CHAPTER NINE
CATHERINE
“Nosy sea lion shifter. Who does he think he is? Barging in here with arms full of spell books and unsolicited advice,” I grumble as I toss a new romance novel into my beach bag along with a towel, sunscreen, a water bottle, and an oversized umbrella.
The zipper catches twice before finally giving in with an annoyed jerk of my wrist.
Elliot’s words had been circling in my head nonstop since two days ago, when he’d shown up at my aunt’s house dripping saltwater all over the porch, carrying enough spell books to start a library.
I still hadn’t opened a single one.
Avoid accepting the truth in his words.
If I ignored it long enough, maybe it would all just… stop.
The strange bursts of magic. The water moving when I wasn’t touching it. The feeling humming under my skin like the ocean tide pulling at the moon.
But the more I resisted, the more the magic seemed to press against me, insistent and impossible to silence.
My gaze drifts toward the phone number Elliot had scribbled onto a scrap of paper and pinned to my aunt’s fridge beneath a seashell magnet.
For when you’re ready.
Ready.
As if admitting I needed help was somehow easy.
As if I could just casually accept that after years of shutting my magic away, it had decided to come roaring back into my life like an angry hurricane.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
What I needed was one of the dozens of applications I’d sent out to email me back for an interview. A real job. A stable job. One with a salary and benefits and measurable success.
And in the meantime?
Sunshine. Silence. Fictional men with emotional availability.
“It’s not like I have time for a relationship anyway,” I mutter, shoving a pair of sunglasses into my bag. “Fictional men make better boyfriends. They never leave wet towels on the floor and always know exactly what to say.”
Gin barks in agreement from the kitchen doorway, tail wagging so hard her entire backside wiggles.
“Exactly. Finally, someone understands me.”
I plop my oversized sunhat onto my head, slip into my flip-flops, then scoop Mango up from his heated perch beside the window. The tiny orange bearded dragon immediately climbs onto my shoulder like a king being carried to his throne.
Gin whines and trots toward the door.
“Not this time, girl.” I crouch to scratch behind her ears. “The last thing I need is you eating someone’s abandoned sandwich off the beach again.”
Gin sneezes indignantly.
Mango slowly turns his head to her with smug superiority, tiny claws tightening on my shirt.
“Oh, don’t start,” I tell him. “You’re literally a lizard.”
His throat puffs slightly anyway.
The afternoon sun hits me the second I step outside, warm and golden against my skin. Salt hangs thick in the air, mingling with sunscreen and drifting coconut from neighboring beach houses. The wooden stairs creak beneath my flip-flops as I make my way down toward the sand.
The beach stretches endlessly before me in glittering shades of blue and gold. Waves crash rhythmically against the shore while gulls wheel overhead, crying into the wind.
Beautiful.
Lonely.
The kind of lonely that sits quietly beside you instead of announcing itself.
I set up the umbrella, anchor the corners of my towel beneath my bag, and collapse onto it with an exhausted sigh. Mango climbs down my arm immediately and begins digging enthusiastically into the warm sand.
“Hey. Careful where you’re kicking.”
Sand sprays directly onto my leg anyway.
Mango freezes.
Slowly, he lifts his head from the tiny crater he’s created, grains stuck all over his snout.
“You’re lucky you’re cute.”
Movement catches his attention near a patch of dune grass. His entire body goes statue-still except for the twitch of his tail. Then suddenly he launches forward with surprising speed.
A tiny beetle never stands a chance.
“Nature is horrifying,” I mumble as Mango crunches happily beside me.
The beach is mostly empty today. Far down the shoreline, tiny figures splash in the surf, their laughter carried faintly away by the sea breeze until it barely sounds human anymore.
Otherwise, it’s just me.
Just the ocean.
Just the endless stretch of sky.
I smooth sunscreen across my arms and legs, the lotion cool against overheated skin, then lean back against my towel with my book. The umbrella fabric flaps softly overhead.
I’d stopped by the old bookstore yesterday after grabbing groceries.
The familiar scent of paper, incense, and dust had wrapped around me the second I stepped inside.
Mrs. Alder had nearly cried seeing me again, immediately demanding updates about my aunt’s travels while shoving a cinnamon candy into my hand like I was sixteen again instead of unemployed and spiraling.
For a few minutes in that shop, surrounded by crooked shelves and weathered books, I’d almost felt like myself again.
Or maybe like the version of myself I used to be before ambition hollowed everything else out.
Today was supposed to be simple, though.
Just me and a romance novel.
I open to my bookmark and settle into the story. The maiden has just been forced into marriage with the rugged laird of a rival clan in order to secure peace between kingdoms.
Of course they’ll fall in love.
Of course he’ll secretly be soft beneath all the gruffness.
Of course she’ll heal his wounded heart and they’ll live happily ever after.
Predictable. Comforting.
Like hot cocoa during a snowstorm while the world outside goes quiet.
Stories where people chose each other no matter what.
I’d barely had time to read for fun during my corporate years. There had always been another email. Another meeting. Another networking dinner where everyone smiled too hard and talked about productivity like it was a religion.
But once I got another job—
When.
When I got another job.
I’d make time for things again.
I had to.
Because I was going to get a job. A better one. One where all the years of stress and sacrifice finally meant something. One where I could stop feeling like I was drowning while everyone else somehow swam effortlessly ahead.
Because that’s what everyone wanted, right?
Success. Money. Recognition.
But at what cost? my conscience whispers immediately.
“Traitor,” I mutter to my own brain.
I did not come out here to spiral into an existential crisis.
I came for sunshine and distractions and definitely not to obsessively refresh my email every fifteen minutes hoping someone finally responded to my applications.
Last night I would’ve stayed up reading for hours if Gin hadn’t started barking at the bathroom.
And then I’d opened the door to find bubbles.
Everywhere.
Bubbles spilling from the sink. The tub. Floating along the ceiling.
An entire foam nightmare.
Instead of admitting Elliot was right and my magic was clearly malfunctioning, I’d simply shut the door, turned off the lights, and decided future me could deal with it.
Morning me had discovered the bathroom completely spotless.
No bubbles.
No water.
Nothing.
As though I’d imagined the whole thing.
As though I was losing my mind.
I finally settle into the first paragraph when a shadow falls across my face.
“You missed a spot.”
That annoyingly cheerful voice instantly sends irritation sparking through me.
I sit upright with a huff, pushing my glasses down my nose as I glare up at Elliot.
Unfortunately, glaring becomes significantly harder when faced with entirely too much sun-bronzed skin and a pair of teal swim trunks that fit him annoyingly well.
Sea lion surfers should honestly be illegal.
“What?”
“I said”—he nods toward my shoulder—“you missed a spot.”
I glance down.
Sure enough, right near my shoulder is one pale patch already turning pink beneath the sun.
“Oh, for the love—”
I snatch the sunscreen bottle beside me and aggressively smear lotion over the area while Elliot watches with entirely too much amusement.
“That’s not what I meant,” I grumble. “What are you doing here?”
I wave vaguely toward the beach. The ocean.
My carefully selected isolated location behind my family’s house.
Elliot turns dramatically in a slow circle, surveying the coastline.
“Hmm. Let’s see. Sand? Check. Ocean? Check. Handsome local hero enjoying his day off?” He points both thumbs at himself. “Also check.”
“You forgot unbearable nuisance.”
“That’s seasonal.”
I roll my eyes so hard it physically hurts.
Mango chooses that moment to sprint triumphantly across the sand with another unfortunate bug dangling from his mouth.
Elliot’s face brightens immediately.
“Well, hello, tiny dragon.”
Mango pauses beside my towel, visibly considering him.
“Don’t encourage him,” I warn. “He already thinks he pays rent.”
“Honestly? With those hunting skills, he probably should.”
Mango puffs proudly, throat expanding.
“Oh my goddess,” I mutter. “Not you too.”
Laughing softly, Elliot bends down and picks up my abandoned book from the towel before I can stop him.
“That doesn’t look like the books I brought you. What are you reading?”
“Give me that back.”
I reach for it, but he steps away easily, flipping through pages while I glare murderously at him from beneath my sunhat.
“A Highlander romance?” His grin widens. “Wow. Big scary warrior with emotional trauma? Didn’t realize that was your type.”
“It isn’t.”
“Mhm.”
“It’s fiction.”
“Right. Entirely fictional.” His eyes flick meaningfully over himself. “Good thing there aren’t any rugged coastal men around here for comparison.”
I snort despite myself.
Which is unfortunate because the second Elliot notices, his smile softens into something warmer.
Something dangerously easy.
“Just give me my book back.” I reach for it again, fingers brushing empty air as Elliot lifts it higher with an infuriating grin.
If he was going to spend the afternoon haunting my peaceful beach day like some ridiculously attractive sea spirit, then fine. I could go back inside, make iced tea, and read in peace on the couch where there were no smug surfers interrupting me every thirty seconds.
“When his thumb caressed the underside of her breast and then his hand dared to cup her so gently, she clasp—”