“I’m aware.”
He looked back at me again, brows lifting faintly. “I figured you probably were. Do you have antivenom on hand?”
Only for you.
“Yes, I’ll show you the first aid station later so you’re familiar with it,” I said, recalling when my last caretaker was begging for it.
As long as he was good, Cove wouldn’t be suffering any…accidentsunder my roof. Well, I suppose he could actually suffer from a genuine accident, in which he would be given whatever medical treatment necessary. But he certainly wouldn’t be falling into the sea snakes’ tank like a handful of his clumsy predecessors.
“I also have antivenom for these,” I led, gesturing for Cove to follow me over to a large circular flow tank.
“Whoa…” he muttered, bypassing me to step up closer to the curved viewing surface.
Inside, pale-blue, translucent, cube-shaped bells drifted in slow suspension, their long, thread-like tentacles trailing behind them in the water.
“I feel like you should be on some sort of watch list,” Cove said jokingly, unaware of how correct he was. “But I also am sorta thrilled that I’ll be taking care of animals who could easily kill me.”
“Adrenaline junkie?” I asked, walking us over to the last tank I’d show him today.
Inside the enclosure, the flamboyant cuttlefish hovered just above the substrate, its body shifting through slow waves of color—gold to crimson to violet to white—each pulse traveling across its skin like thought made visible.
When Cove saw the creature, he practically wiggled, and his mouth that’d been open presumably to reply to my question forgot what it was doing and let out an exuberant squeal. I had to lift a hand to my mouth to stifle a chuckle.
“She’s incredible,” he sighed, looking at the animal in adoration. He lifted his index finger to give it a tiny, adorable wave. “Hello,” he called softly. “I love you.”
The cuttlefish changed color again, responding to him.
Watching him stand there—completely absorbed, completely unguarded, completely at ease inside a house most people foundoverwhelming—I experienced once again that same unfamiliar tightening beneath my ribs.
Yes.
This had been the correct decision.
Inviting him here had been the correct decision.
Allowing him to stay would be even better.
I looked at him for a few seconds longer than necessary before turning toward the corridor that led back into the main body of the house.
“There are still a few practical matters we should discuss,” I said. “Would you mind continuing this conversation somewhere more comfortable?”
He blinked a few times, like he was waking up from a dream, then nodded quickly. “Yeah. Sure.”
I led him out of the collection wing and back through the living space. He followed closely behind me as we entered one of the sitting rooms overlooking the ocean, the space arranged with low furniture intentionally positioned toward the glass rather than toward one another, as though conversation here had always been meant to happen alongside the horizon rather than in isolation from it. I gestured toward one of the chairs nearest the windows.
As he sat, I began, “For clarity, this position would not resemble your internship.”
He let out a small breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “Yeah, that’s pretty clear.”
“The systems here operate continuously,” I continued. “They require monitoring across multiple environments, multiple temperature gradients, and several feeding schedules that cannot be automated without compromising animal welfare. There are quarantine protocols, observation rotations, seasonal adjustments, equipment redundancy checks, and structural maintenance that must be performed on a recurring basis.”
As I spoke, I could see him mentally assembling the schedule.
“So, full-time,” he surmised.
“Yes.”
He nodded slowly, taking a steadying breath. “Okay.”
