Page 35 of To Catch a Firefly

“Fine,” I mutter, pulling into the small parking lot of our town’s one convenience store. Danil smacks a kiss against my cheek before exiting the vehicle. Begrudgingly, I follow him inside, if nothing more than to make sure he’s quick buying his smokes.

The door jingles when I walk through, and familiarity smacks me in the face. Every inch of the place is exactly like I remember. Except…

“What…” I mutter, walking over to a display in front of the street-side window. A large glass fish is set on a pedestal base and covered in a clear case, presumably so someone passing by can’t touch—or break—the delicate creation. It’s a good two feet across and a foot or so tall, and it’s remarkable. The scales are a myriad of colors, all glass connected so seamlessly, it looks like one smoothly crafted piece. It’s partially transparent, the interior is hollow, and a “sold” sign sits inside the display.

It’s a parrotfish.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” someone says next to me.

I look over in surprise at Melody Shaffer, a girl I went to school with, and nod. The logo on her shirt tells me she works here now. “Yeah,” I answer, at a loss for words.

“The artist drops off a new piece each month,” she tells me, arms crossed loosely in front of her as she examines the glass fish. “It usually sells within an hour or two. I have a turtle at home. Want to see?”

I nod, and Melody pulls out her phone. After a moment, she turns the screen toward me. A gorgeous sea turtle sits atop what looks like a fireplace mantle. Its flippers are outstretched, and its head is bent gently to the side. The craftsmanship is breathtaking.

“He makes little baubles, too,” she says. “Decorative globes and ornaments and such. They sell out just as quickly, but these”—she motions to the parrotfish—“are what folks line up on the sidewalk to see.”

I’m not surprised. It’s pure art.

“Who?” I ask. “Who’s the artist?”

“That part’s a secret,” Melody says, giving me a little smile. “He prefers to remain anonymous.” Before I can utter a word, she says, “Good to see you again, Lucky.”

“Yeah,” I reply, head reeling as she walks off.

“Ready?” Danil asks, appearing beside me with a small bag in his hand.

A flutter rolls through my stomach. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

It only takes another five minutes before we’re pulling up to my parents’. The driveway is gravel, as it’s always been, and lights are on inside the house, as well as next door. My heart feels like it’s trying to fly away.

“So,” Danil says slowly after a minute when I don’t move. “Are we going to get out of the car?”

“Soon,” I mouth, my eyes on the open shed door at the back of Ellis’s property. Well, his mom’s property, technically. But it’s his now, too.

“What are we waiting for?” Danil asks, looking around. “Your parents’ place is cute.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, but then there he is, coming out of the shed, worn jeans stretched tight across his thighs and a dark red t-shirt clinging to his upper body. He’s a good ways away, but he’sright therefor the first time in months, and suddenly, I forget how to move oxygen through my lungs.

He doesn’t see us at first. I already turned the car off, so the lights haven’t alerted him. And it’s the weirdest thing, but for once, I’m worried about what I’m going to say to him. I’m scared of what might come out of my mouth. Scared about why I came back here. My palms are sweating, my body feels flushed, and now that I’m finally, blessedly here after a day of rushing toward this exact point in time, I can’t get myself to move a muscle.

“Ho-ly shit,” Danil says from beside me, leaning forward. “Is…isthatyour Ellis?”

He sounds absolutely incredulous, and I spare him a glance. “Yeah, that’s him. Why?”

And why is my heart beating so damn hard?

Danil looks at me in shock. “You never told me the man is a goddamn lumberjack-me-off-please.I mean, fucking hell, Lucky, he could swallow me whole.” He adds a whispered, “If I were so lucky.”

“Dani,” I croak out, feeling an unpleasant curl ofsomethingin my gut that I don’t want to examine too closely. “He’s not a lumberjack. He’s a farmer.”

“As if that’s the point,” Danil says. “You’ve seriously never been on that ride?”

I turn my gaze back to Ellis, who’s now shutting the shed door. “It was never… He’s not like that,” I try to explain.

“Not like what?” Danil asks. “Because, fuck, Lucky-boy, if I weren’t concerned about you stabbing me for the suggestion, I’d be begging to join you up that mountain.”

I groan, scrubbing my hands over my eyes. “Stop, please.”

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