As if understanding, the octopus finally releases its grip on Rose’s finger and slides into the water. We watch together as it darts around the pool, its skin changing color and texture to match its surroundings.
Rose is entranced, her eyes following the octopus’s every move. When it suddenly darts out and catches a small crab, she lets out a quiet cheer. I can’t help but grin at her enthusiasm.
“I think we could use a meal, too,” I suggest, realizing how much time has passed. “How about we stop at the Fish House on our way to the lighthouse? It’s on the drive.”
Rose nods eagerly. “That sounds great! When I went the other day, I tried a lobster roll, but their fish and chips were tempting.”
As we make our way back to my truck, I can’t help but notice how Rose’s eyes keep darting back to the tide pools as if hoping for one last glimpse of our tentacled friend.
The drive to the Fish House is short but pleasant. Rose asks questions about the local marine life, and I’m more than happy to share what I know. Her genuine interest warms something inside me, a feeling I’m not quite ready to acknowledge.
When we enter the restaurant, the familiar scent of fried fish and salt greets us. We’re quickly seated, and Cali, a siren I know in passing, approaches with menus.
“Hi, Rose,” Cali says with a smile. “Good to see you again!”
Rose returns the greeting warmly, and I’m struck again by how easily she seems to fit into our little community. We quickly order drinks and food – Rose gets her fish and chips while I order the Captain’s Feast.
When our food arrives, I hide a grin as Rose’s eyes widen at the sheer amount of food on my plate. The Captain’s Feast is no joke – a heaping platter of various seafood that would challenge an average human’s appetite. But for someone with kraken blood? It’s just right.
Rose’s eyes get even bigger as I steadily work through the mountain of food. I can almost see the questions forming in her mind, but she doesn’t voice them. Instead, she focuses on her meal, making appreciative noises as she bites into the crispy fish.
After we finish eating and I’ve paid the bill after waving away Rose’s attempts to contribute, we head back to the truck for the drive to the lighthouse. As we travel along the coastal road, I can’t help but steal glances at Rose. She’s glued to the window, her eyes drinking in the ocean view and then the lighthouse as it comes into sight.
“You’re so lucky to live in such a beautiful place,” Rose murmurs, her voice filled with awe.
“Is it nice where you live?” I ask, realizing I don’t know much about Rose other than that she’s an artist, lives in New Mexico, and looking at her makes my palms sweat.
Rose nods. “Yes, the desert is beautiful – almost in the same desolate, dangerous way that the ocean is,” she says thoughtfully. “But it’s also so different that the two don’t even compare.”
“I can imagine. I’ve never been more than a few miles away from the ocean,” I reply, grinning at the shocked look on her face. What I don’t tell her is that I can’t live far from the ocean,that being a kraken means being bound to the water. “What’s it like living in a desert?”
Her eyes take on a faraway look, and a small smile plays on her lips. “In New Mexico, the sky feels endless. Almost every night, the sunsets paint the entire horizon in shades of orange and pink that you wouldn’t believe. And at night? The stars are so bright and numerous, it’s like you could reach out and touch them, though I don’t think they’re as bright as they are here.” She pauses, her smile growing wider. “I live in Santa Fe, and there’s this incredible mix of art, culture, and nature. The air always smells of sage and pinyon. It’s a different kind of magic from what you have here, but it’s magic all the same.”
“Pinyon?” I ask, curiosity piqued.
Rose’s eyes light up. “It’s a type of pine tree native to the southwest. It’s the tree that produces pinenuts – which are delicious – but what I love most is how it smells. It’s like a pine tree but sweeter almost and the smell when the wood burns is amazing.”
As we pull up to the lighthouse, I see George, the man who maintains the building and gives tours, waiting for us at the door. I introduce him to Rose, and he immediately launches into his usual spiel about the lighthouse’s history and architecture.
We begin the long climb up the spiral staircase. Though this is my first tour as a guide, I’ve heard George’s stories countless times – the older man never misses a chance to share his beloved lighthouse’s history. But today, I find my attention drawn to Rose as she climbs the stairs ahead of me. The view is… distracting.
I force myself to look away, not wanting to get caught staring.
When we finally reach the top, Rose gasps at the view. I hang back, letting her and George continue their conversation. Rose mentions that she has a tattoo of the lighthouse, based on a painting by Maris Richards.
George’s eyes light up. “Maris was a friend of mine! She used to always come to the lighthouse with her husband,” he says. “They were locals, you know.”
Rose’s excitement is palpable. “You knew her? That’s amazing! She’s one of my favorite artists!”
They launch into a discussion about Maris’s art, with George sharing anecdotes about the artist’s visits to the lighthouse. I watch Rose roll up her sleeve, showing George the tattoo on her shoulder.
The realization sneaks up on me. It’s everything about her – the lighthouse tattooed on her skin, her kindness to George, her reaction to my kraken form, the way she drinks in every moment like she’s storing treasures. My heart clenches as the truth hits: I’m falling for this woman who views the world with such wonder. And in ten days, she’ll be gone.
The thought leaves me feeling hollow. I’ve known from the start that her stay here was temporary, but somehow, I’ve let myself forget that fact. As I watch her animated conversation with George, her face lit up with joy, I wonder how I’m going to say goodbye when the time comes.
I’ve always been a loner, keeping people at arm’s length – even before I was attacked and chased away from the kraken stronghold by my people. It’s easier that way, safer. But with Rose, it’s different. From almost the first day we met, talking to her has felt easier than usual. She’s slipped past my defenses without even trying, her warm smile and genuine interest chipping away at the walls I’ve built around myself. I tell myself it’s just her friendly nature, her ability to make anyone feel at ease. But deep down, I know it’s more than that. There’s a connection here that I can’t explain, and it both thrills and terrifies me.
But for now, I push those thoughts aside. We still have over a week left, and I intend to make the most of it.
