Page 15 of Shifters in the Night

She pulled her lip back into a sort of grimace. “No, and that can make things a little difficult, especially when you’re surrounded by people that don’t particularly like you. I can turn it off if I want to, though it’s a little harder in crowds. I won’t use it around you, if it makes you uncomfortable.”

He thought about that for a moment. It would probably be less embarrassing for him if she couldn’t see his feelings for her, considering he’d only met her a few times and he seemed to be hurtling headlong into what Sonja would call “significant adult emotions” territory. But he didn’t want to hide anything from Lia. He was feeling these things for someone for the first time. He didn’t have what anyone would call a romantic history, other than a few youthful dalliances with other selkies and the occasional human, and that had been in the “before” part of his life. Before the kraken, before the scars; when he was younger, far more reckless and full of bravado that told him that challenging a kraken in its own territory was a dandy idea. He was a different person now, and this heady whirlwind of infatuation with Lia was something entirely new.

He was terrified he was going to screw it up.

Stalling for a little more time, he cleared his throat and stared into those beautiful (duckweed-colored) eyes, and said, “Nah, it’s probably better that you do see it. It’ll save us some time. Probably some misunderstandings.”

“That’s one of the more interesting responses I’ve gotten to that question.” Her brows arched up. “Also, your Liam Neeson reference is The Haunting?”

“I have it on DVD!” He threw his hands into the air. “I haven’t been to the movies in a while!”

They probably annoyed the other diners – and Bathtilda – by occupying a booth for almost two hours on a busy Sunday. And yet, he couldn’t seem to tear himself away from the table or the conversation. They didn’t talk about their pasts or their families or any of the usual getting to know you type things, which he found refreshing. They talked about movies (and his neglect of contemporary cinema) and food and the places they’d traveled – though it was a little strange to explain that while Lia’s sojourns had involved first-class flights and hotels, his had involved swimming across oceans and camping out on remote beaches. They’d finally wrapped up when Siobhan pointed out that she had to clean the table to make room for the dinner crowd. That was as polite as hints got with Siobhan.

Lia seemed to recognize (or see) that Siobhan’s irritation wasn’t personal, just her state of being. He walked her out and appreciated the way she seemed to arrange herself against his side, not quite touching. Was that a deer thing? He’d seen enough wild deer to know they sometimes used larger objects to shield themselves from sight. Was that the sort of thing that was OK to ask about? He was used to his own little quirks, feeling protective over a beaded bracelet, the maritime wanderlust, but he’d never dated another type of shifter before. What were the rules? He hoped Lia let him stick around long enough to learn them.

“This was fun, not bad for a first date,” she told him as they walked out into the relatively balmy winter afternoon. She nodded towards the collection of sterile gray mobile homes down the street. “And I can see my front door so we don’t have to worry about the awkward ‘walking to my door’ scenario.”

He wondered what color represented “being knocked on his ass with shock,” because he was probably surrounded by that color like a fog.

He stepped into her space. She didn’t step back, so he took her hand in his and murmured close to her ear. “This was not a date.”

“Well, we may have split the bill, but we had food and lovely conversation,” she countered, her eyes wide with what was either insult or injury.

“But we just happened to end up at the same place at the same time,” he protested, scrambling to remove that hurt from her face. “To deserve the title of a proper date, I need to get the nerve up to ask you out. And I would kiss you at the end of that walk over to your front door.”

“So, you should work up the nerve to ask me out,” she told him, her full lips quirking up as she leaned closer. They were almost the same height, so his mouth was hovering millimeters from hers. “And I’m willing to allow a kiss, even if you don’t walk me to my front door. As an opening position.”

“I want to earn the date and the kiss,” he told her, even as he could feel her breath against his lips.

“Oh, you like to do things the hard way. I can appreciate that,” she said, slipping something into his hand. He glanced down and realized she’d placed a business card in his palm, embossed with her name and contact information in a sophisticated font. “Call me and we can discuss the definition of a ‘proper date.’”

He grinned and for a second, he thought maybe he could be flexible on earning the kiss. But suddenly, she pulled back and said, “Also, I would like to go back and have us both mentally delete that part where I said ‘opening position,’” she added.

“Never even heard it,” he promised her.

She laughed and waved as she walked towards the New Ground complex. He watched her gracefully navigate the sidewalk and the traffic of Main Street. He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away. Was this what Will felt like with Sonja? Bael and Jillian and Zed and Dani and all the rest? It was exhausting but freaking magical.

“Hey, Jon!”

Jon was brought crashing down to Earth as Elliot Jemmons jogged down the street towards him. Jon had a pretty good idea what Elliot wanted. Elliot’s very human family had been fishing the Mystic Bayou for generations. But Elliot was an ambitious sort and wanted more to support his family of five. With all the tourists coming into town, he’d purchased three air boats to refurbish for a venture he was calling Mystic Bayou Swamp Tours.

Unfortunately, Jon hadn’t had time to get to those airboats to replace … everything. Each of the boats needed everything from new transmissions to new seats, and Jon had at least a dozen jobs ahead of Elliot on his waitlist. The boats were waiting, untouched and rusty, in a barn on Elliot’s property.

Shit.

“Hi, Elliot,” Jon said, squaring his shoulders. “How are Tammy and the kids?

Elliot grinned proudly. “Just fine, thanks. But I need to talk to you about the boats.”

“I still have them scheduled for March,” Jon said. “Earlier if I can get through a few repairs this weekend.”

Elliot shook his head. “I’m sorry, Jon, I’m gonna have to take them somewhere else. We’ve already got tourists coming into town. I put a lot of money into buying those boats. I’ve gotta get them on the water if I want to make that money back. Before someone else figures out how to do it first.”

Jon nodded. “I get it, Ell. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more to help.”

“No fault in it.” Elliot said, reaching out to shake his hand. “Maybe next time you can fit me in.”

Jon tilted his head. “Next time?”

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