Chapter Three
Nico stood in the shallows and said nothing.
For a man who had just come out of the Atlantic after being a shark, he was taking a lot of time with the obvious follow-up.
I kept my phone gripped in one hand and my keys hooked around the other, because I’d come outside to check the service door like a normal bar owner with normal problems. One stuck latch. Maybe a delivery guy being dramatic. Possibly Dusty leaving a broom where a broom had no spiritual right to be.
Not a dark fin cutting through the silver wash near the shallows.
I swept the surf again. No swimmers. No bright swim caps. No kid splashing where he shouldn’t be. The beach was still in that thin gray hour before tourists arrived with sunscreen, coolers, and the survival instincts of wet toast.
Thank God.
Then I faced Nico.
Water streamed from his dark hair, over his bare chest, and down the gold chain against his skin. His shirt lay on the sand behind him. Dawn spread pale over the horizon, and wet sand clung to my sandals while I stared at the impossible visual until it stayed impossible.
I’d known he was trouble. I’d known he was connected. A man didn’t walk into my bar wearing that much gold and collector confidence because he volunteered with sea turtles.
But I hadn’t prepared for dorsal fin.
Nico took one step toward shore.
I took one step back.
He stopped with the tide pulling around his legs.
His blue eyes stayed on mine.
“You saw,” he said.
“I saw a shark too close to my beach, a man coming out of the same ocean, and you standing there like I’m supposed to put that on the prep list.”
His voice came low and careful. “Nella.”
“No. Absolutely not. You don’t get to say my name in that voice until you explain whether I need animal control, the Coast Guard, or a priest.”
That almost got me a smile.
Not quite.
Nico glanced at the ocean behind him, then at the water around his legs, then back at me. “No one’s in danger.”
“Bold statement from the thing with fins.”
“I checked the water before I shifted.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“It should make you feel slightly better.”
“I’m going to need you to manage your expectations.”
He nodded once, slow and careful. “Fair.”
The tide washed around his thighs. Wet swim trunks clung to him. The whole scene would’ve been illegal in at least three states if I hadn’t been busy deciding whether my insurance covered supernatural debt collectors.
“What are you?” I asked again.
“I’m a shark shifter.”
The words hit the sand between us and stayed there.
I waited for lightning. Screaming. A camera crew. My mother calling because she’d sensed from Jersey that my life had left the road and driven straight into the ocean.
Nothing happened.
The Atlantic kept moving. A gull shrieked over the boardwalk. Somewhere behind me, Bite Me’s neon sign hummed in the window like it had not personally invited this nonsense with its entire brand.
I glanced from Nico to the water.
“So the loan shark part wasn’t just branding,” I said.
“No.”
“And you were planning to mention this when?”
His jaw tightened.
I made a little circle with my key ring. “Before or after you sat at my bar for five days deciding whether I get to keep the place with the giant shark sign?”
“I should’ve told you before you saw it.”
“That’s the lowest possible rung on the apology ladder.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because from where I’m standing, last night I kissed a man who knew he was secretly a shark and didn’t bother to share with the class.”
His eyes changed at that. Not color. Still blue. Annoyingly blue. But his jaw eased before he could turn defensive.
“I kissed you because you told me you wanted me to,” he said. “I asked first.”
“And then you stopped because Dusty wandered in asking about a latch.”
“I stopped because Dusty interrupted us. I stayed stopped because you didn’t know enough.”
My fingers tightened around the keys. “That’s not as comforting as you think.”
“It wasn’t meant to be comforting.”
“Then what was it meant to be?”
“The truth.”
He didn’t dress it up. Even after fins, teeth, and financial doom, the memory of his mouth in the back room sat low and hot under my ribs.
That was between me, God, and possibly the Coast Guard.
“Come out of the water,” I said.
His eyebrows lifted. “You’re sure?”
“No sudden shark business.”
“I don’t do sudden shark business on land.”
“I don’t like how specific that sentence was.”
“I’ll move slowly.”
“You’ll move like a man who knows I can scream loud enough to wake half of Miami.”
Nico glanced at Bite Me. “I believe that.”
He walked out of the water with his hands visible and his shoulders loose, which should’ve made him look harmless and absolutely didn’t. Water streamed down his torso. His gold chain caught the first warm hint of sun. When his feet hit wet sand, he stopped a few yards away instead of crowding me.
Dangerous, but not stupid.
He bent to pick up his pale linen shirt from the sand. His phone lay beside it. I watched his hands because they’d been on my waist last night, and I had no patience for my own timing.
He pulled the shirt on without buttoning it.
Somehow that made everything worse.
“Start talking,” I said.
“Torretti Harbor Capital is a lender,” he said. “The paperwork is real. The debt is real.”
“I knew that part. I have the ulcer.”
“My uncle Sal runs the collection side.”
“So he’s the charming man behind the countdown text?”
The muscle in Nico’s jaw jumped. “That would be Sal.”
“He doesn’t send muffin baskets, does he?”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“And Sal is also a shark?”
“Yes.”
I stared at him. “Your whole family?”
“Some.”
“That’s not the reassuring answer.”
“It’s the honest one.”
I stepped off the path and onto the sand because standing above him made this feel too much like I was taking a customer complaint about the ocean. I wanted to be level with him when I decided whether to yell, run, or throw my keys at his expensive face.
“What else?” I asked.
His eyes stayed on mine. “There are humans in the organization too. Lawyers. Paperwork people. Money people. But my family gives it teeth.”
“You hear yourself, right?”
“I do.”
“And you still said it?”
“It seemed better than lying.”
“Miracles are happening before breakfast.”
His eyes narrowed, but not with anger. “Nella.”
“No. You don’t get soft-voice privileges right now.”
The twitch disappeared.
He learned fast.
“Did you know what kind of contract I signed?” I asked.
“I knew it was bad.”
“How bad?”
“Bad enough that I shouldn’t discuss terms on the beach before you’ve had coffee and a lawyer.”
My stomach tightened. “I don’t have money for a lawyer.”
“I know.”
The two words landed too gently, and I lifted one hand before I had to deal with that.
“Don’t make that face.”
“What face?”
“The sorry one.”
“I’m not sorry for you.”
“You have a face.”
“I’ve been told.”
“It’s doing things.”
He stared at the sand for half a second, then lifted his head. “I’m angry.”
“With me?”
“With the contract. With Sal. With myself.”
“That’s a lot of men for one emotion.”
“It’s been a long night.”
“You became seafood at dawn. I’m not comforting you.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
The sun lifted a little more. Morning thinned the gray over the water, turning the surf pale blue and silver. Behind me, Bite Me waited with its locked doors, its sticky floors, its delivery schedule, and every dollar I needed to keep from handing my life over to men who apparently came with gills.
A truck rumbled somewhere near the service alley.
My phone buzzed in my hand.
I flinched hard enough to hate the movement.
Nico’s attention dropped to the screen, but he didn’t step closer.
I looked.
PRODUCE DRIVER:
Here early. Side door is locked.
Of course.
Because a shark reveal wasn’t enough pressure for one morning. The limes still had to arrive.
I blew out one breath and faced Nico. “Congratulations. You’re helping with produce.”
He blinked. “You still want me near the bar?”
“I don’t want you near anything. I also have four cases of citrus, two flats of tomatoes, and a delivery driver who gets offended if nobody appreciates his punctuality.”
“I can carry produce.”
“Don’t make it romantic.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“You would absolutely dare. That’s been your whole personality since you walked in.”
A real smile appeared this time, small and dangerous.
I pointed one key at him. “Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“Looking pleased that I haven’t thrown you into traffic.”
“There’s no traffic on the beach.”
“Don’t make me improvise.”
I turned before I did something tragic, like laugh. Nico followed at a careful distance across the sand. He didn’t crowd me, and he didn’t pretend he couldn’t move faster than anything else on that beach.
That should’ve scared me more.
The back of Bite Me came into view beyond the path and palms, still sleepy under dawn light.
The service alley smelled like warm pavement, old citrus peels, and bread from the bakery two doors down.
My delivery driver leaned against the truck with one clipboard and the exhausted expression of a man who had seen too many restaurant owners before sunrise.
“Morning,” he called.
“It’s not morning until I’ve had espresso,” I said.
He glanced at Nico, at Nico’s wet open shirt, then back at me.
I held up a hand. “Don’t ask.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good man.”
Nico took the first crate when I pointed to it. He didn’t take the clipboard. He didn’t start giving instructions. He lifted what I told him to lift and set it where I told him to set it, which was either personal growth or the most attractive manipulation I’d ever seen.
“Limes in the back,” I said. “Tomatoes near the prep table. Crush anything and Mari will discover new uses for your bones.”
Nico glanced toward the kitchen. “I believe that too.”
“You should.”
The delivery driver handed me the clipboard. “You’re short one case of limes.”
My face went very still.
He took half a step back.
Smart man.
“What do you mean, short?”
“I mean they loaded four instead of five.”
“This is a margarita bar.”
“I know.”
“I’m not making vacation drinks with thoughts and prayers.”
“I know.”