Chapter 1 #2
"Speaking of new arrivals," he says, as if continuing a conversation we weren't having, "our new wildlife rehabilitator arrived yesterday. I bet she’s in right now. Do you want to pop in and meet her?"
"No."
Callum rolls his eyes, but his smile is still on his face. His unbearable good nature is beginning to irk me, but I refrain from showing it. It would only set him off more.
"She moved into the beach house last week. You know, the one down from Siren’s Cove?" Callum continues, undeterred by my lack of interest. "Smart as a whip, according to Enid."
My tentacles tighten closer to my scalp in an involuntary gesture.
"That’s a hell of an isolated place for a woman living alone."
“She’s got great views of the ocean.” Callum shrugs at my objection, clearly unbothered at the thought of a woman living alone on an isolated stretch of beach. “And great views of your lighthouse.”
"It's not my lighthouse," I correct automatically. "It's Coast Guard property."
“Sure.” Callum snorts softly. “And those sea birds aren’t my birds. Only I take care of them like they are. Don’t tell me any different.”
Before I can formulate an appropriately professional response, a flash of neon pink interrupts us, materializing into Sylvie Perrault's petite form. Her pink wings flutter with barely contained energy as she zooms toward us, clipboard in one hand and phone in the other.
"Orvik! Thank goodness!" Her words tumble out faster than most creatures can process. "I was just about to call you. The gala committee meeting is tomorrow, and I need your fundraising speech draft by next Thursday to include in the program packets."
I take an involuntary step backward. "Speech?"
"Yes, your speech!" Sylvie's lavender eyes widen. "For the Flippers and Feathers annual fundraiser. You promised last month when I cornered you at the harbor office."
I vaguely recall agreeing to something while trying to escape the tiny hurricane of a pixie. A foolish tactical error on my part. If Callum is like a dog with a bone, then Silvie is like a shark smelling blood in the water. Ruthless.
"I don't think that's necessary," I say, my voice dropping lower in what I hope is an official and intimidating tone. "Surely my presence is sufficient."
By the look on Sylvie’s face, I am nowhere near as intimidating as I hoped to be.
“Orvik Fenmoor, you are the harbormaster of Saltford Bay.” Sylvie plants her tiny hands on her hips.
“Your speech is crucial for the funding we need for the new communal seal pup enclosure. Half our patrons bought tickets just to see and hear you and the other half will be more than happy to empty their pockets after you blow their minds away with all the clever jokes you will be regaling us with.”
Sylvie nods her head like I’ve agreed to this and then lifts her tiny pointed chin my way. I glare down at her, but she seems completely oblivious to the fact that I am several heads taller than she is. Oblivious or just indifferent.
That pixie is always a pain in my tentacles.
"I've already approved the permits for the beachside clam boil in two weeks," I counter. "That should bring a lot of money for the center."
"That clam boil will barely cover the aviary repairs, and you know it.
" Her wings flap with irritation as she speaks.
"Do I have to remind you how important social interaction is for seal pups?
They need proper socialization before release, not isolation.
We need that enclosure, and we need you to give a speech. "
The word 'isolation' stings more than it should. I know too well what happens when one is cut off from their kind.
"Fine." I straighten my already perfectly aligned uniform. "I'll prepare some appropriate remarks."
Sylvie's entire demeanor shifts like sunshine breaking through storm clouds. She claps her hands together and jumps on her toes.
"Perfect! Oh, and you'll finally get to meet Jackie at the ground nesting bird committee meeting tomorrow. She's taking over for Dr. Enid."
My brows draw together.
"She's already taking on presentations? She just arrived. How is she supposed to know the proper nesting grounds?"
Sylvie rolls her eyes so dramatically I worry they might not return to their proper position.
"Oh my God," Sylvie mutters. "Loosen the uniform collar, Orvik. Jackie is amazing, and she will do just fine." Her expression turns mischievous. "Besides, she has way more chances of charming the mayor into signing the protection order than you do."
My tentacles darken slightly before I regain control.
"That's not appropriate," I say stiffly, ignoring Sylvie’s smirk and Callum’s head shake. "Preservation policies shouldn’t be dictated by how charming someone is. Tomorrow's committee meeting, you said?"
"Four o'clock," Sylvie confirms. "Don't be late and bring snacks!"
I give them both a curt nod and stride back to my skiff, uncomfortable with the entire conversation. My tentacles remain tightly coiled against my neck, the tension rolling all the way to my shoulders.
I’ll need to double the length of my swim tonight.
Rather than returning directly to the harbor office, I find myself turning the skiff toward Siren’s Cove.
An hour later, the pristine coastline curves inward, and I turn off the engine.
There it is, a small house, its cedar siding weathered by years of sea wind, standing on a cleared patch of land near the beach.
Smoke rises from its chimney, evidence of its new occupant settling in. It sits vulnerable on its patch of shore, looking impossibly small against the vastness of the ocean.
What kind of woman chooses such isolation?
I shake off the unwelcome thought. Whatever her reasons, they're none of my concern.