“Until the Great Unveiling.” His tentacle squeezes my hand gently. “When every magical disguise failed at once, I was thankfully at sea. I dove deep and didn’t surface again. I’m sure everyone presumed me dead. An old captain who should have long retired, finally lost to the sea. That is, until…”
“Until you got tangled in those nets and crashed into my boathouse?”
His expression softens. “Until I found someone who saw what I was and helped me anyway.”
He releases my hand, his tentacle sliding away with reluctance that sends a shiver up my arm. The lighthouse beam sweeps across the window again, illuminating his face in rhythmic flashes—vulnerable one moment, shadows the next.
“You’re looking at me strangely,” he says, tilting his head. “Have I something in my tentacles?”
I snort, nearly choking on the sip of water I’d just taken. “No, I just—” I wave vaguely. “It’s weird, right? That you’re here? That we’re just… having dinner like it’s normal, when two days ago I didn’t even know you existed.”
“Does it bother you? The strangeness of it?”
“No,” I answer, surprising myself with how true it is. “It’s actually the least strange I’ve felt in… God, I don’t even knowhow long.” I gesture at the tight quarters around us, the lighthouse beyond. “Most days, it’s just me and a bunch of tourists who care more about getting the perfect Instagram shot than actually learning anything. Then they leave, and it’s just… silence.”
His eyes—ancient and somehow sad—hold mine. “Loneliness is a curious thing. How it can hollow you out while convincing you it’s your natural state.”
“Exactly.” I run a finger along the edge of my plate, not quite meeting his gaze now. “After Dad died, Mom threw herself into her expeditions. I think being home reminded her too much of him. So I was alone a lot. Then she sold the house, and I just… never found another place that felt like it belonged to me. Except here.”
“The lighthouse.”
“Yeah. It’s weird and isolated and too small, but it’s mine.” I look up, finding him watching me with an intensity that should probably scare me. Instead, it feels like being seen for the first time in years. “So no, the strangeness doesn’t bother me. It’s actually kind of nice to have someone who gets it.”
One of his tentacles reaches up to trace a gentle line along my jaw. Where the suckers touch, my skin burns pleasantly.
“I should return to the sea soon,” he says softly, and my heart sinks at the words. “The risk of discovery grows the longer I stay.”
“Right. Of course.” I fight to keep the disappointment from my voice. “You’re healing well. Another day or two and you’ll be good as new.”
His skin ripples with dark blue patterns, and the tentacle at my jaw curls to cup my cheek. “I didn’t say I wished to go.”
My breath hitches. “Then don’t.”
“Ashe—”
“I mean, not forever,” I say quickly, my pulse hammering in my throat. “Maybe you could split your time. The ocean when you need it, and… and here. Sometimes.”
The tentacle against my cheek trembles slightly. “The town has a history—”
“Screw the town.” The vehemence in my voice surprises us both. “Half those trophies in the pub are probably fake, anyway. And the other half are so old they’re practically fossilized. Things are different now.”
His tentacle beard lifts in what might be hope. “Are they?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, reality taking hold again. “But I’m not ready to… for this to…” I gesture between us, frustrated by my inability to articulate this tangle of emotions I’m feeling. “I’m not ready to go back to that silence. Not yet.”
His pupils dilate, turning his eyes almost completely black. The tentacle at my cheek slides down to trace my collarbone, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.
“Perhaps,” he says, his voice dropping to a deep register, “we should discuss this more… thoroughly.”
I swallow hard, my body already responding to his tone. “Thoroughly sounds good.”
Two of his tentacles slide under the table, wrapping around my ankles with gentle pressure. My heart hammers against my ribs as they glide upward, slow and deliberate, curling around my calves, my knees, my thighs. His eyes never leave mine, pupils expanding until they nearly swallow the gold.
“I’ve thought of little else,” he admits, “since last night.”
The confession makes my breath catch. Last night had been instinct and adrenaline and surprise. This… This is deliberate. This is choice.
“Me too,” I whisper, shivering as one tentacle traces the curve of my neck, the delicate skin behind my ear. Every touch leaves a trail of heat, like he’s marking me from the inside out.
