Page 32 of My Faire Lady

She nods, rubbing an arm. “Growing up, I was always surrounded by the people who live here. Sometimes it would become overwhelming, so I’d sneak away to sit in silence with my thoughts.”

We come to a fork in the path and follow the signs toward mermaid’s cove. I spare a glance at Scarlet’s profile as the trees cast shadows over us. This is the first time she’s ever shared something relatively personal with me, but it wouldn’t take much for her to rebuild that wall between us.

“When I was growing up, all I ever had was alone time,” I say. “My grandma worked strange hours, and while I love Kelsey, I was always more like her mom than her sister. I sat with my own thoughts so often, and they got so loud, that I craved the voices of other people to drown them out.”

Scarlet’s steps slow, and under the dappled shadows, her eyes meet mine. “What about now? Are your thoughts still too loud?”

I take a moment to consider, and shrug. “Sometimes. But when I’m working at the shoppe, they’re quieter. Manageable. When I’m at the faire, I don’t feel like I have to drown them out.”

She swallows, turning her attention to the path as it banks down. “That’s how I feel about the woods. When I lost my mother, it felt like her spirit went into the earth and lived among the trees.” She scoffs. “It must sound ridiculous to you.”

“It doesn’t.” I study her out of my periphery, clinging to these soft parts she rarely offers. One wrong move, and she might snatch them back. “I feel my grandmother when I’m in her garden. When my hands are in the soil, I swear she’s just over my shoulder, smiling and holding her tongue as I make mistakes.” I bite my cheek against the tears climbing up the back of my throat. “When she died, I was so angry at her for leaving that I ripped out her favorite rose bush, thinking that by some divine intervention, it would bring her back. I tried to replant it, but it never grew back.”

Scarlet’s shoulder brushes mine, and only then do I catch her watching me.

“I can’t imagine you being angry,” she says.

I scoff. “I’m just good at hiding it.”

We round a corner, and the temperature dips as the cove opens before us. Crystal blue water stretches out, and the early morning sun splashes light onto the surface, catching on the ripples. I step closer, mesmerized, and my foot slips on a smooth rock. My knees buckle, and I yelp as I pitch forward.

A hand wraps around my elbow, and Scarlet yanks me against her chest.

“Careful,” she whispers against my ear, her breath hugging the curve of my neck. “You don’t want to startle them.”

“Startle who?”

As the words leave my mouth, movement comes from the other side of the cove. Beneath a rocky overhang, heads pop up from the surface. They disappear a heartbeat later, and through the clear water, rays of light reflect off scales, tossing dancing rainbows across the rock walls.

“The mermaids are already working,” Scarlet says, watching me. “They get started early.”

My pulse quickens as I count the seconds they’re holding their breath underwater. And the speed they’re swimming at—it doesn’t seem possible.

“How long have they been doing this?” I ask.

A handful of them stop at the boulders jutting from the water and press their palms against the rocks, lifting their bodies onto the sunny stones. Their tails flick the surface, and they tilt their heads, studying me in a way that lifts the hair on the back of my neck.

“A long time,” Scarlet says against my temple.

Her arms remain wrapped around me, chest pressed against my back—a welcome warmth against the damp chill of the water. A woman rises from the water to my right, and Scarlet’s hand tightens around my arm.

“Scarlet mentioned you might be visiting,” the woman says, heaving herself onto the boulder closest to the shore. “We wanted to make sure we were all ready, so we can help in any way we can.”

I look over my shoulder at Scarlet. “I think you can let go of me.”

Her eyes meet mine, and she stiffens, unraveling herself from me. “Sorry.”

She steps away, but she watches my every move as I follow the river rocks to where the mermaid sits.

“I’m Lottie,” I say, offering a hand.

She stares at it, raises a brow, and flicks her eyes back to me.

I lower my hand to my side. Noted.

I scan the cove and the dozens of mermaid performers watching me. Bumps break out over my arms, and I run my hands down my skin, smoothing them away. “You probably know best. What do you think the fairgoers want to see?”

“I’m glad you asked,” she says, leaning closer.