Page 3 of A Siren Song for Christmas

He raised his gaze to meet Mr Marin’s pale-blue eyes. Trent couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. As he stood in front of MrMarin, he felt like the world beyond the man’s gaze no longer existed.

The siren wore glasses, but they did not obscure or hide his eyes in any way. If anything they seemed to enlarge them.

After months of seeing Mr Marin daily and being the focus of those eyes, he’d have thought he’d be used to it. But every time he was near Mr Marin, he felt like he’d drunk too much mulled wine.

I wonder what it would be like to have him look at me like a lover.

His gut tightened. A shiver slid down his spine, but he forced himself to remain still.

No one had ever had this effect on him before. No one had even come close.

Trent had heard the stories of sirens luring sailors with their song and causing them to wreck their ships on rocky shores. And when standing before this siren, he could believe the tales. He yearned to be close to Mr Marin in a way that defied comprehension.

But Mr Marin had never sung in his presence. So Trent couldn’t see how his strange infatuation could be caused by Mr Marin’s siren song. But maybe the power did not come from his song.

“I assume you are here for the elothea seeds for your brother,” Mr Marin said in an accented, melodious voice.

It was the most beautiful voice Trent had ever heard. Was his magic in his voice and not in his actual song? But if that was the case, why weren’t more people in Anorra infatuated with Mr Marin and filling the emporium every day?

Trent nodded. “I am. Thank you.”

Mr Marin reached beneath the counter. He pulled out a tall, cylindrical tank, hands and tentacles lifting it. He placedit on the counter. Trent’s gaze lingered on the tentacles as the suctions released the glass.

His breath sped up. What would those suckers feel like against his skin? His gut clenched, and he forced his gaze on the tank, not the tentacles.

A deep-burgundy aquatic grass grew within. It swayed in the water. Mr Marin reached in, plucking half a dozen seeds from the grass tips with quick movements. He placed them, one after the other, on a small glass plate beside him and then leaned forward to examine them.

Trent hesitated as Mr Marin went about his work.

Should he ask Mr Marin on a date now? Mr Marin wasn’t even looking at him. No. Now was not the right time.

But was that the truth? Or was that just his nerves getting the best of him once again?

Trent stood straighter. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “Merry Christmas, Mr Marin. I wish you joy and happiness this winter… I mean, this Christmas day.”

Conjuring cockups and clusterfucks! “I mean, I wish you joy and happiness this Christmasseason!”

Mr Marin raised his gaze, pausing in his examination of the seeds. He blinked, or he blinked in that strange manner of his. From the side of each eye, two clear eyelids passed over his blue eyes before retreating.

Mr Marin turned towards the front windows. “Is it the Christmas season already?”

“It’s December first,” Trent said.

“Time does sneak up on us, doesn’t it? But that’s what it does. Time creeps along as we go about our routines. Suddenly seconds turn to minutes, turn to days, turn to weeks, turn to months, turn to years. Our lives slip away, and they are gone forever.”

Mr Marin paused. “How many years have passed only barely noticed?”

Trent assumed the question was hypothetical, so he didn’t answer. Mr Marin continued to stare at the windows.

Trent swallowed, unsure if he should continue. When he had rehearsed asking Mr Marin on a date, he’d not considered that Mr Marin would stare out the window and muse about the perpetual passage of time.

Trent pressed his lips together. Now just didn’t seem the right time to ask him on a date. The mood felt wrong.

Trent dropped his gaze to the brass buttons on the simple black coat Mr Marin wore. Although the sleeves were long, they were rolled back so he could reach his arms into the water tanks as needed. This meant his toned blue arms remained on display. Water glistened on his skin.

After a few more moments of silent contemplation, Mr Marin returned his gaze to the dark seeds on the glass plate. Without any more comments to Trent, he took a small pair of tweezers, picked up each seed, and placed it on a small white cloth.

“It’s lucky you have the fresh elothea seeds every day,” Trent said.