Wednesday, December 26
“What are you doing? You already carried me across the threshold back home.” Sophie’s giggles ring out, filling me with such abundant joy I want to hold her a little longer in my arms, just to hear her laugh again. I fling open the door to our Costa Rican condo and parade Sophie through our rooms as she snorts with laughter.
“I’m sorry, but I just don’t think this place will do,” I say, feigning a serious tone.
“What’s wrong with it?” Sophie gazes around, still cradled against my chest.
“For one thing the furniture alignment is all wrong.”
She tries to humor me, compressing her lips to look as concerned as I’m pretending to be. “The Feng Shui thingy isn’t working, huh?”
Now I’m trying hard notto chuckle. “It’s not working at all,” I say sternly. “Even worse, there are dust bunnies in the closets… and… and those towels.”
A small frown line forms on Sophie’s brow. “What’s wrong with the towels?”
“They match.” I pretend to shudder.
That’s when Sophie realizes I’m joking; there isn’t a single matching set of towels in our cottage. “Put me down, wolf-boy,” she chortles. “You had me going there for a minute.”
I place her gently on her feet and kiss the top of her head, grateful she’s mostly recovered from her injuries. While her wing feathers will take another year or so to fully grow back, the delicate bones and sinews have mended. Sophie still grimaces from the occasional cramp in her back muscles, generally when she’s skipped her physical therapy regimen. Then she’ll grunt in disgust at her “lazy self” and redouble her exercise routine.
I pull open the condo’s rear door and peek outside. “Did you see we have our own hot tub? And the beach is practically in our backyard. Goodbye snow and clouds, hello sea and sunshine! Let’s get into our swimsuits and grab some rays.”
After changing, we gather up our assorted beach paraphernalia—sunglasses, paperback novels, water bottles, towels, and sunscreen—and head toward the cabana where we rent a pair of beach chairs and a very large umbrella. Sophie looks absolutely adorable in her brightly colored caftan, wide-brimmed hat, and large, tinted shades.
I dump our stuff on one of the recliner-style chairs, anxious to dive into the turquoise waters, and hold upthe sunscreen. “Do you need me to put some on your back and shoulders?”
Sophie shakes her head. “Um… no thanks. I put some on before I got into my suit.”
“Okay. Can you do my back?” I hand her the bottle, and Sophie rubs the lotion into my back, gently massaging the muscles. “That feels so-o good.”
I feel her fingers tracing over the scars on my back, many from my recent bout with Rafe, but some from earlier fights. By the time we reach our twenties, all werewolves have a few scars, mostly from friendly tussles that became too animated, occasionally from more serious battles.
I turn around and take Sophie’s hands in mine. “Ready for a swim?”
She shakes her head and steps back, withdrawing her hands. “Why don’t you go on ahead. I’m a little chilly.”
“You’re chilly? It’s eighty-two degrees. You’re not getting sick, are you?” I narrow my eyes, wishing hers weren’t hidden behind her dark shades.
“No, I’m fine, really…” Sophie turns away, hurries over to the chair, and plunks herself down. “I’ll watch you swim.”
“Alright.” Shrugging, I toss my sunglasses on the other chair and start trudging across the sandy beach toward the water.
Something’s definitely wrong, but I’m not sure what. Sophie was all smiles from the time we left home, drove to O’Hare Airport, boarded the plane for Costa Rica, deplaned and went through customs, rented a car, andarrived here… the entire time, really… until I suggested going for a swim.
I stop suddenly, recalling her fingers trailing across my scars. She can’t be… she’s not… I re-trace my steps back to the large blue-and-white striped umbrella and Sophie. She’s still wearing her caftan, despite the fact tiny beads of perspiration are dotting her brow.
I fold my arms and stare down at her.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
“What do you mean?”
I motion for her to scooch over. Sophie swivels her hips, swinging her legs over to the side, and I sit beside her on the long recliner. “May I?” I point to her sunglasses. When she nods, I remove them and drop them into her bag. She quirks her brow, shooting me a puzzled gaze.
Then I pick up Sophie’s left hand, admire the sparkly emerald ring that I purchased with a faerie bargain, and kiss her knuckles. “Tell me the real reason you’re still wearing your cover-up despite the heat.”
