Page 13 of Bewitched By the Siren (The Bewitching Hour #1)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Brendan

I can’t stop smiling. Hali and I may not be best friends, yet, or anything, but I feel like I made some serious inroads this morning.

Closing the door behind me, I walk into the kitchen and set the basket on the counter. Taking the single leftover burrito out, I stick it in the fridge before tossing the trash and dumping the remaining coffee into the sink.

My phone chimes as I rinse the thermos out, so I set it down and dry my hands before fishing the device out of my pocket. My brow furrows in confusion when I see an unknown number with a local area code.

912-555-4040: Do you still want a tour of the Sea Turtle Center?

Oh, shit. It’s Hali. How did she get my number?

I remember giving her my card the night we met, but I assumed she just threw it away. Obviously, she didn’t. My chest warms as I read the text again. I consider teasing her by asking who’s texting, but quickly disregard the idea.

I have a feeling reaching out like this wasn’t easy for her, and I’m not about to make her even more uncomfortable by giving her a hard time. My thumbs fly over the screen as I type out a reply.

Me: Absolutely. I’d love to. When were you thinking?

912-555-4040: This morning? I can meet you out front in half an hour.

Me: I’ll be ready.

Me: Thanks, Hali.

Dropping my phone to the counter, I rush into my bedroom to grab a change of clothes before heading into the bathroom to take a quick shower. Letting the water wash away any lingering sand from the beach, I think about how I’m feeling.

I’m excited Hali reached out. Really excited. But why?

Is it because she’s giving me an in to get closer to her, and that’ll make it easier to get her to sign? Or is it something else? Something deeper?

It feels like more, but I don’t have time to dwell on it.

Squirting some hair and body wash into my palm, I soap up everywhere before rinsing off.

Shutting off the water, I hop out and dry off quickly before dressing in a pair of khaki shorts and a lavender polo shirt that I know brings out the blue in my eyes.

After running some product through my damp hair and brushing my teeth, I apply my deodorant and spritz on some cologne.

Sliding on some socks and shoes, I head back into the kitchen to grab my phone. The time display tells me I have about ten minutes to spare, so I grab a bottle of water and head out onto my porch to wait for Hali.

Five minutes later, she walks out, looking beautiful in a white sundress with tiny purple flowers all over it and matching strappy sandals. I hop out of my chair and jog down the steps with a wide smile.

“It’s turning out to be a gorgeous day,” I say as I fall into step beside her.

“It’s supposed to turn colder in a few days,” she replies, and are we really discussing the weather?

“Winter is coming.”

I guess we are.

“Did you just quote Ned Stark?”

I just grin back at her, happy she caught the Game of Thrones reference. She must’ve watched the show. Something we have in common. This is good.

“How is the weather in California this time of year?” she asks, taking us back to the topic of weather.

I resist the frown that threatens to tug my lips downward. Is she just looking to keep the conversation going? Or is she trying to subtly remind me that my time here on Circe Key is short?

“It’s cooler,” I say, then shrug. “And when I say ‘cooler,’ I mean it drops to the mid-sixties most days.”

“It’s about the same, here,” she says, surprising me.

“I thought it would be colder here.”

She shakes her head, and I can feel the conversation petering out. I rack my brain for something else to talk about and start to panic when I draw a blank.

Come on, man. Think.

“Too bad you didn’t come in August. You could’ve watched the sea turtles hatch and race toward the water,” she says, saving me.

“I would’ve loved to see that,” I say, relief filling me.

“It’s an amazing experience.”

“So, what do you do, exactly, at the center?”

Her shoulders relax as we step up onto the sidewalk in town and head toward the building in question.

“I’m just a volunteer, so I get all the grunt work. Cleaning tanks. Mopping floors. Stuff like that. But sometimes I get to feed the turtles. And I’m there to witness every release. That makes it all worth it.”

“I bet,” I say. “That sounds amazing.”

“It really is. I cry every time,” she admits, her cheeks turning a bit rosy.

“I’d probably cry, too,” I say, and she looks over at me with a grateful expression.

We walk up the steps to the front door of the center, and I pick up the pace so I reach the door before her.

Pulling it open, I step aside so she can enter first, and she gives me a small nod in thanks.

Hali leads me over to a reception desk where a dark-haired woman sits, typing at a computer.

When she looks up and sees us, she smiles.

“Good morning, Hali. I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

“Susannah, this is Brendan. Is it okay if I give him a quick tour?”

“Of course,” Susannah says, looking up at me with a warm smile. “Nice to meet you, Brendan.”

I offer her a hand, and she takes it as I say, “Nice to meet you, too.”

“You guys can go on back,” she says, releasing my hand. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Susannah,” Hali says, then looks at me. “You ready?”

“Absolutely,” I say.

She smiles and leads me through a door into a cavernous room filled with big round tanks. I follow her down a few steps to the main floor where she stops beside the first tank. Stepping up to it, I look inside to see a giant turtle swimming around.

“This is Jimmy Buffet,” Hali says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “He was found, injured, ten years ago. We think he got hit by a boat. See how his shell is deformed?”

I nod, unable to miss the large sunken area in the middle of his shell. “Does it hurt?”

“I’m sure it hurt when it happened, but not so much, anymore.

The problem is, the deformity left him with an air pocket inside his shell.

That black box on top is actually a weight to help him submerge.

It’s attached with an epoxy, but it doesn’t last forever.

We have to reattach it every few months, which means he can never be released into the wild.

Once the weight falls off, he can only float at the surface and wouldn’t be able to feed himself. ”

“That’s so sad,” I say, my brow furrowing as I watch Jimmy dart across his little pool.

“It is,” she says, “but Jimmy has a good life here. He’s our mascot, of sorts, and when we hold tours, he teaches people about the dangers of boats to sea creatures.”

I follow Hali to the next tank, where she stops and smiles down at a turtle that looks perfectly healthy to my untrained eyes. When I move in beside her, she looks up at me with a smile.

“This is Roxy. She came in with an intestinal blockage after she swallowed part of a plastic grocery bag. The team got her all fixed up with a mixture of fiber and vegetable oil, she passed the plastic, and she’s due to be released next week.”

“I’d love to see that,” I say.

Hali looks a bit startled, then covers it with a soft smile and a nod.

It’s obvious she doesn’t expect me to still be here for the Roxy’s release.

Hell, I don’t even know if I’ll still be here, despite our conversation this morning about going to the festival together.

It depends on Julius and whether or not I can come through for him this weekend.

But if I am still here, I’m definitely going to try to witness Roxy’s release.

As Hali leads me around to show me the rest of the patients at the center and explains what she does, I can feel her passion for the work emanating from her.

This isn’t something she does just to make herself feel better.

She has a real love for these animals and wants to make their world a better place.

A new respect for her blooms inside me. She’s selfless and generous when it comes to this place and the work they do. Her warm heart shines through her words as she speaks, and I find myself just watching her. Soaking in her glow.

By the time we finish the tour and head out, I feel like I know Hali Weston a lot better than I did when I woke up this morning.

And I can tell by her posture that she feels a new level of comfort with me, too.

“Do you want to grab something to eat? Or do you need to get back home?” I ask, hoping she’ll say yes.

There’s a hiccup in her stride when I ask, then she settles back into a steady rhythm, saying, “I should get back to check on my mom. She’s…not well.”

“Okay, I understand,” I say, swallowing the probing questions I really want to ask.

“She has muscular dystrophy,” she offers, and my head jerks in her direction.

She shakes her head at my alarm. “It’s a long, progressive disease.

She’s lost the use of her legs, so she needs help with everything.

That’s why I sing at Memaw’s. The money helps pay for part-time in-home health care, and I take care of her the rest of the time.

I’m saving up, because soon, she’ll need a full-time nurse. ”

“God, Hali. I’m sorry,” is all I can think to say.

But the wheels are spinning in my head, and suddenly, Hali’s refusal to entertain a record deal that’ll be certain to take her away from this place makes perfect sense. It’s not just that she doesn’t want to leave. She can’t .

Shit.

She waves off my condolences, saying, “It’s fine. Mom is in good spirits and faces each day like a champ.”

I nod, watching the ground at my feet as we walk.

How am I supposed to––in clear conscience––try to convince Hali to leave her sick mother and move to L.A.

to become the next pop superstar? And on the other hand, how can I not?

If I don’t deliver on this one, Julius might fire me. Then where will I be?

Just thinking it fills me with shame. Could I be more selfish and self-serving? But what other choice do I have?

“Mom said thanks for the burrito this morning, by the way,” she says with grin, breaking me out of the shame spiral I was drowning in. “She devoured it.”

“That’s good,” I say, smiling back at her, then I cock my head. “Hey, I’d love to cook dinner for you both sometime this week.”

She looks a bit startled, then seems to think it over as we walk the last stretch of our journey. She stops in front of my rental, and turns to face me with a small nod.

“Okay. That sounds fun. But it can’t be tonight. I have…plans.”

“Tomorrow, then?” I ask, biting my tongue against the urge to ask what her plans are.

Does she have a date? And why does that possibility make my stomach hurt?

“Tomorrow is good,” she says, then turns toward her house.

“Thanks for the tour,” I call out to her retreating back. “I had a lot of fun this morning.”

She glances over her shoulder at me and says, “So did I.”

Then she looks forward and rushes up the steps to her house. I watch as she disappears inside, my lips curving upward. She had fun. With me.

It feels like a giant leap forward, and I can’t wait to take the next one. Tomorrow night. I’m cooking for Hali and her mom, so the meal needs to be perfect.

I head up to my front door and hurry inside to start planning. Tomorrow, I can go to the grocery store to pick up everything I need.

Tonight, I’ll have to find a way to keep myself busy so I don’t obsess over Hali and these “plans” of hers.

I can just put it out of my head.

I’ll be fine.

Completely and totally chill.

Yeah. Right.