Page 11 of Bewitched By the Siren (The Bewitching Hour #1)
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Brendan
I look toward Hali’s house for the seventeenth time since I came down here, and this time, I’m not disappointed.
She’s coming. I’ve been sitting here, twiddling my thumbs for the last ten minutes while refusing to open the picnic basket.
I didn’t want to start eating and have her show up while I have a fat burrito sticking out of my mouth.
I give her a wave and a smile as she approaches, then flip open the basket while she kicks off her sandals and plops down on the blanket next to me.
“Here you are, Milady,” I say as I hand her a foil-wrapped burrito with an exaggerated flourish.
“Why, thank you, kind sir,” she replies, making my chest warm as she plays along.
I pull out the thermos of coffee and a single-serving bottle of orange juice and hold them up. Hali nods toward the coffee while she unwraps her burrito, and I quickly grab the mug I stashed in the basket and fill it up for her.
A cool breeze blows off the ocean, hitting me in the face, and I wonder if Hali is cold.
She’s wearing a pair of tiny cotton shorts and a crop top while I’m dressed in sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt.
Despite the afternoon heat and humidity the last couple of days, the mornings have been chilly.
Like November mornings are supposed to be.
I hope she won’t use the chill in the air as an excuse to cut this little breakfast date short.
Wait. No. Not date .
“Oh, my God, this is so good,” she says from behind her palm, breaking the silence as she chews her first bite.
“The key is scrambling the eggs in the leftover bacon grease,” I say with a grin as I pull one out for myself and begin to unwrap it.
“I always do,” she says, shaking her head. “What kind of cheese is in here?”
“Extra sharp white cheddar,” I say, and she nods at me with wide eyes.
“Perfect choice.”
Setting her burrito down in front of her, she picks up the mug of coffee I poured and takes a careful sip.
I added cream and sugar to the thermos, hoping she takes her coffee that way, and it seems I was right.
She hums a little sound of pleasure as she stares out at the ocean, her expression wistful.
“Do you want to go swimming?” I ask when she doesn’t take her eyes off the water for several long moments.
It’s too cold, really, but I’d go in with her if she really wants to.
“What? No!” she barks vehemently, making my head rear back a few inches. Then she clears her throat. “Sorry, what I meant was no, thank you. I just like looking at the water.”
“Do you not know how to swim?” I ask carefully. “I can teach you, if you want.”
I keep my tone light, not wanting to embarrass her if that is, indeed, the case.
I quickly discover it’s not when she glances at me with wide, glassy eyes just before peals of laughter ring from her lips.
She leans forward and gasps for oxygen, and her laughter is contagious––even though it’s quite likely at my own expense.
I laugh with her, chuckling as she blows out a harsh breath and wipes tears from her eyes.
“Sorry. Sorry,” she huffs between some lingering giggles. She shakes her head and clears her throat before adding, “I grew up on this beach. Of course, I know how to swim. I was just surprised by your question. The water’s a little cold to be swimming this time of year.”
I nod in acceptance of her explanation, but the wheels in my head are spinning. That was quite an over-reaction to my question, even if the water is too cold. Could there be something else? Something she’s not telling me?
Maybe she doesn’t want me to see her in a bathing suit? My eyes trail over her exposed skin. No, that can’t be it. Her body is gorgeous, and she’s showing almost as much skin now as she would in a swimsuit.
Whatever it is, she obviously doesn’t want to say, so I should be smart and change the subject. I bite into my burrito and chew for a moment before meeting her gaze.
“So, you’ve spent your whole life here? What was it like, growing up?”
Her lips curve upward, and relief flows through me. Obviously, this topic isn’t taboo.
“It was amazing. Every day was an adventure when I was little. Swimming, fishing, hunting for crabs and seashells. I was a late-in-life baby, but Mom had the energy of a twenty-something when I was little. She made every moment magical.”
“And your dad?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Never in the picture.”
I just nod, letting the subject drop. If she wants to tell me more, she will. Besides, I’m still basically a stranger to her. I’m lucky she’s opening up, at all.
“Well, Circe Key is certainly a charming place,” I say before taking another bite of my breakfast.
“It really is,” she agrees. “We have a close-knit community with lots of events that bring us together.”
“Like what?” I ask, screwing off the top of the juice and taking a long sip.
“We have the Christmas Jubilee at the beginning of every December where the whole island congregates to watch the lighting of the town Christmas tree. You just missed the Halloween Haunt last month. Everyone dresses up and visits the businesses downtown for trick-or-treating,” she says, pausing to take another bite of her burrito.
Once she swallows, she says, “And there’s the Oyster Roast fundraiser that happens every January.
Some of the proceeds from that go to the Sea Turtle Center.
Oh! The Shrimp and Grits festival is next weekend. I’m actually performing at that one.”
“Shrimp and what?” I ask, my eyebrows raised high.
“Grits,” she says with a laugh. “Have you never had grits before?”
“I’ve never heard of it. What is it? Is it…gritty?”
She laughs again. “I can tell you’re not from the south. Grits is a staple, here. I guess it’s kind of like cream of wheat, only it’s made from ground-up corn, instead. Add some butter and cheese, and yum.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I say, chuckling. “And I’m in for the festival. What time should we meet up?”
She freezes, her eyes widening as she asks, “You want to go…together?”
I shrug like it’s no big deal, when it is, in fact, a very big deal to me.
“You’re my official Circe Key tour guide, aren’t you?” I ask.
She just stares at me for a long moment, and I can practically see the wheels spinning in her head. Finally, she murmurs, “I guess I am.”
“Great,” I say before she can backpedal. “Then it’s settled.”
“I…uh…should probably get back,” she says, and I fight to keep my expression neutral and not show her the disappointment I feel.
“Thanks for joining me,” I say. “This was fun.”
She nods in response, reaches over to pluck a leftover burrito from the basket before picking up what’s left of the one she’s been eating, then stands and slips her flip-flops back on. Giving me a little wave, she spins and walks away as fast as the thick blanket of sand will allow.
She’s still a little skittish when it comes to me, but she did agree to go to the festival with me in a week and a half. Progress. She’s not completely opposed to spending time with me in the future. My lips curve up into a wide smile.
I call that a win.