Page 6 of The Selkie Santa

Noah glanced in the cracked mirror in his tiny cabin and gave his reflection a slightly embarrassed smirk.

“You’ll do.” He nodded. Yeah, he guessed he spruced up okay. Instead of the t-shirt, jeans and oil skins he pretty much lived in, he’d bought a new shirt, cotton shot through with daisy moth silk thread in a shade of dark blue. He’d paired it with navy pants, designed for larger species with just the right size slot in the back for his tail. He hadn’t been able to stretch his finances to new shoes, but he’d scrubbed his old boots until they shone.

He’d washed his hair and trimmed the loose whiskers around his jaw. He allowed himself to admire his abs and pecs before he buttoned up the shirt. Hauling in nets six days a week did things for your physique that no gym would ever achieve. Yeah, his body was okay. His legs were powerful corded muscle, and his tail was well shaped with a thick short pelt. He’d oiled it with a special selkie conditioner that made it shine.

As for his cock… well, he reckoned that was a reasonable specimen too.

No denying it. He was nervous. But he was prepared. One way or another, he had to fess up tonight. Because the thought of being out at sea for two months not knowing where they stood with each other, was unbearable.

Noah took the piece of paper out of his pocket and read through his messy handwriting. He grimaced, knowing it was full of spelling errors. He could never write Harper a love letter because his dyslexia would make it unreadable. But he could rehearse his lines. Memorize them. He read it through extra slowly—his head had a habit of jumbling words, especiallywhen he was nervous—and then repeated the words back to his reflection.

Harper, when I first saw you three years ago your beauty took my breath away…

And then I learned that beauty went all the way into your soul…

Urgh. Way too sappy and sentimental. If he was Harper, he’d put his fingers down his throat and barf. He’d spent hours writing this little speech, and as well as the misspelt words, there were crossings out all over the page.

In exasperation, he screwed it up and threw it into the trash can.

Why couldn’t he just drop all the rehearsal, take her in his arms at the end of the evening and say, “Wanna be my girl?”

Noah sighed. Sometimes it felt like he and Harper were jinxed. Like some mean little witch had put a spell on them that said, “You will never be together.”

And as usual, it was his good-for-nothing brother that had messed things up again. If it wasn’t for Wyatt, he wouldn’t be taking this fishing job.

Wyatt had got into serious trouble over stealing a phone that had, in turn, got Luna, Harper’s best friend, into a lot of trouble with the Krakens around here. And then only three weeks later he’d dressed up in a wolf costume and tried to rob the Motham Central Bank. Somehow, Wyatt had got a sympathetic magistrate who gave him a suspended sentence and ordered him to undertake a rehabilitation program. The problem was, the municipal programs were woefully inadequate. The re-offending rate was high. Their mom was worried sick, and Noah didn’t want the stress to make her fibromyalgia flare up. So he’d investigated private programs with good outcomes. There were two. And they both cost coin. More coin than he had as a single-selkie-operated fishing business.

The only way to pay for the damn thing was to take a job with a sea serpent who ran a fleet of trawlers out of Motham, catching the giant tuna in the deep-sea waters. It paid well. Enough for him to fund the live-in rehabilitation program for Wyatt and have a bit of coin spare.

To buy Harper something beautiful.

A ring.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, you dumb seal.

But he couldn’t help it, his heart thrummed with hope for what might be the start of something wonderful tonight.

Noah glanced up at the old clock on his cabin wall.

He had another half hour to kill before Harper arrived, and already his palms were sweaty.

Maybe he’d go up on deck and calm himself with a wee dram of whisky and gaze at the horizon. Scenting the salty air always soothed his soul. And by the look of the slice of sky he could see from his galley porthole, the sunset was amazing tonight.

As he was rummaging in his food cupboard for the whisky bottle, he heard a light thump—the sound of a person jumping on deck. Next came the pad of footsteps, and a knock on his cabin door.

Harper. Already.

Beaming from ear to ear, Noah flung the door open.

His jaw dropped.

“Dina!”

His ex, beautiful as ever, an exotic mix of selkie and fae, with her thick black hair and wide green eyes, stood on the doorstep. He’d last seen her three months ago, and had been trying to put the events of that night behind him ever since.

But now… typical Dina, she had to turn up at exactly the wrong moment.

“Hello Noah,” she said with a trembly, wide-eyed smile. “Can I come in?”

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