Page 54 of Make Out With A Merman

She grips tighter. “No. No more ‘protecting me’ by shutting me out. No more distance. You said it yourself. I’m here. I’mnot going anywhere.”

I look at her.

Really look.

And I see it not just bravery, butchoice.

She chose me.

And I don’t deserve that. But gods, I want to try.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Together.”

The rift’s waking.

And we’ll be there side by side when it rises.

We don’t go back right away.

Not after that.

Instead, we sit at the end of the dock, toes dipping into the lake, the soft glow of the float rings bobbing around us like stars caught in water.

She leans her head on my shoulder.

I don’t flinch.

I don’t overthink.

I just let it happen.

The weight of her warm and present settles something in me I didn’t realize was still screaming.

She hums a tune I don’t recognize. Soft and low, like maybe she’s only half-aware she’s doing it.

I glance down at her. “What is that?”

She shrugs. “Old lullaby. My mom used to sing it when I couldn’t sleep.”

“It’s nice.”

She smiles. “Don’t act so surprised, saltwater stoic. I’ve got layers.”

“I know,” I say, and I mean it.

She shifts, angling toward me. “So do you.”

I raise a brow. “Yeah?”

“Oh, for sure.” She taps my chest. “Grumpy layer, heroic layer, weirdly hot lake-beast layer, and somewhere under all that, big softy.”

“I amnota big softy.”

“You totally are,” she laughs. “You just hide it under all that brooding.”

I look at her, at the curve of her grin, the way moonlight catches in her hair like fireflies frozen midflight.

I brush a loose curl from her cheek.

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