Page 32 of Kiss for My Kraken (Fairhaven Falls #8)

T wo months later…

Sam broke through the thin layer of ice with barely a ripple, slicing effortlessly through the frigid water.

The December cold that turned the river’s edges to ice had little effect on him—kraken biology had its advantages.

He surveyed the frozen shoreline, admiring how the fresh snow transformed Fairhaven Falls into something from a storybook.

White-dusted pines stood sentinel along the banks. The tavern’s warm lights glowed in the distance, a beacon in the early winter twilight. He’d make his way there soon to meet Nina after her shift, but first, he needed to check on the beaver dam upstream.

Almost two months had passed since the Halloween festival, two months of profound change.

The transition from solitary river dweller to active community member had been less jarring than he’d expected.

He found himself looking forward to his interactions with the townspeople, no longer viewing them as potential threats but as neighbors, even friends.

He dove deeper, his body perfectly adapted to the cold currents. Fish scattered before him, their silver bodies flashing in the murky light. The river felt different in winter—quieter, more contemplative, as if it too were conserving energy for spring’s inevitable return.

The beaver dam appeared intact, a solid construction of branches and mud that created a small, sheltered pool.

The family had settled in for winter, their lodge secure against predators, and he moved on, satisfied.

These small ecological checks had once been his private ritual; now they formed part of his regular reports to Aidan.

Aidan’s initial interest in his observations had turned into weekly meetings to compare notes on water quality, wildlife patterns, and seasonal changes.

As he headed back to town, he reflected on how radically his existence had changed. His world had been defined by the river’s boundaries for so long, but now his days included regular ventures onto land, conversations with townsfolk, even attendance at community events.

Just last week, he’d helped judge the winter ice sculpture contest, his unique understanding of water in all its forms proving surprisingly useful.

Children greeted him by name, begging for stories about life beneath the river’s surface.

Some even left small offerings—colorful stones or handmade crafts—at the edge of the dock, gifts he reciprocated with polished river treasures.

The tavern came into view and he surfaced carefully, scanning for observers out of habit before pulling himself onto the small platform Ben had installed specifically for his visits.

He shed his river form—not completely, never completely—but enough to walk comfortably on land, then dressed quickly in the clothes he’d stored in a waterproof container at the back of the platform.

Simple jeans, a thick sweater Nina had chosen, boots.

Still strange, still constraining, but increasingly familiar.

He made his way around to the front of the tavern, nodding to a few people he knew. Old Mrs. Hendricks waved cheerfully from across the street, no longer startled by his presence. Each small interaction reinforced his growing sense of belonging.

The tavern’s warmth hit him as he entered, along with the mingled scents of pine, cinnamon, and Ben’s famous winter stew.

Christmas decorations hung from every available surface—Nina’s influence, no doubt.

The grumpy proprietor had initially resisted her enthusiasm but eventually surrendered to her persistent holiday spirit.

“Look what the river dragged in,” George called from behind the bar, his werewolf senses having detected Sam’s arrival before the door fully opened.

“Evening, George,” Sam responded, still finding his voice slightly rough after extended periods underwater. “Busy night?”

“Not too bad. Snow’s keeping most folks home.” George slid a mug across the counter. “Hot cider. Nina’s idea.”

He accepted the drink with a nod of thanks, wrapping his hands around the warm ceramic.

Another adjustment—hot beverages. Nina had introduced him to a bewildering variety, insisting he try everything from coffee to hot chocolate.

The spiced cider had emerged as a favorite, its tangy sweetness a pleasant contrast to the clean, mineral taste of his river.

“She’ll be out soon,” George continued, wiping down the counter. “Just finishing up inventory with Ben.”

He settled onto a stool, content to wait.

The tavern’s main room was comfortably familiar now, from the scarred wooden tables to the eclectic collection of music posters adorning the walls.

His gaze lingered on a new addition—a framed watercolor of his island at sunrise, Nina’s signature in the corner.

Ben had hung it in a place of honor near the fireplace, though he’d claimed it was “just to fill the damn space.”

Annabelle fluttered past, her blue wings shedding their customary glitter. “Sam! Perfect timing. Tell Nina her cookies are a hit. Three customers asked for the recipe today.”

“I will,” he promised, smiling slightly at the fairy waitress’s enthusiasm. Nina’s baking experiments had quickly become tavern favorites, her cornbread and cinnamon cookies particular standouts.

He sipped his cider, letting the conversations flow around him.

The manager of the local inn chatted cheerfully with her huge troll mate.

A group of young shifters played cards near the window, their laughter punctuating the gentle hum of activity.

Three months ago, such casual acceptance would have seemed impossible.

Three months ago, I was still hiding , he thought. Still convinced I could never be part of this world.

A door opened at the back of the room, and Nina emerged from the kitchen, her hair piled loosely atop her head, cheeks flushed from the heat. She hadn’t noticed him yet, pausing to speak with Molly near the bar. He watched her, still struck by the simple miracle of her existence in his life.

She wore one of Ben’s aprons over jeans and a green sweater, a pencil tucked behind her ear, her movements quick and confident as she gestured to something on her notepad.

In three months, she’d gone from hesitant newcomer to essential staff member, her natural talent for cooking and organization making her indispensable to the grudgingly appreciative Ben.

She looked up, her eyes finding him instantly, as if some invisible thread connected them across the room. Her whole face brightened, the radiant smile that crossed her features still making his heart stutter.

“Sam!” She weaved through the tables towards him, somehow managing to dodge Annabelle’s wings and a customer’s outstretched leg without breaking stride. “You’re early.”

“The river was quiet,” he explained as she reached him. He resisted the urge to pull her into his arms—another adjustment, learning the boundaries of public affection. Instead, he settled for catching her hand, his thumb tracing the delicate bones of her wrist.

“Let me grab my coat, and we can go.” She squeezed his hand before disappearing into the back room again.

“You’re a lucky man, Sam,” Flora commented, materializing beside him with her typical disregard for personal space. She looked particularly festive in a red and green plaid ensemble that clashed spectacularly with her green skin.

“I know.”

Flora cackled, patting his arm with gnarled fingers. “And humble too! No wonder the universe saw fit to reward you.”

Before he could respond, Nina returned, bundled in her winter coat and carrying a small package.

“Flora, are you harassing my kraken again?”

“Merely offering congratulations on his excellent taste, dear.” Flora winked at him before drifting away, her attention already captured by another conversation.

Nina shook her head fondly. “That woman is determined to be mysterious.” She held up the package. “Leftover stew for Ozzie. Ben pretends he doesn’t like him, but he’s been saving scraps all day.”

“Ready?”

She nodded, calling goodbyes to George and Annabelle as they made their way to the door. Outside, the snow had started again, fat flakes drifting lazily from the darkened sky. She tilted her face upward, catching snowflakes on her eyelashes and tongue.

“I’ll never get tired of this,” she said, her breath fogging in the cold air.

He watched her childlike delight, still amazed by her capacity for wonder. “The river looks different under snow,” he offered. “More secretive.”

She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm as they walked towards the shoreline. “Show me?”

“It’s cold,” he warned, though he knew she’d insist anyway.

“That’s what I have you for,” she replied cheerfully, bumping her shoulder against his arm. “My personal kraken heater.”

At the river’s edge, he helped Nina into their small rowboat. She settled in the stern, wrapping her scarf more securely around her neck as he pushed off, the boat cutting through the thin ice with a satisfying crack.

“We could walk across soon if it keeps freezing,” she observed.

“Never completely,” he replied, his strokes powerful and even. “I’ll keep a channel open.”

She nodded, immediately understanding his need for water access.

The island loomed ahead, the snow-covered trees turning it into a winter wonderland effect.

Light glowed from the cabin windows—he had prepared before coming to meet her, ensuring a fire burned in the hearth and lamps illuminated the path from dock to door.

He secured the boat and helped her onto the dock, steadying her as she found her footing on the slippery wood. Ozzie came bounding through the snow to meet them, his white fur dusted with snow, barking his enthusiastic welcome.

“There’s my boy!” She crouched to ruffle the dog’s ears, laughing as he tried to lick her face. “Yes, I brought you treats. No, you can’t have them all at once.”