“I haven’t been down there in ages.” My stomach growls again to second the choice. Located down at the docks, they have the best seafood in town.
“It’s settled, then.” Jameson comes closer and takes the scarf from my hands, looping it around my throat. Then, he extends an elbow to me. “Ms. Siobhan McKathry, will you step out with me?”
~
It turns out, others had the same idea about the Blue Heron. When we arrive, the host tells us we’ll have a thirty minute wait unless we want to sit at the bar.
“What do you think? Can you wait?” Jameson glances down at me, his fingers squeezing mine. He first caught my hand to pull me through a herd of kids running for the Ferris wheel, then never let go.
While it would be easier for us to talk in a booth, on the way down here my hunger grew from persistent to full on demanding. If I don’t eat soon, I’m liable to mug someone for their leftovers.
I huddle into my scarf. “We can get it to go and eat at one of the tables near the rail?”
Jameson pulls my hat lower to cover my ears. “I have a better idea. Come on.”
He nods his thanks to the host, then tugs me around to the to-go window off the Blue Heron’s patio. Despite the winter chill, the tables out here are filled, too. The menu out here is more limited, but still delicious, and the line moves faster. The scent of the fryer fills the air, and my mouth waters.
We only have to wait five minutes before we step up to place our order.
Jameson turns to me. “What would you like?”
I quickly scan the menu, though it hasn’t changed in my memory. “I’ll take a basket of fried shrimp.”
“Make that two,” Jameson tells the kid behind the cash register.
“Two shrimp and spuds!” he yells over his shoulder to the cook who grabs two cardboard boats and loads them up with fries and passes them to his partner. The cashier punches our order into an ancient cash register, the numbers on the front flipping forward as he adds items. “Anything to drink?”
Jameson turns to me once more. “Do you want some beer?”
My head throbs with phantom pain. I won’t be indulging again soon. “No, I’ll just take water.”
Jameson holds his fingers up. “Two waters.”
We pay, collect our food and cups, and move out of the way for the next people in line.
“Where to now?” I ask, hands wrapped around the hot boat of shrimp.
“The Ferris wheel.” He points to the large wheel at the center of the docks. Twinkle lights outline the giant spokes as it slowly creaks through a rotation. “I haven’t been on there since sixth grade.”
“Me, either.” I grin up at him. “Think they’ll remember we’re banned?”
His eyes sparkle. “Not if they have one of the kids working the machine.”
When we were young and stupid, the four of us had tried to get the large bucket we were in to swing by running from one end to the other. They weren’t meant to swing, but we got it going sideways by the time the wheel delivered us back to the ground and the cranky owner dragged us off. He called our parents, and we were grounded for the rest of the summer.
“Let’s give it a shot.” I dodge around a table and hurry toward the wheel, suddenly excited.
“Siobhan!” A happy voice calls.
I turn, surprised to hear my name down here. Hamilton waves, eye catching in a teal zip-up hoodie and blue capri pants. His platinum hair shines beneath the dock lights as he runs toward us. His friend from the bar follows at a slightly slower pace, his expression strained.
“Hamilton, how are you?” I ask as he bounces to a stop in front of Jameson and me.
He claps, his blue fingernails flashing. “I found a job!”
“You didn’t need a job,” his friend grumbles as he joins us. “We’re already busy enough.”
“Psh!” Hamilton waves him away and then puts a hand on his slender hip, striking a pose. “Take a guess.”
I laugh at his antics. “Not dog walking, I hope?”
“Boo.” He pouts. But his excitement bleeds through and it quickly turns into a grin. “I’m a model!”
“Congratulations!” I grin at him. “I’m sure you’ll be wonderful.”
“It’s at Lapton Main Gallery, only a block down from you.” His gaze shifts from Jameson, then back to me. “Dare I say you’re on a date right now?”
Jameson juggles his water cup in next to his shrimp boat and slips a possessive arm across my shoulders. “That’s right.”
Hamilton rises onto his tiptoes, his head coming level with Jameson, which surprises me. His more delicate frame makes him seem smaller. His eyes narrow. “You’re not the one from the pub.”
Jameson’s brows crease with confusion. “The pub?”
Hamilton drops back on his heels. “And you’re not the one from the community center.”
“No?” Uncertainty fills Jameson’s voice.
Hamilton leans closer to me and whispers loudly, “Did you punch the one who needed punching?”
Blood rushes to my cheeks, and I hunch my shoulders, mumbling through my scarf, “Yes.”
“Good for you!” Hamilton pats my arm.
“S-Hamilton, we need to go,” his friend interrupts. His eyes dart around the dock, and he shifts restlessly. “We have obligations.”
“Yes, yes, so fussy, Nicu.” Hamilton walks backward, pointing one long finger at us. “See you soon!”
“Well, he’s vibrant,” Jameson mutters after the two turn away and walk toward the far end of the dock. “How’d you meet him?”
“He came in looking for a job.” I nod at the Ferries wheel. “Shall we?”
“Yes, we shall.” His arm stays around my shoulder as we walk to the large wheel.
No one waits in line, and a bored looking kid pauses the wheel when the next basket comes down. The large, enclosed platform still looks enormous, even to my adult self. Built for families, it can easily fit a group of six.
The conductor shuffles over to it and opens the door for us to enter. He points to a switch inside the door. “Flip the light when you want off. Three rotations max.”
“Thank you.” I step on, the large basket solid beneath my feet.
I head for the long bench on the right and sit close to the window for a better view of the bay. Jameson joins me, taking the seat beside me instead of the bench on the far side. His thigh presses against mine, instantly warming my chilled skin.
The door closes, and we lurch into motion, the basket swaying gently as it lifts from the ground. Drinks on the small table built into the wall, we eat in comfortable silence as the dock lights fade away. Soon, darkness surrounds us, the stars bright in the night sky.
“It was like this on the island.” Jameson’s low voice breaks through the silence. He sets his empty basket aside, then takes mine and stacks it on top.
I wipe my greasy fingers on a napkin as I stare out the window. “Did you not have lights?”
“We had a generator that ran on oil. Aunt Ulla shut it off every night at eight to conserve our resources.” He shifts closer, his arm sliding across the back of the bench. “After that, we only had firelight. The sky at night became comforting.”
My pulse jumps as his warm scent envelops me, and I clear my throat. “Is that why you started reading romance novels?”
He groans and backs away. “Which one of them told you?”
Turning, I make a zipping motion across my mouth. “My lips are sealed.”
“It was Davin, wasn’t it?” Shadows cover his face as he leans closer. “Did he tell you about his collection of pig statues?”
I tap my cheek in thought. “They might have been mentioned.”
He pulls on one of my curls and releases to spring back and smack me in the face. “What else might have been mentioned?”
“Not much, actually.” I push the curl under my hat. “He said there were a lot of pigs on the island?”
“Yeah, the sirens like them.”
“How else do you think they’re kept in their habitats?” He tilts his head. “Does that bother you?”
“No, I guess not.” I nibble on my lower lip. “I guess I never really thought about it.”
“If we didn’t give them a steady supply of food, they’d be back to luring men to crash their ships on the reefs.”
Curiosity overcomes my squeamishness. “How did you resist their call?”
“Special earmuffs.” He covers his ears to illustrate. “The sirens’ song hits a certain frequency that the muffs could block out while still allowing us to talk to each other.”
“You had to wear them all the time?” My head aches just from the thought of it.
“We got used to it after a while.” He shrugs, unconcerned. “We got used to a lot of stuff.”
“Wouldn’t it have been easier to only have women run the habitats?”
“Hughe asked the same thing when we first arrived.” He laughed quietly, a gentle chuff of sound. “Aunt Ulla figured the threat of being devoured would keep us in line.”
“I’m sorry to hear about her death.” My hand touches his knee. “I didn’t know your mom had a twin.”
“We didn’t either.” His fingers find mine, and he laces them together. “It came as a shock when she arrived. Apparently, Mom and her hadn’t spoken since my parents married. But she still came for us when Mom called.”
I hesitate before asking, “Why did they stop talking to each other?”
Jameson stays quiet for a moment, long enough that the lights of the dock fill the basket once more to reveal his pensive expression. He glances at me from the corner of his eye. “Mom and Aunt Ulla were identical twins. She didn’t like it when Mom and Dad married.”
Realization sinks in. “Because they weren’t thread bound?”
Jameson nods. “When we were little, Mom used to tell us that being identical meant our destiny was already decided for us. She tried to get us to do things for ourselves, to discover what we liked individually.”
I lean back against the wall, drawing a knee up onto the bench between us. “You fought her, didn’t you?”
He cast a rueful smile in my direction. “We never liked being told what to do.”
When I’d met the triplets, they’d been a tight knit group, almost a single person in three bodies. It had taken months of interacting with them before they opened up enough to reveal they actually did have separate interests. Their mother must have despaired over them ever going out on their own.
“So when we met the Traveler kid…” I trail off, thoughts whirling.
While Hughe, Davin, and I had been surprised, but happy, Jameson’s reaction had come as a complete shock.
Understanding dawns as his fingers tighten around mine. “I panicked. I was stupid and young, and while I loved my brothers and I loved you, it had been my choice up until that moment.”
My voice wavers, chest tight. “And you never liked being told what to do.”
He hangs his head. “I was stupid.”
“Yeah.” His head jerks up at my swift agreement. I shift until I kneel on the bench at his side, one hand on his shoulder.
His hand drops to my waist to steady me against the sway of the platform. “Can you forgive me?”
“You were fifteen. There’s a reason the Thread Readers won’t speak to children.” Frustration makes my arms shake, and I grip his shoulder tighter.
He’s not the only one who needs to ask for forgiveness. Our rift may have begun with Jameson’s actions, but my own willfulness kept us apart. I take a deep breath, bracing myself as I admit, “I didn’t read the letters until Saturday night.”
His body turns to face me, his face lifting in question.
Afraid he’ll interrupt, I rush on, “I was young and angry, too, and unwilling to read them. If I were less stubborn, less prideful, I would have come to you on the island.”
He pulls me closer until I half sit in his lap and buries his head against my shoulder.
My cheek rubs against the knit of his winter hat, and I whisper, “Can we forgive each other?”
Made on Main Street
He nods against my shoulder, a shudder wracking through his body, and my arms tighten.
We stay like that for a while, the quiet creak of the ancient Ferris wheel the only sound as we slowly drift through the starry night and back around to the bright lights of the ground.
Eventually, when his arms loosen from around my waist, I lean back to stare down into his shadowed face. “Do you want to come back to my apartment for tea? We can talk more. I want to hear about the sirens. And your aunt. And everything about the last nine years.”
He lifts his hand to cup my cheek. “I’d love to.”
Leaning past him, I flip the switch to let the conductor know we want off the ride.
Once we step out onto the docks, Jameson drops our trash into a waiting ben, then slides a hesitant arm around my waist. When I cuddle into his side, his hand becomes firmer at my waist, fingers kneading into the thick material of my jacket. I wish it were summer, and I could feel his warmth wrapped around me.
“I had fun tonight,” Jameson whispers, his head close to mine.
“Me, too.” I press my cheek against his bicep, the wool of his jacket scratchy against my cheek.
As we walk for a while in comfortable silence, I keep my eyes open for ice on the sidewalk. We pass beneath a streetlight as it flickers, the yellow glow reminding me of the will-‘o-the-wisps.
I glance up at Jameson. “Have you seen anymore wisps by our parents’ houses?”
His hand tightens, digging into the underside of my ribs. “No, they seem to have lost interest.”
“Did the new lights get installed?”
“Yes, first thing this morning. Hopefully, the work.” His tone sounds noncommittal. “They should stay in the woods where they belong, now.”
“Do you think…” I bite my lip, afraid I’ll sound stupid.
“What?” He pulls me to a stop in the shadows between two lights, turning me to face him. His hands cup my elbows as he bends to put his face close to mine. “What’s on your mind?”
“The wisps. They were out on the highway when my truck broke down.” I shiver at the memory of how tempted I was to venture into the woods for warmth, despite the danger the wisps represented. “Do you think they followed me?”
“I don’t know.” He rubs my arms soothingly. “I’ve never heard of them doing that, but there’s not a lot of research on them.”
“Mom thinks one of them took her sister away when they were kids.” I shuffle closer, my voice lowering. “But when I fell into the one in the backyard, it brought me to you. Maybe they’re like the Thread Readers? Only more aggressive in showing people where to go?”
His hands freeze on my arms. “Why would they hunt you down specifically?”
“I…” I lick my lips, throat suddenly dry. “I thought about leaving.” I wince as his grip tightens, painful even through my jacket, and I reach up to pat his hand. “It wasn’t a thought I had for long. It’s just… I’ve been here, not living for so long, the idea of starting over seemed nice.”
Jameson yanks me against his chest, his arms banding around me as if to physically keep me from running away. He ducks his head down next to mine, his voice strained. “Siobhan, honey, if you want to move, we don’t have to stay here. We can figure something out. But, please, don’t leave on your own. Don’t abandon us.”
“It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.” With my arms locked to my sides, I can’t return his embrace, so I grab the hem of his coat instead. “I don’t want to leave Port Lapton.”
“But you thought about it.” He bends slightly at the knees, and he lifts me until my face is level with his. In the shadows, I can’t make out his expression, but my heart thuds painfully at the desperation in his hold. “You thought about it enough that the wisps hunted you down and told you to
stay put.”
“We don’t know that’s what happened.” Wiggling, I pull my arms free and wind them around his neck. “I’m probably reading too much into it. There’s no proof they’re sentient.”
“There’s no proof they’re not.” He buries his face in my neck and releases a shuddering breath. “Stay away from them from now on.”
I turn to nuzzle against his ear. “But if they always bring me back to you…”
“We’re not testing that theory,” he growls.
“Travel by wisp. It can be a new thing.”
He rears back, and even in the dark, I can feel his scowl. “No, it can’t.”
I trace my gloved hands over his cheeks and brow, soothing away from frown. “Don’t worry. I won’t go near them again.”
His hold changes, gentling, and he leans forward in a slight, jerky motion that stops with his mouth frozen over mine, close without touching. Heart pounding, I close the gap, lips open over his, desperate to connect in this way.
He stumbles forward a step, and a wall presses against my back as his mouth slants over mine, his tongue tangling with mine. His kiss, completely different from our first, seeks to stake a claim within my body, to brand the taste and texture of him deep inside.
Moaning, I wrap my legs around his waist, feeling the solidness of him between my thighs. Large hands drop to the back of my thighs and boost me higher. Our jackets form a thick, padded barrier between our bodies, and I tug at his buttons in annoyance.
From somewhere, I loud beeping noise breaks through the quiet night. Jameson jerks with surprise, his head lifting as he peers around the empty street.
The beep comes again, right on top of us, and I lean my head back against the wall and gasp, “It’s coming from your bag.”
“What?” Confused, he stares down at our bodies pressed together. The beep comes again, and he leans to the side to focus on the satchel at his side.
Swearing, he sets me on my feet and leans his shoulder against the wall as he digs out a walkie-talkie the size of a brick. A red light flashes on the front, and he yanks a thick antenna out of the top before hitting the receive button on his end.
Falling For Them Volume 2: Reverse Harem Collection Page 74
