Page 8 of Seashells and Daiquiris

“That’s so hot.”

“Shut up,” I growl at the purse.

Then Liam laughs like a warm wave, and it calms me down, even if just slightly.

“Okay, maybe I’m not jumping off a cliff, but I’m seriously chucking this shell over one.” Which kills me to say out loud, because I clearly dreamt of this treacherous shell! Why is it betraying me like this?

“Show me the shell.” His words are somehow very commanding and yet calm, like he’s not going to actually judge me.

What am I supposed to do? I almost feel like I need to pull it out as proof that I’m not crazy or trying to be inappropriate with him.

Screw it. I reach into my purse and pull the shell out, which is easy to find with the warmth of it. It sits in my palm, iridescent and gently pulsing, and the second Liam sees it, his whole body goes still, his fingers curling against the edge of the bar like he's physically stopping himself from reaching for it.

"Where did you get that?" His voice has definitely lost an edge of that smooth control.

"Odessa's shop. I paid six dollars for it, which she said was⁠—"

"Odessa." He pulls back from the bar and drags both hands down his face. When they drop, he looks like I’ve said something incredibly important. "Of course. Of course it ended up with Odessa."

“Maybe we should see if he needs a really long, tight hug. I bet his back is strong. Maybe offer a massage.”

"Can you—" He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Can it—can you stop doing that?"

Now I’m just so damn embarrassed. “I literally cannot. I have no idea how this works. Let’s just throw it⁠—”

“No, do not throw it.”

A regular at the end of the bar raises his glass. "Hey, Liam, can I get another⁠—"

He recomposes himself. “Yeah, man, coming right up.” He throws me a serious glare. “Don’t you go anywhere.”

I give him a crossed look. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“But it could be fun if he was.”

I roll my eyes and lower my face to the shell. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

Liam goes around and works on more drinks, frequently looking my way like he’s making sure I’m not going anywhere. I drink more of the daiquiri, quite loving how the alcohol is definitely helping. I lean over to the shell. “Okay, seriously, how do you work? Please, help me.”

Silence. It just sits there, casting a tiny little shadow, as if it’s the most innocence thing in the world.

I notice that someone close to me gets up and leaves, looking at me like I’m crazy. “Great, now people think I’m losing it because I’m talking to you.”

Then I see Liam go to another bartender, this one a woman with skin that has a strong pinkish hue to it, and vivid green eyes. The kind of green I always wished mine were, when mine are just a duller shade. They speak closely, her gaze landing on me, then she nods at him.

My heart is pounding so hard when Liam walks around the bar, smiling and joking with the regulars like nothing is going on, then his expression deadpanning when connects back with me.

Is he really this mad that my seashell is hitting on him? He can just kick me out of it’s bothering him!

I sit there like an animal who has accepted their fate as prey when he comes around the bar. All the way around. He slides into the stool next to mine, way closer than anyone should be to me when I’ve only known him for like thirty minutes.

"That shell," he says finally, "is mine."

“Fantastic, here you go,” I say, sliding it to him. Whatever smile I had slumps as the damn thing slides back to me. “Oh, no. I can’t be stuck with this thing.”

I scoot it back.

It slowly returns to me.