CHAPTER 18 #3
The closest I’d ever gotten to Vellamara had been on a school field trip, about a mile out from the island, crammed onto a boat with my classmates, two of whom had looked a little green from the choppiness of the waves.
Merfolk didn’t take kindly to those intruding into their territory, so we’d stayed beyond the safe zone.
But closer up, I’d seen partially sunken ruins in the reefs and strange rock formations that looked like pillars.
Josie Pinkerton had sworn she’d seen a mermaid warming herself on the rocks close to shore, but no one else had.
Stuffed in her yellow life vest, she’d started to cry in frustration when no one else would believe her, and our teacher had cut the trip short, especially when Rook Walters had thrown up over the side of the boat.
Our teacher—Mrs. Grange—had nibbled on her lip the whole way back, fretting about possible “merfolk retaliation” for “polluting” their waters.
Once, however, when I’d been sixteen, on a quiet winter night when the waves had been calm and the moon had been full…
I’d heard merfolk song. A beautiful symphony of voices that sounded otherworldly, drifting over the sea from Vellamara.
So beautiful, in fact, I’d been dazed into a stupor for a full day.
My grandmother had needed to procure a dried silver-kelp bundle from the local apothecary and burn it beneath my nose to break me from the spell.
I still remembered that merfolk song. Only now, on quiet nights, I tried not to listen to the waves too closely, especially if the moon was bright.
“You’re wearing one of those mysterious looks again,” came Jonathan’s deep voice, and I darted a quick look over at him. “Plan to share?”
“You ever do the field trip out to Vellamara when you were in school?” I asked, nodding to the island.
His eyes slid across the sea, his expression unreadable.
“They did do them,” he told me, “but, uh, my father didn’t want me to go, so I stayed behind.”
“Why?” I asked, frowning.
He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck before leaning his forearms against the railing, hunching over them.
“A distant ancestor had been cursed by one of the merfolk,” he replied, surprising me.
“Sometimes curses stretch beyond generations. He didn’t want to take a chance with me, thought maybe I’d be taken.
I’ve never stepped foot in the sea because of it. ”
“Gods,” I breathed. “What did your ancestor do?”
“Maybe one day I’ll share,” he said with a small smirk.
My jaw dropped before I harrumphed. “That’s not fair, dangling a carrot like that in front of my face. It’s not every day you hear about merfolk curses. Come on, tell me! Please?”
The corners of his eyes crinkled up when he smiled.
I didn’t know why I’d never noticed that before.
“Oh, but this isn’t just a carrot, Red. It’s a hot cardamom bun.
A Vellamara oyster—the best you’ve ever had.
It’s a story that involves forbidden love and a stolen relic, just like in those books you used to read with June. ”
“You’re just mean,” I muttered, but I couldn’t deny that I was intrigued. More than intrigued. And liking this more playful side of him. More than liking it. “You’ve seriously never been in the sea? Not even once?”
“Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “Just my lake at the Hollow…and the lap pool, courtesy of my ex-firm’s athletic-club membership in Graymore.”
“Wow,” I said, turning from Vellamara to face him, leaning my hip against the rail. “Must be some curse,” I fished.
“You’ve no idea,” he murmured, giving me a shameless grin that told me he knew exactly what he was doing.
I scoffed. “Fine. Keep your secrets. I’ll get them out of you sooner or later.”
“Only if you’re still here when it happens,” he told me.
“Who said I’m going anywhere?” I shot back.
He looked perfectly at ease like this. Leaning against the lighthouse rail, his profile suspended against endless blue sea and rugged coastline, his dark hair tousled from the salty breeze, and his eyes bright with mischief.
Our gazes caught and held. And held. And held. Distantly, I heard the crash of the waves below the cliff and could even hear laughter and voices carrying strangely on the wind from the beach down the road.
“Now you’ve got an interesting look on your face. Care to share?” I asked, mirroring his question from earlier.
“You’re really not what I expected you to be,” he said suddenly. Quietly. Like a soft confession falling from his lips. “At all.”
I swallowed. “I know what you mean.”
And just when I thought he’d started to lean closer, his body ever so slightly shifting, and mine reflecting his, I heard the sudden chime of the clock at the town square, echoing and drifting toward us on the bluffs. Three sharp sounds, one right after the other.
What was the opposite of the phrase saved by the bell?
I forced a smile, pulling back as Jonathan cleared his throat. He straightened, pushing back a lock of hair that fell into his eyes.
“You know what that means,” he murmured. His warm palm pressed to my lower back as he guided me across the gallery deck, back to the door we’d come through.
“Oysters,” I said.
I hoped I was the only one who noticed that my tone was a little perturbed by the interruption of what could’ve been.