanding. I instantly want to backpedal, but he doesn’t look offended.

“Sometimes,” he says. “Especially if they’re close by.”

I guess that makes sense. I nod and continue stomping through the sand. “So what do you mean when you say I smell sick?”

He shrugs. “I guess you smell kind of, I don’t know, just different. Maybe a little more, um, acrid?” He winces when he says it.