Chapter 3 #2
Kate laughs and reaches over the bar to shake my hand. Her grip is firm and her smile is infectious. "Don't let him fool you. I picked the cuter twin. Welcome. What brings you here this early on a Tuesday?"
"She's a mermaid," Remy says, like that explains everything.
Kate's eyebrows go up. "Oh. Oh, you're the one. Bess down at the chamber mentioned a mermaid bar opening downtown. Mermosa. That's yours?"
"That's mine," I say, and it comes out so proudly that I have to laugh at myself.
"Welcome to Cypress Grove, then. Sit." Kate gestures at the empty bar. "I'm going to make you both something. Chamomile-and-passionflower with spring-water ice — house special."
She turns to her shelves and starts pulling jars. "What do you two have planned, drinks aside?"
"Sit on the deck. Tell stories. See how this goes," Remy says, with that lopsided grin.
"Mhm." Kate's voice is amused. "Take it slow, Remy. She's not a tourist." She winks at me. "He has a tendency to charm 'em and forget 'em. Just so you're warned."
"Hey now," Remy protests. "That's old-news Remy. I’ve turned over a new leaf."
"If you say so." Kate pulls down jars of dried herbs from a shelf and starts mixing an infusion with lime juice and simple syrup.
"These herbs are from Liz at the Astral Attic.
She says chamomile and passionflower together help people see each other clearly.
I was thinking about adding this to the menu, so you two can be my guinea pigs. "
She finishes the mocktails — tall, oversized hot-pink plastic glasses, garnished with slices of lime and tiny paper umbrellas — and slides them across the bar.
“We’ll take these on the deck so we’re out of your hair.” Remy picks up both glasses and heads for the back door. I follow.
The deck is small, four feet wide and maybe ten long, with a railing of weathered wood and some beat up barstools facing the river. It’s quiet, except for the distant call of a bird and the soft burbling of the spring-fed current.
We sit. He hands me my mocktail and clinks his glass against mine. "Cheers."
I take a sip. It's bright, with citrus and floral notes. I’d heard this place served tinctures, and one lady in town mentioned that they were magical. That was the word she’d used. I took another sip. Not magic, surely. Just a nice drink. But somehow my shoulders settle a little.
"Okay," he says. "You have a long story to tell me about being a mermaid. You’ve got all of my attention."
I tell him an abbreviated version. He listens, leaning toward me, asking small follow-up questions in a way that makes me feel like the most interesting woman in Florida.
When I ask about him, he laughs. "Eh, I'm boring, compared to you. I’m a fishing guide on the river.
Tour groups, weddings, whatever's on the water. I bought a little cabin a few years back, just finished fixing it up. It’s pretty spacious for just me.
My bass boat's on the trailer out back. I live there most of the time.
My parents are here in town, so I sometimes stay there.
They own the Magnolia Grand Resort, just up the road from here.
Have you heard of it? I only stay with them when I need to do laundry. "
Is he rambling because he's nervous or because he's talkative? I'm not entirely sure, but it's adorable.
Every time I look into Remy's eyes, my thoughts go fuzzy and I lose my place in the conversation. Normally I'm not like this. I'm sharp and focused. Today, apparently, I am thinking only of his eyelashes.
He asks about Mermosa, and I find myself telling him things I haven't told anyone — the bachelorette party concept, the kids' party ideas I've been sketching, the tiny stage I want to build next to the tank so a band can play.
He listens and asks questions that make my ideas feel better instead of smaller.
Somehow we're halfway through our second round of mocktails — Kate slipped them onto the deck table at some point without saying a word — and I realize an hour has gone by.
Two thoughts race through my head simultaneously.
How easy would it be to fall for this man? And, has anyone ever made me feel this seen?
Don't think about either of those right now. Not while he's sitting two feet away, with that sexy, rakish grin on his face.
"I should go," I say, even though I don't want to.
"Yeah?"
"I have so much to do for the bar."
"Right." He stands when I stand. We're suddenly very close, the deck small enough that there's nowhere to step.
I look up, into his eyes. Why does electricity seem to sizzle between us whenever we stare at each other? Heat blooms in my stomach, and it's not from swimming.
"You know, I was going to say something at the spring," he says quietly. "Then I fell off the platform and forgot."
"Yeah? Did you remember?"
"I did.” he pauses. “You're just beautiful, you know that?"
The way he says it, his voice desperate and growly, makes my stomach tighten. I've never made the first move with a guy. Ever. Especially not after I've known someone for five minutes.
But something about his tone and the crackling attraction between us makes me step toward him. I close the gap between us until we're only a few inches apart. What am I doing?
"Thanks," I whisper, licking my lips.
I'm almost not aware that I'm tilting my head up, as if I'm seeking his mouth. His hands meet my face, and cup my jaw.
"I want to kiss you," he says hoarsely. "It doesn't make any sense, because we just met—"
I press into him, interrupting because I absolutely need to feel his lips on mine. I don't know what has come over me and I don't care. Maybe it's that lack of human contact. Whatever it is, I want this.
Today's my day to make a stupid decision, to throw caution to the wind, to take what I want. Yeah, I've made many stupid decisions in the past, and it looks like I'm making another one.
"Who cares if it doesn't make sense?" I whisper.