Chapter 4
FREDDIE
I should clarify something.
I did not, at any point, consciously think the words I want to climb him like a tree.
That thought did not pass through the curated, editor-approved portion of my brain that handles things like social behavior and basic survival instincts.
That thought had to be from the shell, even if it sounds exactly like my voice.
But does that matter if the bartender still heard it?
He's leaning across the bar, close enough that the rest of the place starts to fade away, and his expression is doing something I can't parse. Is he humored at all, at the very least? “You good?” He asks, looking me over. “What was that just now?”
"What was what?" I try, which is the verbal equivalent of hiding behind a lamp. I almost laugh at how dumb that makes me sound, especially with how I basically squeaked that out of myself.
His lips perk slightly, like he’s about to laugh, too. Then his eyes drop to my purse again. “C’mon, Freddie. I heard that.”
"Uh, it could have been that lady that walked by—“
“I wonder if his hands would be good at holding our hips in place.”
My jaw drops as heat floods my face.
Yeah, there’s no denying that. It’s so loud, so clearly my voice, and so obviously coming from my purse. And no one else seems to hear it. And used ‘we’! His eyes widen enough that my face catches actual fire.
"Okay, you know what, maybe there is something,” I correct, gripping my daiquiri like a life preserver. "Okay, so, funny story. I bought a seashell today. From a shop. A very cute shop. And it, um. It does a thing. I swear I’m not telling it what to say. I didn’t know it was this inappropriate.”
“It sounds like your voice.”
"It says my thoughts,” I say, then realize I’m admitting I thought those things.
“Oh my god, I don’t mean I was looking at your hands like that.
It says the ones I don't think? Or, I think it’s just making things up.
Okay, no. Oh my god,” I say, drinking more and feeling the alcohol hit my bloodstream.
“I think I’m just going to go ahead and jump off of a cliff now. ”
“Oh, no, you’re not going anywhere.”
“That’s so hot.”
“Shut up,” I growl at the purse.
Then Liam laughs like a warm wave, and it calms me down, even if just slightly.
“Okay, maybe I’m not jumping off a cliff, but I’m seriously chucking this shell over one.” Which kills me to say out loud, because I clearly dreamt of this treacherous shell! Why is it betraying me like this?
“Show me the shell.” His words are somehow very commanding and yet calm, like he’s not going to actually judge me.
What am I supposed to do? I almost feel like I need to pull it out as proof that I’m not crazy or trying to be inappropriate with him.
Screw it. I reach into my purse and pull the shell out, which is easy to find with the warmth of it.
It sits in my palm, iridescent and gently pulsing, and the second Liam sees it, his whole body goes still, his fingers curling against the edge of the bar like he's physically stopping himself from reaching for it.
"Where did you get that?" His voice has definitely lost an edge of that smooth control.
"Odessa's shop. I paid six dollars for it, which she said was—"
"Odessa." He pulls back from the bar and drags both hands down his face. When they drop, he looks like I’ve said something incredibly important. "Of course. Of course it ended up with Odessa."
“Maybe we should see if he needs a really long, tight hug. I bet his back is strong. Maybe offer a massage.”
"Can you—" He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Can it—can you stop doing that?"
Now I’m just so damn embarrassed. “I literally cannot. I have no idea how this works. Let’s just throw it—”
“No, do not throw it.”
A regular at the end of the bar raises his glass. "Hey, Liam, can I get another—"
He recomposes himself. “Yeah, man, coming right up.” He throws me a serious glare. “Don’t you go anywhere.”
I give him a crossed look. “You’re not the boss of me.”
“But it could be fun if he was.”
I roll my eyes and lower my face to the shell. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”
Liam goes around and works on more drinks, frequently looking my way like he’s making sure I’m not going anywhere. I drink more of the daiquiri, quite loving how the alcohol is definitely helping. I lean over to the shell. “Okay, seriously, how do you work? Please, help me.”
Silence. It just sits there, casting a tiny little shadow, as if it’s the most innocence thing in the world.
I notice that someone close to me gets up and leaves, looking at me like I’m crazy. “Great, now people think I’m losing it because I’m talking to you.”
Then I see Liam go to another bartender, this one a woman with skin that has a strong pinkish hue to it, and vivid green eyes. The kind of green I always wished mine were, when mine are just a duller shade. They speak closely, her gaze landing on me, then she nods at him.
My heart is pounding so hard when Liam walks around the bar, smiling and joking with the regulars like nothing is going on, then his expression deadpanning when connects back with me.
Is he really this mad that my seashell is hitting on him? He can just kick me out of it’s bothering him!
I sit there like an animal who has accepted their fate as prey when he comes around the bar. All the way around. He slides into the stool next to mine, way closer than anyone should be to me when I’ve only known him for like thirty minutes.
"That shell," he says finally, "is mine."
“Fantastic, here you go,” I say, sliding it to him. Whatever smile I had slumps as the damn thing slides back to me. “Oh, no. I can’t be stuck with this thing.”
I scoot it back.
It slowly returns to me.
“Take it!” I say, motioning to it.
“I can’t. It’s not how the curse works.”
I glare at him as if he isn’t nearly double my size. “This thing is cursed?”
"It's has m heart inside of it.”
The word lands between us like a stone dropped into still water. I feel the ripple of it. I look at the shell. I look at him. I look at the shell again.
"I'm sorry, your what?"
He leans back, running a hand through the loose strands that have escaped his bun, and starts talking.
Like every word is being extracted from him with pliers.
“It’s been cursed with my heart inside of it.
My ex was a sea witch, and she didn’t like that I ended it with her,” he holds a hand up, as if waving that away, “that part isn’t important.
But that shell is one I’m very familiar with. ”
“Then have it.” I scoot it back to him. “Don’t you—oh my god, stop,” I sigh. The shell, of course, comes back. “Why is it coming back to me?”
He grabs his face and leans into it. “This is such bad timing.”
“Oh, I’m sorry I’m inconveniencing you,” I quip. “Spill it. You seem to know what’s happening. How do I get this thing to stop coming back to me?”
He sighs, clenches his jaw, then looks at me and licks his lips. “Let’s get some privacy. There’s something… well, there’s a caveat you should know about.”
“Yes, please,” the shell says, and he nods to it like it’s right. “Is the caveat that the underwear is optional?”
“This seashell is a hussy,” I say, tapping the shell like I’m smacking it. “I promise that thought didn’t just go through my brain. It’s the one that’s using my voice, and I didn’t give it permission to.”
His lips quiver like he might laugh, but then he stands to motion to a back booth in the bar, to which I follow.
I’m so eager to hear about what the hell is happening that I’d get into a questionable van at this point.
When Liam slides in real close to me, he even rests his arm on the back of the seat.
If I wasn’t so concerned about the shell, I might blush harder, or tell him to give us some space.
Instead, I roll my eyes and lean in. “Spill it. What’s going on?”
“So the shell does this thing, where it drifts around. It’s magical, so that just means it appears in new places.
And it latches to new women. It’s a part of the curse.
Because to break it…” he sighs, and rolls his eyes again.
“It’s a little cliche, but I have to kiss whoever it belongs to on a certain moon cycle to break it.
But what I’ve discovered, is that it will latch to random people it thinks are my soulmate.
And then when we find out, through obvious trial and error, that they’re not actually my soulmate, the shell moves on.
“So, I’m so sorry, but I think the shell thinks you’re my soulmate. And I’m just going to lay this out there, because you’re just a human who doesn’t deserve to get tied up in all of this. It’s probably best for you to kiss me on the next full moon and then let the shell realize it’s wrong again.”
What… he has to be kidding. As I offer a half-laugh, like I’m trying to gauge if he’s going to start laughing too, he just stares at me with pity. That’s when I frown. “This is a joke, right?”
His gaze languidly moves to the crowd ahead of us. “You can ask like half the people here, and they’ll say the same thing. It’s a known situation that I’m in. That uh,” he glances back to me with apologetic eyes. “That you’re now in.”
My lips move all around as if I’ll somehow catch the proper words to say until I just ramble out, “Soulmate?”
“Look, it’s been wrong thirteen times. I think it’s a part of the curse. It will just keep picking person.” He frowns, a certain undertone of sadness in his voice. “And I’ll be stuck in this for the rest of my life.” He purses his lips and breathes out heavily. “I know, it’s a lot to take in.”
I wave a hand. “I’m a romance writer. Bizarre stories don’t scare me at all.” I nod to the shell. “I just want to know how to get rid of this thing. And how I wound up with a curse.”
“Well, you’re not cursed. Just roped into mine. We’ll do the kiss, in what, like twenty-five days? Then it’ll move on.”
I sigh and drink more of the daiquiri while he watches me. I cough a little from how cold it is, basically finishing it at this point. “You know, I’ve been dreaming of the shell.”