Page 21 of Seashells and Daiquiris

He scratches the back of his neck. “You could always take my room if you wanted privacy. I can do that⁠—”

“Oh, no,” I say, as that’s way too intimate. “This is fine. Look, it’s only temporary.”

“Hopefully not.”

I actually start laughing this time, because the shell is a floor lower and it’s actually quite funny to hear it almost softer in the distance. Liam joins in all the same.

“Alright, let’s just try this for now, how about that? I can be sparse in the living space until I know you’re up, if you want.”

Now I feel guilty, because this hot merman is trying to make me feel better when he doesn’t have to. I wave a hand at him. “Oh, please, it’s fine. It’s your house. It’s not like I sleep naked or something.”

His gaze flashes at me a little too quickly, like he’s really curious about that, and I half expect the shell to break up the tension… until it doesn’t.

“Anyway,” I say, clearing my throat. “How about we get the suitcases up here?”

“Oh, I’ll get them, miss author. You don’t worry about those. Not in my house.”

He gives a playful smile before giving me his back. My shoulders slump right away like I’m trying to recover from what just happened. Especially because I like the way he called me miss author. Or that he’s such a gentleman, when Tommy, in hindsight, was nowhere near this savvy.

I don’t really know what to do, so I stand there and wait, poking around. I love how it smells like the ocean in here, as if there’s a permanent scent of a salty breeze. I’m probably going to associate this smell with Liam forever now. He carries my things up with ease, rolling them against the wall. After that he stands here and looks around like maybe there’s something else to say or point that that will make this easier.

"This is weird," I say, but with a smile on my face to soften the words.

"Which part?"

I chuckle. “All of it.” Then I sigh, standing in this stranger’s house. “I feel like I should have been more cautious moving into your house when I don’t know anything about you.”

“I mean, maybe,” he says with a grin. “Definitely don’t move into any other houses, though… I honestly just feel bad that you’re wrapped up in this.” His gaze hardens. “I also don’t like that you were targeted by her magic today. If that wasn’t the case, I wouldn’t have pushed this.”

God, does he have to be so nice about this? He’s hot, caring, and a merman. "Thank you," I say, and I mean it. "For the latte. And the room. And trying to make this not as strange as it could be.”

"I don't think that's possible at this point." He crosses his arms and leans against the loft railing, an intensity returning in his gaze that makes me feel scrutinized and electric all at once. "So, I do have to head to the bar soon. I’ve been covering another shift since they’re sick. And given what happened this morning, I'd rather not leave you here alone."

“Oh, yeah,” I say, thinking back to how we mentioned I’d work there. “I can’t just stay here, you don’t think?”

"I want you somewhere I can see you." He says it casually, like it's a practical thing. But there's a weight to it that doesn't match the tone, and we both hear it.

"That's very protective of you.”

“It’s my mess you’re in, so you’re not getting hurt on my watch. Besides, I owe you a real drink. The daiquiri yesterday was under duress."

"It was a great daiquiri, actually."

“All the more reason to come to the bar, Freddie." He says it softer now, and my name in his voice does that thing again where my kneecaps question their structural integrity.

"Fine. Let me get my laptop. If I'm going to be babysat by a merman, I'm at least going to pretend to work on my book."

He smiles at me, and I stutter a bit in my movements before committing to finding my laptop bag. I make sure it has… yes, headphones, chargers, and my green bluetooth mouse.

"She might actually be the one, and she’s got a nice ass—” I turn around quickly, only to see an expression of pure mortification on his face “—Thalassa isn’t allowed to touch this one.”

It's not my voice that came from the shell.

It's his.

Low. Rough. Clear as anything. Resonating from my purse downstairs and carrying up through the open loft like a confession that was never meant to be heard.

The silence that follows is so loud it has a texture.