Page 76 of Love on the Rocks
The cold shock of the water sucked the air from my lungs, but I propelled my legs forward, arms sweeping in long strokes untilI got used to it. I swam carefully along the rocks—it wasn’t easy to see at this hour, but I had a small flashlight. I clicked it on and dove under, relieved to discover more than a dozen sea urchins clinging to the rocks. I plucked a few of them off carefully, stuck them in the net, and swam back to the boat.
“Wow,” said Callie as I climbed out of the water, triceps straining, and heaved myself into the boat. “You look like some kind of glistening merman.”
“How many of those have you had?” I asked nodding toward her glass.
“Still working on the first one. I learned my lesson last time. It goes to my head too quickly.”
“Would you pass me the towel, please?” She tossed the blue-and-white striped towel to me, and I rubbed it vigorously over my body and my hair, trying to leave as much of the sea as possible outside the boat.
“So whatcha got in there?” Callie peered over my shoulder as I sat down next to her. I opened the net to reveal the prickly black shells of the sea urchins.
I took one between the fingers of my gloved hand and slipped a small paring knife against the shell and broke it open, revealing the dark-orange roe inside. Seawater sparkled on the edges.
“Close your eyes and open your mouth,” I commanded. She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to slip anything else in there.”
Her mouth twitched and for once she did as she was told, her eyelids fluttered shut and her plump lips parted. I was tempted for a moment to go back on my promise and slip my tongue between them, but I didn’t. Instead, I scooped out the roe with a spoon and tipped it into her mouth, my body hardening again as she licked a drop of seawater from her lower lip.
“Mmm,” she purred. “Tastes like the sea.”
When she opened her eyes, I was momentarily lost in their sea-green depths, floating. Or maybe it was the effect of drifting in the sea with the sun setting and the line between sea and stars stretched taut along the horizon.
I brought the spoon up again, this time for me. The roe was bright and iodine sweet. Even better than I remembered.
“Would you like another?” I asked, already pulling a shell from the net. She nodded and let me feed her again.
“It’s amazing how such simple things can be so miraculous,” she said finally. “I think that’s what drew me to food in the first place. All the small miracles.”
“I like that.” I smiled. “I never thought much about food until you arrived.”
“How can that be? You’ve shown me so much.”
“I’ve always appreciated food, but it was utilitarian. I only thought about it when I was hungry. Now, with you, it’s like I’m rediscovering how to eat.”
“Hmm,” she murmured as she took the spoon from me, dipped it in a shell, and fed me. It felt sensual and spiritual all at once.
“You’ve discovered the secret then. Food is communion.”
We finished the rest of the catch and sipped at our wine. I set out the LED candles I had tucked away and pulled out some more cushions, laying the bench flat so we could stretch out more comfortably as the boat rocked gently on the placid waters.
“That’s one of the things I love about this place,” she said, staring up at the sky. “I’ve never seen so many stars. Never even thought about them in the city.”
I lay down next to her. “Light pollution. You can’t see them when you’re drowning in city lights.”
“Oh, I like city lights too. But this is like being swallowed by the universe. Floating in the sky.” She sighed. “Tell me one ofyour grandfather’s stories. I’m sure he must have one about the stars.”
“Do you see the bright star up there?” I took her hand and aimed it at the twinkling light. “That’s Vega, but Ptolemy named it Lyra, and that’s its constellation.” With her hand in mine, I drew over the stars to form the rough shape of a rectangle with a triangle tail. “This is the eagle’s head, its wings, and in the middle, it’s gripping a lyre.”
“Hmmm, it’s a bit of stretch to imagine all of that isn’t it? Ptolemy must have imbibed too much of Stamatis’s wine,” Callie murmured, turning on her side and curving her backside into me.
“Do you want to hear the story or not? Because if you keep moving like that . . .”
“I might wake the dragon?” She giggled. “I’m sorry. Go on.”
“The lyre was the instrument of the musician Orpheus. Hermes fashioned it from the shell of a tortoise. He pierced its rim and tied seven strings across it, the same as the number of the Pleiades.” I pointed to the Seven Sisters.
“Orpheus was, like me, the greatest musician of his age, and he could charm rocks and streams—and even the most hard-headed women—with the magic of his songs.” She snorted and wiggled again. “He sailed with Jason and the Argonauts in search of the golden fleece. When the Argonauts heard the tempting song of the Sirens, Orpheus drowned out their voices with his own song. The rumor is that he crashed in this very cove.”
“Our cove?” Hearing her call it that made my breath hitch.
