Reeling

by Ev Bishop

  Gray was sitting by himself at a small table for two, nursing a pint and drumming his fingers in rhythm to the music. Every time Mia glanced his way, his eyes met hers—and every time it was like a physical touch that sent a warm current buzzing through her. She was burning with curiosity about the Secret Keeper’s valentine, but hadn’t been able to hound him further or beg for hints because they hadn’t talked privately since he’d told her about it.

  Now, however, on the second to last song she’d be singing, Mia realized something that she should’ve noticed earlier and it started to melt her happiness. Despite the cheery cacophony of music, voices and laughter and the jostling, dancing people, Gray only had eyes for her. If someone stopped and chatted with him, he nodded pleasantly and replied—but he never gestured for anyone to join him. She was sure Sam, Jo and Callum had each asked him to sit with them, but that he had declined. She was equally sure he’d been asked to dance by two different women—and had turned down those offers too. Even his two-seat table in the crowded pub seemed set apart.

  Because Gray was smiling and having a beer and seemed into the music, she’d thought he was enjoying himself. Now the truth of the situation hit her. He was only there because she was. Because he was lovely and sweet, he was patient about the forced captivity, willing to endure it with a grin, exactly the same way Wolf resignedly lounged on his belly waiting for Gray to finish whatever business he had before he could return to where he belonged. The wild. Was she selfish to ask Gray to build a life with her outside the woods?

  The song finished to enthusiastic, alcohol fueled applause, but Mia barely heard it. She gave a humorous, hand twirling bow when the band thanked her for joining them and told them—and the crowd—that the pleasure was all hers. There was more applause, then a DJ jumped in, so the band could have a break before their final set. Mia hopped off the stage and crossed the crowded floor in search of Gray. She was stopped here and there by people thanking her and telling her how great the band was and what a good time they were having. Everything about the event and its people felt better than the huge venues she used to play, but her heart was heavy all the same.

  And then she was at Gray’s table. He stood up with a wide smile as she approached. “Well, well, if it isn’t the fabulous Mia Clark.”

  Something in her face must’ve told him she didn’t want to be teased right now because his tone changed immediately. “You were—you are—amazing, Mia.”

  Mia smiled but hot saline burned at the back of her eyes.

  Gray’s smile lines transformed into furrows of concern. “What’s wrong?”

  She tried to speak but found she couldn’t. She took his hand and jerked her chin slightly, motioning toward the door. He nodded and, still holding her hand, took charge of leading them through the boisterous crowd, politely but firmly forging a path.

  Outside, the night air was cold and damp—a refreshing kiss on her skin after the muggy heat from the crush of bodies inside.

  “Mia, what is it?” The concern in Gray’s voice was palpable.

  There was an old hitching post near the front of the pub, slightly away from the small group of smokers that crowded the entrance. Mia hefted herself up on it and Gray leaned into the V of her legs, then touched her chin and lifted her face a little. As usual his nearness was distracting and for a moment, lust warred with her sadness.

  “Mia,” he repeated. “What is it?”

  She sighed and figured it was better to spill it. Just rip off the Band-Aid, so to speak. The pub’s hum of conversing voices, background music and laughter reached into the darkness around them, and Mia motioned toward it.

  “Are you having fun? Really?”

  Gray’s forehead wrinkled. “Yes, really. Why?”

  Mia shook her head. “Because I think I need this. I can’t just hole up in the woods like a hermit, or not forever anyway. I want that too, I mean I want you, but I need . . . other things as well. Other people, music, singing . . . a life of many parts.”

  Gray tilted his head and for a crazy second Mia half expected his tongue to loll like Wolf’s did when he grinned. “And?”

  “And you, like you said in your own words, are like Wolf. You’re a lone wolf.” Mia spoke in a rush, forcing herself to unload her concerns before she came to her senses and held them back in the desperate hope that she was wrong, that she and Gray could actually work.

  Gray’s mouth opened, but she motioned him quiet. “You only came tonight because of me. If I hadn’t been singing with the band, you wouldn’t have—not in a million years. And you’re so great that for my sake, you actually appeared to not totally hate it. I almost fell for it, but then I realized,” Mia shook her head to emphasize her words, “you’re just being Wolf. Patiently waiting until I let you return to the wild where you belong. You wouldn’t be happy living in town. I know it. And I wouldn’t be happy, not long term, living so far away from everything, month after month, or I don’t think I would—” She broke off, conscious that Gray had stepped back from her—just a little, but still.

  She dropped her gaze, so sad and so sure she was spelling out the ending for them that she couldn’t look at him as she finished. “I do want you, Gray, more than anything. And I do love you—more than I imagined loving anyone, ever, but we have an insurmountable problem.” Mia took a deep breath and Gray waited. “Deep down, I’m not a wolf and I don’t know where that leaves us, or how or if we go on from here.”

  Gray didn’t say a word or make even the smallest sound in reply. And that wasn’t her imagination. He moved even further away, till he was no longer framed by her legs, no longer within reaching distance. She pressed her hands to her scalding face. What an idiot she was! Why hadn’t she kept her worries to herself, waited to see what unfolded over time?

  A wheezing sound grabbed her ears and pulled her away from her self-flagellation. She looked up, appalled. Gray was hunched over and his shoulders were shaking. Was he . . . crying? Had she hurt him that much? She wanted to die of regret—but wait. The noise didn’t really suggest crying, so much as . . .

  Her dismay spiked to an all new level. He wasn’t crying. He was laughing. Laughing while she was almost as sad as she’d ever been in her life? What the—

  “Mia,” Gray muttered, hands on his ribs. “You have to stop. You’re killing me.”

  Fresh tears pricked her eyes. What about her sadness, about them not being together, was so uproariously funny?

  Gray moved close again, still sounding strangled by mirth. “There is no ‘insurmountable problem.’ Of course you’re not a wolf. You’re a mermaid.”

  Mia’s emotions were reeling and she couldn’t utter a verbal response—but her heartbeat quickened with something like hope. Man, she never learned, did she?

  He lifted her chin again. “I’m sorry for laughing. I was, I am, just so relieved.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t get it. Why would any of what I said make you relieved?”

  He tried unsuccessfully to hold back another laugh. “I guess I need to spell it out for you. I’m not actually a wolf. It’s a figure of speech.”

  “Obviously, but—”

  “No buts. I was only trying to say how loyal and attached I felt to you, not to suggest I’m some un-housebroken mongrel.”

  “I don’t think Wolf would appreciate that description.”

  “I don’t think Wolf would give two hoots about any human words I use to describe him.” Gray’s voice lost its teasing, amused note. “Look, Mia. I get why you’re worried. It’s even kind of sweet—except that I don’t want you to think choosing to be with me means settling for some damaged half-life.”

  “But—”

  “Let me finish,” Gray whispered.

  She nodded and bit her lip to keep from interrupting again.

  “To be clear,” he continued. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with living away from the rest of society and being independent. I think it’s got a lot going for it actually, but I also know the
re’s value in having community—and I’ve always known that was your goal in coming here: to get to a place where you could stop living like a shut-in. Plus, you’re a musician, a singer, a performer . . . Of course you need people.”

  Gray extended his palms to her in a slow-motion double high five. Cautiously, then with exuberance, she met his hands with hers. Their fingers knit together. “I’m sorry to be so nuts,” Mia said. “It’s just that one minute I feel . . . better . . . or at least healed enough that I’m ready for the future and whatever it holds—hopefully you. But the next I feel like some damaged reject, who may or may not be up to the challenges and risks of love. I’m always sure that whatever I’m feeling can’t be trusted, that it’s too good to be true.”

  Gray moved their clasped hands to his mouth and kissed Mia’s knuckles. “That’s how I feel too,” he said slowly and seriously. “But maybe all people do, to some degree.”

  He has a point, Mia thought. There is no magical place of all-knowing wisdom or confidence. All you can do is the best you can with the information and experiences you’ve been given to date.

  Gray’s grip on her hands tightened and he had to clear his throat before speaking again. “When I said I want to be with you forever, I knew—and know—what that means and what I’ll be giving up. Trust me, it’s nothing compared to what I’ll gain. We’ll figure out where we’ll live when the time arrives for us to do so—actually, you know what? Screw it.”

  “What do you mean screw it?” she asked, genuinely confused.

  He released her hands and reached into his jacket and withdrew a thick envelope from its inside pocket. “I grabbed this from the Secret Keeper before I came tonight because I changed my mind, wanted to give it to you in person. I was going to wait until after we got home, but the time seems right.”

  He shifted his body so the beam from a nearby streetlight fell full on the notepaper she removed from the envelope. “But how—”

  “No more buts. Read.”

  She flattened the creamy paper against her thigh and did just that.

  Dear Mia,

  It’s still hard for me to believe that something good could come from such a near tragedy, but part of me wonders if you hadn’t fallen in the river, whether I ever would’ve gotten up the courage to tell you how I felt. I worry that I might’ve continued on like the proud coward I too often show myself to be.

  But you did have that close call. It scared the hell out of me, but it also forced me to admit something I would’ve violently denied, previously. There is something worse than having those you love stolen from you; losing someone you love when you don’t have to. The idea that I would be so stupid, so shortsighted, so willfully blind that I almost brought that down on myself shames me more than you can know.

  The past weeks have not just been the happiest of my life since before Celine and Simon were torn from me. They have been wonderful completely in their own right.

  I have been trying to follow your lead, not wanting to pressure you with talk of the future or my desire that we spend it together because I know (or suspect) it will seem sudden. But I’m not, in case you haven’t figured it out by now, very good at being casual. “Intense” is sort of my natural default, even when I try hard to override it.

  Anyway, I don’t need time. I have had nothing but time for years and I know my mind. My heart. I would like to marry you. I want to be your husband, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health and all of that. Some people feel marriage is old-fashioned, even archaic, but I confess I don’t understand how pledging to love and honor another could ever be anything but a good thing. So yes, call me old-fashioned . . . even I see the description fits me to a T. And I don’t apologize for it. (Both of which probably come as huge surprises to you.)

  Gray had drawn two smiley faces beside his last line and she looked over at him, flooded with fondness. The cartoon grins were such a perfect show and tell of the whimsical, silly side of Gray that softened and balanced his deeply sober, serious side. He met her eyes, his creasing in amusement too, then nodded for her to finish the letter, as if knowing she hadn’t read to the end.

  Mia whispered the remainder of the letter aloud, as if doing so would help convince her she wasn’t merely having a lovely dream. She really was seeing the words she thought she was.

  I understand if talking about something as huge as marriage or forever feels too soon, so don’t worry. I won’t harangue you. Just let me know when and if you ever feel the same.

  And in the meantime, I hope you’ll accept this small gift as a token of how I feel about you. It’s something I made this winter out of an antique silver spoon. I thought I was merely seeking to fill the long, dark winter hours, but have since realized I had been fooling myself again. It was always meant for you, the same way my heart has been ever since I stumbled upon you mermaiding about in the lake.

  Happy Valentine’s Day, my love. May it be the first of countless many.

  - G

  Mia’s gaze shot up to Gray’s again. He nodded shyly and placed something on her palm: a thick, softly gleaming silver ring. She held it, speechless. Warmed by her body’s heat and so perfectly polished it was soft to the touch, the ring was almost indistinguishable from her flesh when she finally slid it on her finger.

  It was such a simple thing and crafted from such a commonplace item that if you’d told her ahead of time how beautiful the end result would be, Mia wasn’t sure she would’ve believed it, yet there was no denying it. Beautiful it was.

  “Have I allayed your concerns and fears?” he asked softly, resting his forehead against hers.

  “And then some,” she breathed, illogically close to tears. They were on the same page. They both saw their future unfolding together.

  Gray leaned into her, the full weight of him heavy against her core. “Good, then it’s settled. All the other stuff’s just details. We’ll figure it out.”

  “But—”

  “Oh come on, woman, throw your poor dog a bone and just give me a kiss. I’ve been watching you all night, unable to touch you. It was torture.”

  Mia closed her legs around Gray’s muscular torso and felt him stiffen with pleasure and surprise. “Now that’s what I’m talking about,” he growled with a low, sexy chuckle. Then—making her wonder suddenly just how much beer he’d nursed—he raised his face to the sky and let out a wild howl.

  The soft mumble of voices from smokers by the door went silent—then there was a burst of appreciative laughter and two male voices yipped and howled in reply.

  “You’re crazy,” Mia whispered.

  “I am,” Gray affirmed and pressed his lips to hers. He kissed her hungrily and hard, taking her mouth with none of his usual gentle, letting-her-warm-up-to-it quality—and Mia was shocked by the hot, instant response that rocketed through her, despite the layers of civilization—and clothing—between them. A final, needed bit of self-knowledge lit up deep within her. She might be a mermaid, absolutely. But she had some wolf in her too. Maybe everyone did.

  Epilogue

  Wolf huffed and grunted somewhere in the bush nearby as Gray steadily moved along the once faint, now well-defined trail. He eased through an archway formed by two cottonwood trees that had grown close together over the years. The small lake, their lake, as he liked to call it, sparkled and flashed in the late evening sun. Rounding a stand of skinny jack pines, he paused to take in the view, and a rush of heat and pleasure ran to his face . . . and other parts.

  There was a mermaid waiting for him. The fact that he’d already known she’d be there didn’t keep it from being a happy surprise—just like every time he saw her. He hadn’t gotten used to it, hadn’t stopped thanking his lucky stars every day. She was beautiful from every angle, including the glorious back view he currently had. Her hair was coiled in a messy bun on top of her head, providing an unhampered view of creamy shoulders and a smooth back that curved into generous hips and a well-rounded—

  Wolf chose that moment, of
course, to scramble from the tree line and race along the rocky beach toward the narrow strip of sand separating land from water.

  Mia heard Wolf’s very unsubtle approach and turned. Wet and gleaming, she beamed at them both, giving Gray a breathtaking frontal view of the huge belly he’d been admiring the sides of seconds earlier.

  As if reading his thoughts, Mia’s hands went to the heavy swell of her lower abdomen and rested there, cradling its contents.

  “This. Is. Heaven,” she called. “It’s the only part of the day I don’t feel like I weigh eight hundred pounds.”

  Gray laughed, but stayed where he was, enjoying watching her—but knowing that before long, he’d have to take full advantage of what he still couldn’t believe was his privilege: to touch, to take—

  “Getting a good enough eyeful?” she called.

  He shrugged.

  Her stomach was as firm and full as the moon that had, hours earlier, risen high and joined the sun in the summer sky—fertile, his ever-smitten brain whispered. Lush. Mine.

  Above her stomach, her small breasts were heavy and ripe, with dark, perfect nipples standing pertly from the water’s kiss. Every remembered nuance of her body was so familiar and textured, it was like he was already touching her. Like he never stopped.

  His body stirred and his face warmed. Was he the only husband who still stared at his wife this way, even though they’d been together for three years already? Even though she was pregnant—or especially so? He couldn’t imagine ever tiring of her—and how he hoped she never tired of him. There was a bundle of clothes near his feet. He stooped, grabbed her towel, and held it out.

  She shook her head and splashed in his general direction. “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. Get your ass in here.”