Page 21 of Kiss for My Kraken
“Now, tell me. How was it?”
“How was what?” she stalled, even though she knew exactly what Flora was asking.
“The kiss, dear!” Flora threw up her hands in exasperation. “Honestly, you young people are so cagey these days. You’d think I was asking for a play-by-play or something. Although,” she added, waggling her eyebrows, “I would be delighted to hear one.”
“There’s no play-by-play,” she protested, her face on fire. “It was just a kiss.”
“Just a kiss, hmm?” Flora arched an eyebrow. “I thought he could do better than that.”
The thought of “better” sent a wave of heat through her, and she busied herself with the dishes, anything to avoid meeting Flora’s too-perceptive gaze.
“We barely know each other.”
“Then get to know each other,” Flora said briskly as she hopped off the counter. “The sooner the better.”
Why?She turned to ask but Flora was already gone, leaving the faint scent of cinnamon in her wake. She shook her head and went back to work.
The rest of her shift passed in a blur of questions and anticipation. By the time Ben gruffly told her to “get out of his kitchen and go home,” the sun was already beginning its descent towards the horizon.
She practically ran back to her cabin, Ozzie bounding ahead of her as if he sensed her excitement. Inside, she stripped off her work clothes and showered quickly, scrubbing away the scent of the tavern.
Wrapped in a towel, she stood before the small dresser, suddenly faced with a dilemma. What did one wear to meet a river prince? Something practical? Something… pretty?
Her wardrobe offered limited options, but after a moment’s hesitation, she pulled out her one dress—a simple blue sundress that her friend Mel had given her right before she escaped the Chosen. It was nothing special, but the fabric was soft and the color reminded her of the river.
She slipped it on, then stood before the small mirror, critically assessing her reflection. Her hair, still damp from the shower, hung in loose waves around her face. Her grey eyes seemed larger than usual, more vulnerable—and more hopeful.
“This is ridiculous,” she told her reflection. “He’s seen you in dirty jeans and a sweater. He’s seen you half-drowned.”
But she still wanted to look nice. For him. For herself.
As the light outside began to soften towards dusk, she reached for her sketchbook, tucking it under her arm.
“Come on, Ozzie,” she called. “Let’s go down to the dock.”
He trotted ahead of her, occasionally stopping to sniff at something interesting before continuing down towards the water.
When she reached the dock, she paused. Should she sit? Stand? What if he didn’t come?
No.She pushed the doubt away. He would come.
Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a smooth river stone she’d found a few days ago, its surface etched with delicate whorls of color. She’d kept it as a good luck charm, a reminder that beauty could be found in unexpected places. Now, she placed it carefully at the edge of the dock in their usual place.
Settling down with her back against one of the dock’s wooden posts, she opened her sketchbook. She’d always found comfort in drawing, in capturing the world around her in lines and shades, even if The Chosen frowned on such frivolous pursuits. She turned to a fresh page and began to sketch.
Sam’s face emerged beneath her pencil—the strong jawline, the otherworldly eyes, the features that were almost human but not quite. She added the breadth of his shoulders, the powerful arms that had lifted her from the river bed when she’d nearly drowned.
Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she sketched what she had only glimpsed in the water—the tentacles, sinuous and strong, tapering from his torso. Not monstrous, but magnificent. Part of him, as natural as her own arms and legs.
She was so absorbed in her drawing that she didn’t notice the subtle change in the air at first—a shift in pressure, a faint rippleof anticipation. Ozzie, who had been dozing beside her, lifted his head, ears perked.
Suddenly sure that she was no longer alone, she looked up from her sketchbook. The water near the dock remained undisturbed, but she felt his presence, a watchful attention that sent a shiver of awareness down her spine.
“Sam?” she called softly, setting aside her sketchbook and rising to her feet. “Are you there?”
No answer came, but the water twenty feet from the dock swirled gently, as if stirred by an unseen hand.
Heart pounding, she moved to the edge of the dock. The last rays of sunlight caught on the water, turning it to liquid gold. Beneath that gilded surface, she thought she saw a darker shape, a suggestion of movement.
