Page 48 of Make Out With A Merman

And Iknowit’s because of me.

I should go to her.

Say something.

Tell her that night together meant everything to me. That she was the first person I felt I could open up to, be alone with. The first person whose voice I found more comforting than solitude.

Fix it.

But I don’t.

I turn and walk the other direction, toward my cabin. Toward the quiet.

Because what could I possibly say now that wouldn’t make it worse?

What could I possibly give her that wouldn’t break again in my hands?

CHAPTER 17

CALLIE

Ihaven’t slept.

I do that thing where you lie on your back and count the knots in the ceiling wood like they’re stars that owe you answers. Only the answers never come, and neither does peace.

So I get up.

Sometime after midnight, barefoot and pissed off, armed with a hot glue gun, a toolbox, and one hell of a need to do something other thanfeel.

Because if I let myself feel for too long, I’ll spiral. And I’m way too stubborn for spiraling.

So I build.

On a folding table under the crafts tent with a mug of overly sweetened coffee and a playlist of angry pop girl ballads blasting in my earbuds, I make something.

Somethingbright.

The idea hitsme like a shot of adrenaline and spite. The lake’s gotten dangerous, right? Unpredictable. Especially at night. But the kids still want to sit by it, want tobelongnear it. Magic or not, this place is home to them.

So I build a guide.

A floating ring system solar-powered, water-safe, soft-glow panels fixed to reworked pool noodles and clear tubing. It’s messy and a little janky, but the lights pulse soft and golden in my test bucket.

Like fireflies on the water.

I design it to link together. A net of light to outline the new safe swim zones.

But that’s not the part that keeps me up until 4 a.m.

It’s the centerpieces.

Five larger float markers. Black and silver etched with sea-runed patterns I pulled from the sketch in Ryder’s notebook he left on the dock once and probably thought I hadn’t seen.

Each of them glows blue. Soft. Steady.

Like a memory that doesn’t hurt as much when it’s shared.

A tribute.

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