Chapter 5 Ariel
Ariel
Cars are fast, loud shells that smell like warm plastic and artificial flowers.
I sit in the back seat behind Everett, clutching the strap that keeps me from flying when the world outside blurs into streaks of green and gray.
The belt crosses my chest and presses between my breasts; every jolt is a reminder I’m in a body that wants things it’s never wanted before. No, not things. Him
“So, where are you from, Ariel?” Everett asks from the front, voice gentle enough to make the question feel like a hand offered, not a net. His tone skims over my skin like warm fingers, causing an ache to bloom between my thighs.
“Um… not far,” I say, tasting the lie like a too-sweet fruit. “I’ve been… camping since I lost my—” I grab for a human word I’ve heard on the docks, “—home.”
You’re one of them now.
But am I?
His head tilts, the way it does when he’s studying a readout. Not enough data. Panic bubbles in my throat. If I open my mouth too wide, the truth will spill out and drown us both.
“Where were you living before you started… camping?” he tries again. His eyes meet mine in the rearview—blue-green like shallow water over bright sand—and I forget to breathe for one heartbeat too long. I feel the impact of his gaze in my core like a tug I shouldn’t answer but can’t resist.
I want to stare at him instead of the speed.
He’s easier to look at than the rushing world, his profile clean and sure, his hands steady on his knees, his jaw shadowed from a day that nearly swallowed him.
The shadow makes me think of abrasion, of what his stubble would feel like grazing the inside of my wrist, the soft place under my ear.
Heat licks the base of my throat. I shove down the rising fire before it burns me alive.
“It’s okay,” Kara says from the driver’s seat, eyes on the road, voice like a soft blanket. “You don’t have to talk about it yet.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. Not exactly a lie. “It’s just… hard.”
“Is your gear still at the lake?” She flicks a lever, and the car clicks a rhythm I can count my breaths to. We pass through a gate, the road straightening and slowing. I let the sound anchor me as my pulse syncs to the metronome of her turn signal.
You will not speak of our home.
My father’s edict echoes in my ears.
“The wind took it. Tossed it into the lake. I went in after it, but—” I shrug. “Next thing I knew, I was on the bank with the marine officer standing over me.” The last part is true, at least.
“Oh, honey.” Kara’s mouth curves with sympathy. “Out there after saving him? I feel terrible for you.”
We roll to a stop in front of a house made of glass and gray stone, the human version of a palace: tall windows, tidy hedges shivering in the wind. My door confounds me until Everett is there, opening it like a magician revealing a dove, offering a hand I don’t need but take anyway.
His palm is warm, and I lean toward him instinctively.
When I stand, the rush of blood to my legs makes me sway, and his fingers tighten around mine.
I step out on unsteady feet with the concentration of a newborn deer, too aware of my bare skin under borrowed cloth, of his height and heat and scent—clean salt, wind, male.
Inside, cool air kisses my damp skin. Light pools on polished floors.
Somewhere, a machine breathes and another one hums. Everett says something to a woman who appears and disappears like a helpful sprite, and then we’re in a dining room where a round, flat food arrives on a board, steaming and fragrant.
“Eat,” Kara says, smiling. “Then I’ll take you home with me tonight.”
Everett turns, about to object.
Kara lifts a hand, gentle but firm. “She needs a woman’s touch, Ev. Let me.”
He bows to the logic, and I catch the way his mouth presses like he wants to argue but also wants me safe. I don’t really know him—only the shape of him on a deck, his focus, his kindness. He could be terrible. He could be perfect. Both ideas terrify me.
I pick up a triangle of the round food and take a bite.
“Oh.” It escapes me. The base is chewy and crisp, the sauce tangy-sweet, the cheese stringing in luscious threads. Vegetables burst on my tongue like confetti. “This is… so good.”
“Never had pizza?” Everett asks, surprised and charmed. His voice dips on never like a fingertip trailing down my spine.
“I usually eat very simple meals.”
They talk while I feed my new soul. Kara suggests an early dinner with Everett’s parents tomorrow.
Ricky, who arrives with an armful of files and the air of a man who keeps hurricanes organized, mutters about rest and doctors’ orders.
Everett argues that I’ll need someone with me.
He looks at me like I’m a map he intends to learn by heart.
He says, “She seems… lost.”
The words should sting. Instead, something low in my belly warms, like a candle catching, because his next look says found. His gaze meets mine, and I feel it everywhere; in my throat, my chest, every strand of my hair. The air between us tightens like a drawn bow.
Kara makes a little noise—amused, not angry—and I glance away, uncertain what they are to each other. Sister? Friend? Something… more? The stiffness between them feels practiced, like a dance neither of them likes.
After we eat, Kara drives me to her apartment, with the men promising to check on us later.
The building smells of flowers and polished wood, and the elevator emits a soft sigh at every floor.
I watch our reflections stack in the mirrored doors—Kara composed, me pink-cheeked and damp-haired, eyes too bright.
“Are you Everett’s sister?” I ask as we rise, because I have to know which way to point my hope.
“No.” Kara’s mouth twists. “We’re… romantic partners. Sort of.”
An ache opens behind my ribs.
“Our parents want us to merge companies. Arranged marriage, basically,” she continues.
I frown. “So you don’t work for your parents’ company?”
“My working at Tidal Solutions is supposed to be part of the whole ‘merger’ process,” Kara says wryly, making commas with her fingers.
“It was meant to be a temporary position to see how Everett and I worked together, but three years later…” She trails off with a shrug.
“Neither of us wants to marry the other. We’re friends, but not…
that. I love him like a brother, but I’m not in love with him.
And he’s definitely not in love with me. ”
Hope does a clumsy cartwheel in my stomach. “Oh.”
“Also,” she adds with a shudder, unlocking her door, “Everett loves the outdoors and I hate it. Dirt. Bugs. Worms. Give me a boardroom over a boat any day.”
Inside is all pale wood and soft gray. The spare bedroom smells like clean linen and unexpected possibilities.
Kara shows me a bathroom that’s a temple to water.
I twist the silver knobs until the shower warms, and steam curls around me like a curious cat.
The soap smells like rain-washed flowers, and the shampoo like the first sweet day of spring.
Water slides over my scalp and down my back in hot, shivery rivers. I tip my face into the spray and imagine a different warmth, broader hands, a mouth at the nape of my neck. My nipples tighten, traitorous and eager. I should stop picturing Everett in my shower. But I don’t.
I emerge pink and human-scented and slip into the clothes she’s left—soft green pants and a long, slouchy top that hugs heat to my skin. They feel wonderful.
As I leave my room to find Kara, a knock sounds at the door, and Everett and Ricky step in.
Everett has shaved. The line of his jaw could cut ribbon.
His smile is bright enough to make the room tilt a little.
His eyes skim my hair, throat, the curve where the fabric clings, then return to my face as if he’s trying to be gallant and barely succeeding.
Heat prickles my cheeks. My body remembers rain, remembers his mouth.
“Hi,” he says, and somehow it sounds like I’m glad you’re okay and don’t you dare vanish again.
I manage a “Hi” that doesn’t betray the way my pulse is behaving. He’s Kara’s, I remind myself, even as the conversation we had tries to argue with me. Even as my heart argues with me.
We settle in the living room; me curled with my new feet tucked under me because I like the way it feels to anchor somewhere. Everett's knee brushes mine as he sits beside me, and the space between our bodies feels like a living thing, aware and wanting.
Ricky and Everett debate whether I should go to the office tomorrow. Ricky cites the doctor’s orders. Everett counters with, “She shouldn’t be alone.”
“Oh,” I blurt, too eager to be elegant, “I’d love to see what you do.”
Kara’s eyes meet mine, pleased. “Then it’s settled. Come by for lunch, Ev. We’ll do a quick dinner with your parents afterward.”
“Right,” Everett says, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. The motion tightens his shirt across his broad chest, hinting at the warm, supple muscles beneath. “We’ll take it slow.”
His gaze threads through mine slowly, and my breath trips. Slow sounds like a promise and a threat I want to test with every part of me.
I sink deeper into the couch, listening to the rise and fall of their voices, letting the rhythm of human plans circle me like a school of friendly fish.
I’m lost. But maybe I’m also wanted. And if the way Everett looks at me is any indication, I might be something else, too.
Found.