“Look, Pan. It’s nice of you to want to…um…take me out, not that I know what that means, but I hear a relationship needs to include physical attraction.”
“But Iamphysically attracted to you! Who wouldn’t be? You’re gorgeous. Long white flowing hair, the wind rippling your gauzy gown, revealing your gorgeous figure—although you could stand to do a few sit-ups…”
Gaia’s eyes widened, and her lips thinned. “Get out, Pan. It’s nice that you’re attracted to me, but I am not attracted to you! You don’t keep your long hair clean, and you stink. Do you understand? Not attractive.”
He lowered his head, aiming his goat horns at her ample breasts. Steam exited his nostrils. Fortunately, before he could do something he’d regret, she disappeared.
“Damn.” Not one to be easily discouraged, Pan took a moment to ponder her criticism. If her only objection to him was his hygiene, he could take a bath, get a nymph to cut his hair and groom him, and try again.
* * *
The Fierro family had decided to maintain their tradition of a big Sunday dinner, even in Puerto Rico. They’d been doing it in Boston for years—even after their sons moved out of the house. Each was expected to be there, except in an emergency. Why should Puerto Rico be any different?
Fortunately, the faraway family members could be transported by their wives, both of whom were modern muses. A minor goddess could hold onto a human or paranormal being and pull them into the ether. From there, it was a small matter to materialize wherever they wanted to be.
Chloe and Ryan were particularly glad about the family moving far away. Ryan had been caught in a backdraft during his time with the Boston fire service, and a very public funeral had been held for him. He didn’t dare show his face around Boston, so he and his wife, Chloe, had moved to her castle in Ireland.
Because Chloe had also been a firefighter in Boston, Gaia had talked her into becoming the modern muse of fire safety, in charge of things like stoves, matches, and gas fireplaces…all the things invented since the ancient Greek muses grew up.
The only son staying in Boston was Jayce. He and his wife, Kristine, were both firehouse captains. If they moved away and wanted to continue their jobs as firefighters, they’d have to start all over…going through training, probation, and then working their way up to lieutenant. It would be a long, long time before they achieved the rank of captain again.
But Gaia needed a muse to handle mobile communication devices—cell phones, two-way radios, and anything else that popped up in the future meant to connect people. So Kristine took the job. She and Jayce were able to get on the same schedule because they worked in different houses, and they made it to almost every family dinner together.
In Puerto Rico, along with the youngest son, Luca, were the rest of the second-generation Fierros: Miguel and Sandra, Gabe and Misty, Dante and Mallory, and finally Kizzy and Noah. Soon Dawn would be part of the family too.
The patriarch and matriarch of this whole phoenix brood, Antonio and Gabriella Fierro, had finally fulfilled their dream of retiring in a tropical climate. No more Boston winters! Antonio said he wanted a bumper sticker to that effect. If he ever became ungrateful for twenty minutes in San Juan traffic, he’d be reminded he no longer had to put up with two hours in Boston traffic and then shoveling out his parking space!
Basically, life was good. The family brought their strength with them and tried to help other islanders regain the stability they had known before Hurricane Maria devastated their infrastructure.
Dawn’s grandmother Annette had become fast friends with Gabriella, who’d convinced her to move there too. The two of them worked together, shopping and cooking these huge feasts, and the rest pitched in where needed. This time, it was Annette’s turn to plan the menu and coordinate their efforts.
“Dawnie, did you bring butter for the rolls?”
“Yes, Grams. I know how these guys love to slather it on.”
“Oh good. And Sandra, did you bring a salad?”
“I sure did,” the willowy blonde nurse said cheerfully.
“Dante and Noah, could you please set the tables?” Annette asked.
“Sure, Mom.” Noah elbowed Kizzy and winked. The dark-haired doctor snapped her fingers, and three picnic tables, pushed together end to end, set themselves with eighteen plates, bowls, and sets of silverware, like a Disney cartoon.
“Not fair, Kizzy,” Mallory kidded.
“Hey, if you were a witch or a muse, you’d do it too.”
“Yeah, well, Gaia didn’t need my specialty in the arts. She’s got plenty of original muses for that. My only job is keeping my mouth shut about the rest of you.”
“Wait a minute. I count eighteen places. We only need seventeen,” Annette said.
Kizzy slapped her own head. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I invited my father. He’s vacationing here this week. I’m sorry. I should have asked you first.”
“No, don’t be silly. Of course he’s welcome. It even makes the spots at the table nice and equal. Hey, Antonio!” Annette called out. “How’s my jerk chicken doing?”
“Fine. Same as your dumbass burgers.”
Annette and everybody within earshot—which included almost everyone—burst out laughing. “That’s what paranormal hearing gets you.”
