REEF TOURS
MERMAID BIRTHDAY PARTIES
Someone had added, in different-colored chalk:
MERMAIDS MUST PROVIDE THEIR OWN TAILS.
I was deciding whether the disclaimer had been legally necessary when a shadow fell across my table.
“You’re in my seat.”
I looked up.
The woman standing in front of me held two coffees and wore a black wetsuit peeled down to her waist. Her dark-blond hair was wet and twisted over one shoulder, and a thin line of salt had dried along her collarbone. There was a small scar near her left eyebrow and a sun-faded bracelet knotted around one wrist.
She was smiling like apologies were something other people did before nine in the morning.
I glanced at the empty benches around us.
“Is your name on it?”
She looked down at the table as if she might genuinely check.
“Not officially. Emotionally, yes.”
“Emotionally reserved seating. That’s bold.”
“I’m a bold person.”
“I can see that.”
Her smile widened.
For one sharp second, my body prepared for the change.
The recognition.
The double take.
The slight widening of the eyes before someone decided whether to be polite or loud.
The phone appearing in a hand that had been empty a moment ago.
But the woman only lifted one of the coffees.
“I’m willing to share,” she said.
“The seat?”
“The table. Not the coffee. I’m generous, but I have limits.”
I should have said no.
Rachel’s rules had been very clear about strangers. Especially attractive strangers with phones, friends, internet access, or functional eyesight.
The point of disappearing was not to invite someone into your hiding place because she had ocean-colored eyes and a mouth that looked designed to make poor decisions seem reasonable.
Instead, I slid my plate an inch to the left.
