Page 44 of 'Til All the Seas Run Dry

The phone on the island started vibrating. The man put down the skillet and picked up the phone.

“What’s up, boss?” he asked, and Jory could hear the rasp in his voice of a man who had smoked too many cigarettes once upon a time.

Jory couldn’t make out who was on the other line, but it sounded like they were shouting. Robbie smirked and put the phone down on the counter, pressing a button.

“You’re on speaker, boss.”

“Jory, mo cridhe, I heard you scream. Are you alright?”

Jory squeezed her eyes tightly shut. She had exactly four days to figure out how to be friends with this man and he had to call her “his sweetheart.”

“I’m fine. I was just startled to see…” she trailed off, and the man helpfully replied, “Robbie,” around a mouthful of scrambled eggs, which he ate directly from the skillet.

“Robbie,” she repeated. “I’m fine, Callum.”

“See? She’s fine. Go to bed, boss.”

“Robbie,” Callum growled through the phone’s speaker.

Robbie sighed dramatically. “Fine.Please,go to bed, boss.”

Jory could almost hear Callum grinding his teeth through the phone.

Robbie swallowed the enormous bite he was chewing. “You need breakfast before you sleep?”

It was on the tip of Jory’s tongue to snark that she didn’t have time to go back to sleep right then when she realized that he was looking at the phone and directing the question at Callum. Something clutched at her. Surely it wasn’t… jealousy? No. It couldn’t be that. Jory had absolutely no interest in being food. And yet…

“Nay,” Callum replied softly. “I am fine.”

“Alrighty then. We’ll see you tonight.”

Robbie hung up without a goodbye, returning his attention to forking another huge bite of eggs into his mouth. With that mouth still full, he said, “I’m sorry about the other week. I promise I’m harmless.”

“I don’t believe that for a second, Robbie.”

He smiled brightly, revealing slightly crooked teeth. “That’s fair. How about this? I’m harmless to you.”

He stood over the skillet, thoroughly unbothered, eating with easy efficiency. He was about her height, five foot nine or so, but had the rangy, muscular build of a fighter.

Sinewy, she thought, which then led to a momentary appreciation of the word and how satisfying it felt to say.

Every visible bit of skin was covered in vibrant tattoos, from his neck to his knuckles. Beautiful botanicals and vibrant flowers decorated his neck and chest, and from behind the leaves, just over his heart, two golden eyes peeked out, like a panther in the jungle. Or a wolf.

He had script and symbols and more flowers and a lunar cycle up his forearm. Robbie’s tattoos reminded her of a collage she’d seen once in a local gallery, where a woman had taken magazine clippings and made a technicolor wonderland that took up nearly an entire wall. It had been the sort of piece that would never look the same twice because you would forever notice different things.

Weeks ago, when she’d seen Robbie from her car in the cold, gray light, he’d seemed dangerous. He’d seemed even more dangerous in Hank’s kitchen, like he could use his knife to peel a peach and then, while still chewing, plunge that same blade into your gut.

But here, in the warmth of the cabin’s kitchen, Jory couldn’t help but remember the teenage boys she’d encountered over the years. Always hungry. Full of a boisterous energy that was barely restrained. Robbie was fully grown, but the energy, the puppy-like hunger and play was much the same. She wondered if the danger was a persona he put on like a coat and took off when the day was done.

When the eggs were gone, he straightened, stretching his arms long over his head before he locked eyes on her and startled.

“Oh, fuck,” he said, “I didn’t ask if you wanted any. Shit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t. I don’t hang out with many other humans anymore. I usually only have to worry about feeding myself. But that was rude of me. My mama would make me go cut my own damn switch if she knew.”

There was something endearing about him—the colorful tattoos, the mountain twang, the way he seemed completely at home in his own skin—and Jory couldn’t help herself. She smiled. “You’re a little old to be cutting your own switch.”