Page 19 of Goldilocks
The third cup wasn’t chipped, and its white polish was still white. Sam set the two cups he’d been using for years aside and took out the third. Written in the same messy child-scrawl was E-R-I-C. The painting on this one was of two stick figures with red flames for hair and green blobs for eyes. The stick figures’ arms were conjoined, probably meant to look like they were holding hands, and there was writing beneath the figures. Not Sam’s messy child writing, but the neat and uniform lettering of a teacher.
Sam blinked several times and angled the cup toward the window to bathe it in moonlight to help decipher the lettering.
A soft crack drifted in through the open door. Sam twisted toward the doorway, recognising the sound of a crunching shell. He replaced the cup on the shelf and took the two older ones and a clean tea towel. “Wait for me. I’ll shuck them,” Sam said as he left the cabin. “I don’t want you to cut yourself.”
Devil held a separated shell in his hand. Sam approached and saw one of the oysters halved. Sam leaned forward to peer at the oyster and saw the body rested perfectly intact. Devil held the shell level, keeping all the liquid inside the bottom bowl as he carefully severed the muscle, holding it to the shell. Devil had perfectly shucked the oyster.
“You’re better at it than me,” Sam said, a hint of admiration in his voice. His dad had taught him how to shuck, and any other fisherman would have cried to see how many oysters were ruined before he’d mastered it. Oisín had shown his usual patience; he never made learning stressful for Sam.
Sam placed the two cups down and picked up the bottle. “You don’t have a cork opener in that box, do you?”
Devil set the knife down and held out his hand, looking at Sam expectantly. Sam handed him the bottle, and while his hand was still hanging in the air between them, Devil fit the shucked oyster into his palm.
“Thanks.” Sam raised it to his nose, smelling, and checked to be sure there were no bits of shell or mud. He was aware of Devil’s intense stare on him as he finally raised the shell and swallowed the oyster in one go. Briny, soft, and tasting of the ocean, the oyster was definitely Irish. Oysters were one of the sea creatures Connor would never eat when they dated, and Sam had taken special care not to ever accept them from other fishermen when they were together. But they weren’t dating anymore, and Sam was more than happy to partake. Though even if he didn’t like oysters, he’d probably still tell the waiting merman they were his favourite food ever.
“It’s good,” Sam said, meeting Devil’s eyes. “Thank you.”
A satisfied look transformed Devil’s face. For once, his top lip didn’t twitch as if ready to become a snarl at a moment’s notice. His eyes softened, and the sound that hummed from his throat, leaving the gills just beneath his jaw flaring out, was one of contentment.
And while making that pleased sound, he pulled the cork out of the bottle with his bare hands and poured the liquid into Sam’s cup. It smelled like a fruity champagne, and under Devil’s watchful eye, Sam took a sip and discovered it tasted much better than any champagne he’d had before. Not that he’d ever experimented much with champagne, but this hit his tongue with a fruity burst, and his expression clearly gave him away because Devil’s pleased hum reignited.
Devil hummed to himself the entire time as he shucked oysters and made Sam eat them all, making sure he drank champagne all the while. At the end of the feast and drink, Sam was giggling at Devil’s tail swishing in the water in irritation and his little grunt of a garbled ‘no’ every time Sam tried to make him have an oyster as well. Devil fled when Sam determinedly tried to make him eat the last one; he watched Sam from the water at a safe distance. He watched patiently – far, far more patiently than Sam – until Sam relented and ate it. Devil released a pleased chuff before he dipped below the flat ocean.
Sam waited only a short while to be sure Devil wasn’t returning before he stumbled to his cabin and got his bed laid out with clumsy fingers.
Sam lay out in the cabin when drowsiness weighed down his limbs, and as his head buzzed and his body glowed, the letters of the cup, which his mind had apparently been decoding during the feast, came to him.
Best big brother!
Chapter Seven
Sam was hungover when the evening and his agreed meet-up with Eric rolled around. When he’d woken up on his boat that morning, his head had ached like crazy, and he’d wanted nothing more than to roll over, pull his blanket over his head and go back to sleep. Unfortunately, he really couldn’t miss class with midterm essays and assignments due soon, so he’d forced himself up, despaired at the sound of the rumbling engine as he motored back to the pier, and drove himself into college for a gruelling day of bright lights and piercing voices.
Sam sipped his MiWadi and hoped that his stomach would behave itself for dinner. Sally’s bar was half full, only one or two visitors mingling with the locals, and Sam was at one of the tables against the window of the bar. He fought the urge to bend over and cradle his head in front of everyone.
Conflicted feelings stirred as Ivan and Eric entered the pub. If yesterday was any indication, then leaving him and Eric alone together was a sure recipe for awkwardness, but he’d gotten on even worse with Ivan. Sam had debated texting Eric and cancelling the entire meet-up all day, but the image of the ‘Eric’ cup had rooted itself in Sam’s brain and refused to leave. As for Ivan…his entreaty had burrowed into Sam’s conscience.Please don’t treat Eric badly. Clearly, he cared about Eric, so Sam would give him another chance. Provided they didn’t start talking about his dad the way they had yesterday.
Sam lifted his hand to catch their attention, and the two men approached. Both wore shirts that exposed their arms, and Sam’s gaze was drawn to their tattoos. The blank geometric patterns decorating Ivan’s biceps were pleasing to the eye.
Ivan flexed his arms and grinned when Sam’s gaze flicked up, catching his. “If you’re interested in a tattoo, you can swing by my shop.” He sat on the stool nearest Sam. “Eric and I live in the city, so it’s a bit of a drive, but you can always crash at our place. Make a night of it.”
Eric slid onto the stool on the far side of Ivan, his body overly controlled, his movements mechanical.
Not a hint of their conflict yesterday was present in Ivan. Sam’s headache meant he had to remind himself of his resolution to try again three more times before he accepted that meantactuallygiving them another chance. He didn’t want to sabotage any chance of a positive relationship by getting thick with them.
“I do like them,” Sam agreed. “Did the same person design them?”
“I did, and he drew it for me.” Ivan jutted his chin at Eric. “Hasn’t a spec of talent for drawing anything new, but he’s an absolute whiz at putting designs onto skin.” He cast Eric a reassuring smile, and when their eyes met, the tension in Eric’s body seemed to ease away.
Laurence popped up at the edge of the table, holding a glass. His dirty-blond hair had grown out since Sam had seen him last, unkempt strands at the front long enough to cover his eyebrows. “Sally wants to know are you driving?” he asked Sam.
“I walked over from my boat.” Sam had been doing homework in the cabin to kill time before meeting Eric. “Does she need someone to run to the shop? I’m not parked far; I can go get something.” He glanced at the bar where Sally was talking to Marty, the local who ran the bookstore. Her hair was cut into a harsh bob, and even from his spot across the room, he could see a glint in her eye and menace in her smile. Sam noticed she often had that look when talking to Marty.
Laurence placed the drink in his hand in front of Sam. “Rum and coke, Sally said it’s on her.” His dark-brown eyes darted to Eric. To Sam. To Eric. To Sam. “You have a brother?” For some reason, Laurence sounded thrilled at the prospect.
“This is Eric.”
Laurence’s eyes shone as he cast a winning smile at Eric. “I love your tattoos,” he said. “I’m Laurence, Connor’s brother.”