“I didn’t realize how pretty it is,” she whispers.
I grunt, and a divot forms between her brows. I wish I could take it back. “I suppose,” I grumble.
I’ve never paid much attention before. The island simply…is. I hold no opinion on its appearance. There are jagged cliffs and small openings along the rock surface for bats to nest. Greenery and moss, sharp edges against rounded trees. The golden beach glitters from this distance.
So, yes, I suppose it is pretty. But if my mate is sitting beside it, there is no question as to which takes my breath away.
“By the way,” Cindi begins, glancing back at me, “I think we need to redo the chicken coop. Cheeto ate a hole through the wood—or pecked, more like.”
Of course the—as Cindi says—little shit has.
I brought Cindi chickens from the mainland after I tracked down the human male tourist and made him show me more videos on his phone that doesn’t want to work without him. He said his favorite is the big animal that sometimes has horns. A cow? It would have been too difficult to bring it to the island.
After he showed me the chickens, I managed to find a few and a couple bags of feed, boated them to the island, and let them loose.
Cindi was shocked more than she was impressed. Then she paled and refused to eat them, instead naming the pests and allowing her favorite—Cheeto—to hang around with her on the beach.
He’s the most annoying chicken. Made my tentacle bleed twice.
Five times, actually. Not only does Vasz want to bite me and my mate want to stab me, but I have to be on constant lookout for a chicken that wants to fight me for dominance. It is exhausting.
Cindi shifts, pulling her legs out of the water to lean back on the board.
“I was also thinking a fridge would be nice to preserve food.” This is the third time Cindi has mentioned afridge. I will ask the tourist human what it is. “Ice would be great too.” I nod when Cindi casts me a glance. “I want to look into drying fish.” I can’t imagine anything worse. “I know you can with the really, really little ones, so I want to test it out one day.” They taste terrible. “Not sure how you’ll catch them, but it’s just an idea.” I’m sure I’ll find a way.
We continue moving in silence. I want to say something, maybe ask her about her day. I hope she may eventually come to enjoy my company. I want to tell her she said my name in her sleep for the first time last night while I’ve been dreaming of her every day since I met her.
But I can’t bring myself to speak for fear I will say the wrong thing and upset her. I opened my mouth two days ago, and look what happened. I made Cindi scream at me then ask to return to the mainland—something she hasn’t done in a while.
So the silence builds and builds until it’s suffocating. Cindi puts me out of my misery when we’re halfway around the island.
“Oh, and we need batteries too. I would kill for a fan.” I’ve learned this is what Cindi callssarcasm, and she wouldn’t actually kill someone for it. It has been a learning curve. “Another generator would support a lot of things if my whole renewable energy idea doesn’t work. I could hook a fridge, fan—oooh,and a radio or something so I can play music.”
I’m about to grunt, but Cindi’s lips twist in preempted disappointment before I can utter a response. It spears me the same way it does whenever she stares blankly at the horizon or plucks at the grass, expressionless.
I’ve never been one to think things through; it’s no different now.
“What—” Cindi cuts off in a scream when her board capsizes and she falls straight into my awaiting arms. I tug her against my chest, her arms and legs immediately wrapping around me like it’s second nature, and there’s nothing I can do to stop the contented purr from rumbling to life.
She doesn’t hate me.
“You did that on purpose,” my pretty mate accuses, hitting me playfully.
I try to hide my smile by looking down at the water. “Vasz must be around.” It’s not a lie. He is nearby, just not quite within biting distance.
“I could’ve drowned.”
My tentacle that can never seem to keep to itself taps Cindi’s leg as if offended she’d imply such a thing would happen.
“You’re not slick,” she huffs, a smile playing at her lips.
That… Okay. No. This must be sarcasm again, because I do believe I am quite smooth.
I lean back in the water with an arm around her waist so she can fully relax and let me do all the work. She props herself up, straddling me like she does on the board, her hands flat on my chest, staring out at the island as we continue our slow swim around it.
I may not trust myself to speak, but this? Holding her in place, touching her in reverent worship? I can do this for every waking moment until I die.
Minutes pass before she readjusts her position. She lies against me, head tucked beneath my chin like we do at night. Bumps erupt over my flesh when she traces the scar along my ribs before wading her hand through the water.
