Page 14

Maxine

“Ouch!” I nicked my finger on the fish hook I was fiddling with and promptly stuck the injured digit in my mouth. It was all patched up in two seconds flat, a la vampire healing, and I dumped the offending hook back into Leah’s tackle box with a sigh.

“Serves you right for snooping through my stuff.” Leah tittered from across the small living room, messing about in another box of doodads.

“I wasn’t snooping!” I sat back in the creaking wicker chair, folding my arms indignantly. “God forbid I try to take an interest in your interests.”

Leah looked up from the box she was rummaging in. “You’re interested in fishing now?”

“Not anymore.” I sniffed, sliding the tacklebox away with my foot. “My pride and my pinkie finger have been wounded.”

She rolled her eyes, shoving a collection of odd sciency devices into her gym bag and shrugging it over her shoulder. “Well, there’s a rod in the back if you change your mind. I’ll be out at the aquarium all day so you’ll have to find some way to entertain yourself.”

“I have the latest Vanity Fair and a date with a curling iron.” I gestured to the glossy magazine lying open on the couch.

Leah had been kind enough to grab me a copy on her way home from work, and I was clever enough to always keep my curling iron in my purse in case of emergencies.

“I think I’ll be fine without your fishing rod. ”

“All right then.” Leah was only half listening, already heading for the door. “Just don’t burn the boat down while I’m gone.”

“No promises!” I called after her, pinging up from the chair and waving as she stepped off the boat, a smile plastered on my face. “And tell Rachel I say hi!”

Her groan carried across the water and she gave a noncommittal wave over her shoulder, stomping along the jetty in her decrepit boots.

The moment Leah disappeared out of sight a hush fell over the boat, and with it, the buoyant mask I’d worn for her sake slipped off.

My hand sank to my side, and the smile I’d forced onto my face dissolved, leaving in its wake the worry that had been gnawing at me since the day I’d faced that wax woman in the alleyway.

I stared at the magazine on the couch, a glossy beacon of distraction, my curling iron poking out of my purse. Normally, I’d revel in a moment like this: alone on the water, free to indulge in a bit of self-care, maybe even try out some new look that might impress Leah when she got home.

But the weight pressing on my chest wouldn’t allow such luxuries.

It was him . Gregor. He was here, skulking around the city, if that wax monstrosity was any indication.

A twisted scout, or a warning, or whatever horrifying half-measure he’d used to track me down.

My stomach churned at the memory of that gurgling voice, those empty glass eyes staring up at me from the gutter.

Instinct said to run again. Take off, vanish before Gregor could come knocking on this door and put Leah in danger.

Let her wake up tomorrow, confused and probably hurt, but safe – spared from the shadows that clung to me.

She wouldn’t have to watch me face down old demons, or end up a casualty in the process.

And yet… I couldn’t. I couldn’t do that to her a second time. The thought of leaving her now, after we had slowly rebuilt the bridge between us, felt like digging a hole in my chest and walking away without my heart.

She had welcomed me back into her life with cautious warmth, nursed me through bouts of terror I tried so hard to hide. She gave me a place to sleep, a reason to stay, a sense of belonging in a world that had suddenly become far too lonely.

It would be downright selfish to stay, knowing the danger lingering on the horizon, but leaving felt even more cruel.

I glanced around the small, cozy living area.

The evidence of our makeshift life together was everywhere: the pile of marine biology journals Leah had thrust at me, insisting I “broaden my literary horizons”, the stray knit blanket I’d wrapped around myself last night – a relic that once belonged to Leah’s grandmother.

Every detail whispered a promise of something good, something genuine that I was downright terrified of ruining.

I felt like a terrible person. Choosing my own happiness, my own longing for Leah’s companionship, over her safety. Still, my body wouldn’t move, wouldn’t let me gather my things and slink away into the city sprawl.

Plopping down onto the couch, I ran a hand through my hair and eyed the curling iron, half-tempted to style away my worries. Instead, I flipped through the magazine, my mind a thousand miles away from the glossy photos of couture and celebrity interviews.

The hopeless romantic in me wanted to believe that Leah and I could just be honest with each other.

That I could tell her everything and it would all go down well and we could stay here on this boat forever.

Another part screamed that I’d be dooming her by staying, by dragging her further into the crosshairs of a centuries-old vampire with a twisted sense of ownership.

I sighed, letting the magazine slide to the floor with a muted thud .

The day was warm, but I was cold all over, paralyzed in my indecision.

With nothing better to do, I got to my feet and began a slow pacing around the cramped cabin – back and forth, back and forth – until I realized I was wearing a groove into the floorboards.

I paused at a shelf crammed with odds and ends: battered paperbacks, a jar of random seashells, a half-finished knitting project – knitting? The faint scent of saltwater clung to just about everything, brine and Leah’s earthy presence that made me feel oddly safe.

Safe – but useless. I was caught in limbo. Hesitant to stay, unwilling to leave, and constantly retreading the almost-kiss that occurred between us. Did she feel the same electric current I did? Was she as unsettled and enthralled by it as I was?

What if I was wrong? What if all those fleeting moments were only charged in my imagination? What if her kindness was nothing more than the same compassion she’d always shown everyone?

Even so, beneath all that uncertainty, a tiny, defiant hope had taken root.

The near-kiss haunted me, an indelible sign that perhaps I wasn’t alone in my desire.

And it was desire. It always had been. Every time she caught my gaze, every touch of her fingers that I brushed off as accidental, every quiet moment that seemed to crackle with potential – it all stirred a reckless urge to lean in just a little more.

My gaze landed on a small cupboard I’d never opened. Before I could convince myself to mind my own business, I yanked it open. A hodgepodge of items greeted me: some spare blankets, a box labeled “emergency flares,” and… an unopened set of wine glasses, still in their packaging.

My thumb traced the glossy cardboard, and an idea – a ridiculously impractical, possibly stupid idea – ignited in my brain.

“You’re an idiot,” I muttered to myself. And yet, a small spark of excitement flared in my chest.

Many hours and plenty of cursing later, I scrambled around Myrtle's back deck, adding finishing touches to what I hoped would pass as a classy dinner setting.

The deck was minuscule, but I’d done my best to transform it into something befitting a special occasion. A simple white tablecloth draped over a small folding table, the new wine glasses gleaming under the glow of a couple of paper lanterns, and a few seashells strewn about for good measure.

I had no idea if my cooking would impress anyone, least of all Leah, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me. The pans in the kitchenette were still warm, and the lingering aroma of roasted vegetables and seared fish filled the cabin.

Even though I couldn’t possibly stomach any of it, I’d gone through a bit of a cooking phase a few months back, convinced I was set to become the next Jamie Oliver.

Whether or not that was true was still up for debate, as the only person who had been able to taste my creations was Addison, and she was way too polite for her compliments to be trusted.

I smoothed out the wrinkles of my evening dress, purchased only hours earlier, and adjusted my earrings. With nothing left to do but twiddle my fingers and wait for Leah to get home, I settled on one of the rickety chairs and tried not to think too hard about what I was doing.

A few minutes later, I heard the jetty creak and the boat dipped slightly as Leah stepped onboard.

“Maxine? What smells so good?” she called out, the chime of her voice sending a tingle down my spine. “Where are you?”

“I’m out here!” I answered, trying not to sound too jittery.

She poked her head out the back door, taking in the table, the wine glasses, and the soft lantern glow. Confusion clouded her features. “What’s all this?”

With a blasé smile, I motioned toward her bedroom. “Go check your bed.”

A suspicious gleam lit her eyes. “What did you do, Max?”

“Nothing – nothing! Just trust me, okay?”

She studied me for a beat, taking in my apricot evening dress and carefully curled hair, before turning wordlessly and striding to her bedroom.

I busied myself pouring wine into one of the gleaming glasses and filled the other with another crimson concoction I’d had stashed in my purse since my trip to the bloodbar.

A few minutes later, Leah’s bedroom door creaked and she stepped out onto the deck.

“Maxine, what is all this?” she repeated, her voice softer now, cautious. A touch of bashfulness colored her cheeks as she gestured at herself and the sleek emerald dress she’d slipped into.

I grinned in triumph, and my heart did a funny little somersault in my chest.

Back at the mall, when she’d first tried it on, I knew it was perfect for her. And while she’d huffed and puffed about the price tag, I’d seen the fascination in her eyes. That was enough incentive for me to quietly reserve the dress as soon as Leah wasn’t looking.

I’d gone back to buy it and laid it out on her bed – and good god did she wear it well.

The corset accentuated her slender waist, the tumbling skirt making her look even taller than she already was.

The neckline dipped just enough to be alluring without losing its understated grace.

The nervous hunch in Leah’s posture and the slight wrinkle in her brow did nothing to diminish the effect.

I gestured to the second chair, breath catching in my lungs at the sight of her. “Well, since you hate fancy restaurants, I figured we could bring the fancy restaurant here.”

She blinked, her eyes darting between the table, the loaded plates, the wine, and the city lights twinkling over the harbor. “You… did all this?”

“I did.”

“You can cook ?” Her incredulous look was certainly uncalled for, but I couldn’t fault her for being skeptical.

“More or less.” I shrugged, handing her the glass of wine as she slowly sank into her seat. “You deserve a night off. A real night off, with nice food and nice clothes, minus all the stuffy crowds.”

Leah accepted the glass, taking in the scene with wide, incredulous eyes.

I cleared my throat and lifted my own glass, suddenly bashful when she fixed her gaze on me. “I know I’ve basically been freeloading for the past few weeks. So, this is me saying thank you, and… that I care about you, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I do – care about you.” I stammered out the words, shaking my head with a nervous laugh. “Look, can we just get this toast out of the way so you can get on with praising my culinary skills?”

Leah’s lips curved into a smile that started shy and grew more confident with each passing second. The breeze played gently with her hair and the city lights twinkled on the water like a thousand falling stars.

She lifted her glass, her voice warm and buttery to my ears. “A toast then, to freeloading.”

“Here, here.” I clinked my glass against hers. “To letting me invade your life – and your boat.”

“And cheers to you, Maxine. For sticking around this time.” She paused, eyes dipping for a moment before she glanced back at me, a wistful smile tugging at her lips. “You didn’t have to, but I’m glad you did.”