Page 12 of Seashells and Daiquiris

A little more silence. “Yeah, don’t treat this lightly, baby cousin.”

“I’m not his damn soulmate.”

“Someone has to be!” I hear her moving something in the background again. “But seriously, call me for anything. If Liam is a pain, I know just who to call to get him acting right. He’s a good guy though, so I trust his judgement. I’m not too worried, overall. It seems to be a harmless curse, at least to those who get wrapped up in it. It’s honestly hell for Liam, though.”

We hang up after a little more conversation, and I re-check my phone three times for the code to her front door before making it back inside. I sit on the couch in the fading light, holding my purse with both hands, feeling the shell pulse through the leather.

Holy shit, what a day.

My phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number… guess I should add his name.

It's Liam. Just making sure the shell didn't eat you on the way home.

I stare at it for longer than I should.

Still alive. Shell is being suspiciously quiet

Three dots for a bit.

Yeah, that thing can be a real pain, honestly. Sorry again… Goodnight, romance author.

My stomach does a little flip, the first flip from another man that wasn’t Tommy. I set my phone down, because that merman is far too gorgeous to be flirting with me. I pull out the shell, the thing glowing faintly in my palm, warm and iridescent and smugly alive. Maybe Dove has a point, that maybe this is all to give me a lot of inspiration for my book. Maybe I need some real, honest adventure to get me out of a rut.

It’s harmless, right? The shell is wrong, which means I get to possibly flirt with a merman for a few weeks, then kiss him. It’s not like the sea witch will be mad at me at all.

“Sorry you picked me,” I tell it. “But thanks for the eventual merman kiss, I guess?”

It pulses once.

“Could you also please, like, chill out on the exact verbiage?”

Another pulse.

I lean my head back on the couch, watching the ceiling fan slowly spin. Surely, this is as wild as this is going to get, right?

LIAM

The bar empties out around eleven.

It's a weeknight, so the crowd thins early—the selkies head back to the water, the regulars settle their tabs, and the couple who've been slow-dancing by the jukebox for three hours finally call it. I wipe down the bar on autopilot, the same way I've done it every night for six years. Glasses. Counter. Stools. Lock up the bottom deck. Close out the register.

Kira's drying glasses beside me after pulling them out from the dishwasher that needs repairing because it doesn’t fully dry them. She hasn't said anything about the writer girl yet, which means she's been thinking about it for hours and is about to say a lot.

"So," she starts.

“Yeah, she’s another one,” I immediately confess.

“She looks like she’s human.”

“Yeah, she is,” I say, glancing at the stool where Freddie ordered her daiquiri from. She’s cute as hell, but I feel guilty getting someone like that wrapped up in this. Usually it’s someone from the Cove, and they know about the curse.

Kira pours a shot of tequila and sits at the bar. “What’s she in town for?”

I grab a shot myself, because now I have to kiss another person and repeat this damn cycle over and over. “She’s a writer, she said. Forgot to ask why she’s here exactly.”

Kira rubs some salt on her skin from a bag at her hip, something most coral fae do if they’re up on land for too long. “Well, make sure a round is on you before you kiss her. It’s so messed up that Thalassa makes you go through this over and over.”

I bring the shot glass to my lips, breathe it in before tilting my head back and letting the burn rush down my throat. I smack the glass harder than I need to. “Yeah, I think she’s cursed me twice, honestly.”