Page 16 of Bewitched By the Siren (The Bewitching Hour #1)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Hali

I’m feeling all kinds of twitchy this morning. Sure, I had a nice time hanging out with Brendan last night, and I got in a swim, but he came too close to seeing me phase. A shudder runs through me at the thought. I thought I was being careful, but I obviously wasn’t careful enough.

I can’t let that happen again.

And the only reason I agreed to have a beer with him last night was to determine exactly how much he saw.

But he didn’t bring it up. He wasn’t acting nervous or freaked out at all, which would have been the case if he’s seen me flopping around on the sand with a giant tail before said tail ripped apart to form the legs I have now.

No, he was his normal, easygoing self, and I quickly relaxed. The alcohol helped, too, and before I knew it, I was just as relaxed as he was, laughing and having a great time.

And therein lies the crux.

I can’t let my guard down like that with him or anyone else, for that matter.

I can’t let anyone get too close. It’s resulted in a lonely existence, having only my mother really know me.

The real me. That’s why I don’t have any friends.

My relationships with Memaw and my bandmates are strictly business. Transactional.

And sure, I’ve had a few one-night stands with strangers, singular moments in time where I pretended it eased the lonely ache inside me.

But when each encounter ended, I’ve always used my siren song to make them forget it happened.

To forget that I even exist. It’s a necessary evil, sure, but it leaves an ugly feeling festering inside me, so I’ve limited those moments to only a handful of times.

But with Brendan, it’s different. I can’t make him forget me because there are people in his life who know who I am and why he’s here.

If I let him get too close, let something physical or emotional happen between us, he may try keep me in his life.

He may want to get closer. To learn every one of my secrets.

And if he were to do that, to try, I don’t know if I’d have the will to push him away.

Or I could be delusional, and all he wants is my signature on the dotted line. That all the nice gestures, the laughter, the flirting…all of it could be business tactics for Brendan.

Either way, I can’t let my guard slip like I did last night.

A knock on the door startles me out of my musings, and I set my mug of cooling coffee down on the counter before heading over to answer it.

I spot Brendan through the crack in the curtains as I approach the door.

Stopping, I pat my hair and pull the legs of my shorts down a bit before swinging the door open.

“Good morning,” he says with a wide smile.

“Good morning,” I reply, the words more of a question.

“I just stopped by because I’m headed to the store to buy groceries for tonight, and I wanted to see if you or your mom have any food allergies, first.”

“Oh,” I breathe, my chest warming at his thoughtful consideration. “No, we’re good with anything.”

“Great,” he says. “I’m going to head there now. In my car, this time.”

He grins with that last bit, referencing our last trip to the grocery store and having to carry the bags all the way back here. I nod as if to tell him that’s a good idea, and he cocks his head.

“Are you doing anything right now? I’d love it if you’d come with me. Maybe give me some pointers on what your mom likes to eat so I can impress her.”

That smile is electric, mesmerizing me, and I agree without a second thought. “Sure. Just give me a few minutes to change.”

“You look great,” he says, his eyes skating down my body before snapping back up to meet mine.

Ignoring the hitch in my chest, I shake my head with a laugh and hold up a finger in the universal sign for “give me a minute.” Then I close the door and lean back against it to catch my breath.

My own mood swings are giving me whiplash today.

I spent the whole morning obsessing over what Brendan may or may not have seen last night, replaying our time together afterward, and trying to decipher any context clues I might’ve missed while reinforcing the fact that I can’t let myself get close to him.

And now? Now I’m giddy as a schoolgirl because he smiled at me and said I look good in my pajamas while sporting a serious case of bed-head.

“Get it together, Hali,” I murmur, pushing myself off the door and skipping on light feet through the house.

Popping my head into Mom’s room, I smile at her when she looks up at me, asking, “Who was that at the door?”

“Brendan,” I say, then roll my eyes playfully at her wide grin. “He’s cooking us dinner tonight, so he wants me to go shopping with him to make sure he gets stuff we’ll like.”

“Wait. He’s cooking for us ?”

“Did I forget to tell you?” I ask with a falsely serene smile.

“Forgot on purpose , I’d bet,” she says, narrowing her eyes and making me laugh.

“Seriously, Mom,” I say, sobering. “I did forget. He asked yesterday, and I was so consumed with going for a swim, it slipped my mind.”

“Well, I can’t wait to meet him,” she says, her expression turning giddy.

“He’s just being neighborly,” I warn her.

“Yeah. Sure. Just friends.”

“Mom,” I say, dropping my voice an octave.

“I’ll behave. I promise. Let an old woman be excited to get out of bed and have some company.”

That last bit sends shame spiraling through me. She is stuck in bed a lot. She rarely leaves the house, and we never have company over.

“None of that now,” she says, interpreting my sudden change in mood. “I’m very happy, and you take really great care of me. I’m just excited to meet your new friend, is all.”

“Okay,” I say with a nod. “But if you ever want to do anything or go anywhere, you know all you have to do is ask, right? Ask, and I’ll make it happen.”

“Of course, I do. Now, go before he thinks you’re not coming and leaves without you.”

“Love you, Mom,” I say, and she replies in kind as I hurry down the hall to my own room.

I make short work of changing into a pair of jeans and a lightweight sweater that’s cropped short enough to show a sliver of skin at my waist. After pulling on a pair of socks and shoes, I rush into the bathroom to brush my teeth.

Wetting my hands, I pull my long, tangled tresses into a messy topknot and secure it with an elastic hair tie.

Calling out a good bye to Mom as I pass her bedroom, I rush back to the kitchen to grab my phone.

It has a wallet case with my driver’s license and a credit card inside, so I don’t really need anything else.

Then I speed-walk to the door and swing it open to find Brendan perched on the top step of the porch.

He turns to see me, then smiles and pushes to his feet. “Are you ready?”

“I am,” I say, and he leads the way to his rental car, stopping on the passenger’s side to open the door for me.

I thank him as I slide in, and watch him as he closes the door and jogs around the hood to the driver’s side. Why does this suddenly feel more like a date than a trip to the grocery store?

No. Stop it, Hali. You’re being ridiculous. The last thing you want is for this to be a date.

Mom’s words flash through my mind, encouraging me to open myself up and see where this might go. That Brendan’s impermanence on Circe Key is the perfect opportunity to allow myself to have some fun.

“You okay?”

Brendan’s question snaps me out of my thoughts. “What? I mean, yes. I’m fine. Just zoned out there for a minute.”

He returns his gaze to road, but I can see his eyebrow twitching like he’s tempted to push, to get me to tell him what I was thinking. Then his expression smooths out and the corner of his mouth lifts the tiniest bit.

“So,” he says, “I searched ‘shrimp and grits’ on the internet last night. It definitely looks…interesting.”

“Hey, don’t knock it until you try it, buddy,” I say, nudging his arm with my elbow over the center console.

“I’m not knocking it,” he says quickly, then presses a palm to his chest. “I bow to your expertise.”

And just like that, the tension I was feeling dissipates, and I relax back into my seat just as he pulls the car into the store’s parking lot.

I climb out as soon as he pulls into a spot, not giving him time to come around and open my door––if that’s what he was planning. I don’t want things to get weird again.

Brendan falls into step beside me as we head inside, and I wait as he grabs a buggy from the corral and wheels it back over to me. We head for the meat department, discussing possible meal choices and ultimately deciding on lasagna.

I have to admit, I’m thoroughly impressed the man can make the dish from scratch. Other than the occasional night out at the Italian restaurant downtown, I’ve only ever had the kind that comes frozen in a box.

“Here, put this in the buggy,” I say, holding out a box of freshly grated parmesan.

Brendan freezes, looking at me with a confused expression. “I’m sorry. What?”

“What?”

He reaches out and takes the cheese from me. “Where did you tell me to put this?”

“In the buggy,” I say, my brow furrowing with confusion.

He points toward the receptacle in question and asks, “You mean the cart ?”

I roll my eyes. “You’re in Georgia, now, buddy. That is a buggy.”

“If you say so,” he sing-songs with wide eyes, dropping the cheese into the basket and pushing it forward.

I hurry to catch up, falling into step beside him and saying, “You know, if we were in a town that had one, we’d be filling this buggy at The Pig.”

His head snaps toward me. “ The Pig ?”

I nod. “The Piggly Wiggly , to be exact.”

He barks out a laugh. “You’re making that up.”

“Look it up,” is all I say, and he stares at me for a long moment before fishing his phone from his pocket.

I grin to myself as his eyes widen, then lift to meet mine. Shaking his head, he shoves his phone back into his pocket and pushes the buggy forward, saying, “The south is weird.”

He doesn’t say it with any malice, so I don’t take offense. I just chuckle and walk beside him as we head down the dry goods aisle to find the pasta he’ll need. We make short work of finishing up, and I’m feeling relaxed and happy as we pull out of the lot and head back toward home.

A familiar pop song comes on the radio, and without a thought, I start to sing along. My words cut off, though, when Brendan’s head snaps toward me, his expression confused.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. You just…sound different from when I saw you on stage.”

Oh shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Of course, I sound different to him. I’m wearing my necklace. He doesn’t realize it, but he can tell the difference between my regular voice and my siren-magic voice.

“You still sound amazing,” he quickly adds, mistaking my expression. “It just hits different. It’s probably the different atmosphere and the lack of sound equipment.”

“Yeah,” I say with a nervous laugh. “Isn’t it that way for every performer?”

He stares at me for a long moment, then returns his gaze to the road. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

He’s quiet, and I’m a nervous wreck for the rest of the short trip home. But when he pulls his car in front of my house, he seems to have forgotten the awkwardness as he turns to me with a smile.

“We should just take the groceries into your house, since I’ll be cooking there.”

“Yes. Of course,” I say, and he nods and climbs out of the vehicle.

I meet him by the trunk, and we load up on bags, taking them all in one trip. Once we’re inside and have packed the cold items into the fridge, Brendan pauses to look around. I look, too, seeing the nautical motif with new eyes as he turns to me and cocks his head.

“This is a textbook beach house,” he says with grin, motioning toward the blue and green hues, the wooden anchor on the wall, and the shelf of seashells on the wall opposite the sink.

“It’s kind of my mom’s thing,” I say. “She loves everything about the ocean.”

An uncomfortable silence falls then, and Brendan seems to take notice. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he smiles and says, “Five o’clock, then?”

I nod, and his smile widens. He gives me a little wave and sees himself out. Once the door closes behind him, I deflate, leaning back against the counter with a sigh.

What have I gotten myself into, here?