Page 29 of Purring for Her Lion (Harmony Glen #5)

A Cozy Monster Romance with Fake Dating, Deep Feelings, and One Very Regretful Selkie

She faked a romance to forget him…

Then he walked back into her lake.

Cora San Pedro has her lakeside life all figured out—low drama, high sunscreen, and a best friend who happens to be a shark-shifter with abs for days.

So when her selkie ex returns to town like some moody, sea-slick heartache ghost, Cora grabs the nearest himbo (thanks, Rex!) and pretends to be wildly in love.

Everything’s going great until Rex accidentally hires Muir—the very selkie she’s trying to avoid—for their dive business.

Now she’s stuck on a boat with the ex she never got closure from and the best friend who’s very bad at pretending. With lake legends swirling and old feelings bubbling, Cora’s summer is about to get messy.

Expect banter, bite, and a love story that swims deeper than it looks.

Chapter One

Cora

The lake sings to me, like always. Its voice is low, secret, meant for a sirena alone. I trail my fingers along the water as our last paddleboard tour glides toward shore. The lake knows me; it curls around my wrist, familiar and cool.

Summer is here in Harmony Glen, and I’d almost forgotten the rush of being surrounded by tourists who have no idea what I am. They stare, wide-eyed, as I tell stories of lake spirits. They never guess they’re listening to one.

Behind me, Rex paddles with smooth, powerful strokes. He’s always efficient in the water, his were-shark nature making him relentless. Predictable. I don’t turn, but I smile. He hates when I call him out on it.

“And that, folks, wraps up our sunset eco-tour of The Lake,” I call, my voice carrying across the water like it was made for this. Sirena gift. “Remember, what the lake gives, we protect. Leave nothing but ripples.”

Five tourists follow, flushed and breathless. They spent the afternoon learning about the ecosystem, never knowing half the “wildlife” was water sprites playing in the shallows. Better that way. In Harmony Glen, the supernatural floats just beneath the surface, polite and undetected.

My board grates softly on the sand. I hop off, feet sinking into the cool shore. A woman wobbles uncertainly on her board; I catch her hand.

“That was simply magical,” she gushes, clinging to me as she steps onto land. “The way you told the history of the lake—I swear I could almost hear those old songs.”

She probably did. My voice sometimes carries more than words. “That’s Harmony Glen for you,” I say, tapping my throat. “Stories come alive here.”

Rex joins me, all six-foot-three and broad-shouldered, his dark hair dry as ever. Show-off.

“Don’t forget to leave a review,” he says with a grin, just a hint of fang showing. “San Pedro Eco-Tours runs on word of mouth and Cora’s cooking.”

I elbow him. “Ignore him. We run on respect for nature and my superior lake folklore.”

“And lumpia,” he adds, earning another jab.

The tourists laugh, gathering their bags, drifting toward the parking lot with waves and thank-yous. I watch them go, my smile relaxing as I turn to Rex.

“Another successful con,” I say, bumping his hip as we drag our boards to the storage shed. “Convincing humans that lake sprites are just ‘rare amphibians.’”

He snorts. “The ‘rare amphibian’ braiding that lady’s hair underwater? Sure.”

“She thought it was fascinating how the plants ‘interacted’ with her.” I imitate the woman’s awed voice. “Better she thinks it’s algae than realizes Sali was trying to make her a best friend.”

“That little menace has boundary issues.” Rex racks our boards with a single motion, back muscles flexing beneath his shirt. No wonder half the town has a crush on him.

“All water sprites do,” I say, grabbing our life vests. “It’s a cultural thing.”

“Says the woman who sang to a fish until it jumped into her hand.”

“I was being efficient,” I protest, hanging the vests. “And I thanked it before I let it go.”

“Uh-huh.” He gives me that look—the one that sees right through me. “That why you were speaking Bisaya for five minutes?”

I throw a towel at his face. “Respect is respect in any language, shark boy.”

We lock up the shed. Sunlight spills gold over everything as we walk toward the cabin I use as an office. Business is good this year. Maybe it’s the travel blog write-up, maybe people just want to be outside again. I’m not complaining.

Rex drops into the battered Adirondack chair outside my door. “Three tours today, fully booked tomorrow, and the weather’s perfect for the weekend moonlight paddle. We’re killing it, Cor.”

I lean on the porch rail, soaking in the last warmth of the day. “Don’t jinx it,” I say, but I’m grinning. “I might finally fix the cabin roof.”

“Your grandmother would be proud.”

That stings, just a little. Pride and grief tangled together. “She’d say I charge too little and give too many free tours to local kids.”

“You do.”

“They need to learn about the water. It matters.”

He looks up, eyes softer than usual. “That’s why you’re the heart of this lake, Cor.”

I wave him off. “Shut up. I’m just doing what any semi-decent sirena would.”

“The last ‘semi-decent’ sirena I met tried to drown me for whistling off-key.”

“That was because you were whistling ‘Baby Shark’ at her. You deserved it.”

He laughs, warm and familiar. I disappear into the cabin and come back with two cold beers, handing him one before sitting beside him.

“To summer,” I say, clinking bottles.

“To summer,” he echoes. “And to you finally letting me upgrade your website so people can book online instead of calling your ancient answering machine.”

“That answering machine is a classic.”

“It’s from 1993 and eats half the messages.”

I drink. “I like talking to people. Hearing their voices helps me match them to the right tour.”

He wants to argue, but just shakes his head. “Fine. At least let me set up that square payment thing so you’re not always dealing with cash and checks.”

“I’ll think about it.” I won’t, but he likes the idea.

We sit in silence, watching the sun slip lower. The sounds of town drift over the water: laughter, music, the clink of glasses from the bar.

“You singing at the bonfire tonight?” Rex asks, eyes half-closed.

“Mmm. Told Mateo I would. Tourists asked.”

“They always do.”

I smile. My lakeside bonfire sets are a local staple. Enough sirena in my voice to make the songs linger in dreams, not enough to cause trouble.

“You coming?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t accidentally seduce the whole town again.”

I groan, kicking his shin. “That was one time, and it was an accident. I didn’t know how the acoustics worked with a full moon.”

“The mayor proposed to you.”

“They propose to everyone when they’re drunk.”

He laughs, and something inside me loosens. This is what I love about us. No pretense. Rex knows exactly what I am and doesn’t care. When you’re both supernatural, you develop a shorthand.

Voices approach. A group of locals on the shore path. The Bennett sisters from the crystal shop, and old Mr. Calloway, who’s human but always knows when storms are coming.

“—absolutely certain,” one sister says. “Ran into Maggie at the hardware store and said he came in this morning for supplies.”

“After all this time,” Mr. Calloway mutters. “Nerve, showing his face again.”

“Well, you know how selkies are,” the other sister says. “The sea calls and they go, no matter who they leave behind.”

My body goes rigid. The beer bottle is slick in my hand. Rex sits up, alert.

“Cora—” he starts, but I’m already on my feet.

“I should change before the bonfire,” I say, voice tight.

But they spot us, waving, and head up the path. I force a smile. Rex stands beside me, solid and sure.

“Cora! Rex!” The older Bennett sister—I can never tell if she’s Hazel or Helen—calls brightly. “Perfect timing. We’re going to the Rusty Anchor for dinner. Join us?”

“Thanks, but we’ve got the bonfire to prep for,” Rex says smoothly.

Mr. Calloway studies my face. “Heard the news, have you?”

I swallow. “What news?”

The sisters exchange a look.

“About Muir,” the younger one says, gentle. “He’s back.”

The name is a slap. Muir. Four years since I’ve said it. Four years since he vanished, taking his sealskin and my heart with him.

“Is he?” I manage. “Huh.”

Rex’s hand finds the small of my back.

“He asked about you,” the sister says. “At the store.”

Something inside me cracks, sharp and cold. “Did he.” Not a question.

“Wanted to know if you were still running tours,” Mr. Calloway adds. “If you were still here .” He said that with a kind of significance.

Where else would I be? This is my lake. My home. He left.

I shrug. “If I see him, I’ll recommend the sunset tour. Refund policy’s on the website.”

Rex’s hand presses harder.

“You always were a firecracker,” Mr. Calloway says. “Never understood what happened between you two. Seemed like the real thing.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. The “real thing” doesn’t end with someone vanishing into the sea, no note, nothing.

“Well,” the older sister says, sensing the tension, “we won’t keep you. Just wanted to give you a friendly warning.”

“I’m fine,” I say too fast. “Really. Four years. I’ve moved on.”

“Of course you have, dear,” she says.

The silence is heavy. I can feel their curiosity, their pity.

“Actually,” I blurt, desperate, “I’m seeing someone now. Have been for a while.” The lie tastes strange, but I can’t stand their pity, can’t stand the thought of Muir coming back to find me still single, still waiting.

Their eyebrows shoot up. “You are?” the younger sister asks. “Who?”

Panic. I haven’t thought this through. “Um?—”

“Me,” Rex says, arm sliding around my waist. “We’ve been keeping it quiet. You know how small towns talk.”

I freeze, then lean into him, like this is normal.

“You and Rex?” Mr. Calloway’s eyebrows nearly reach his hairline. “Well, I’ll be. Always thought you two were just friends.”

“Started that way,” Rex says. “Best friends to more. You know how it goes.”

The sisters beam. “That’s wonderful! How long?”

“Six months,” I say, just as Rex says, “Three months.”

We look at each other. “Six months since it started,” I say, “three months official.”

“Right,” Rex nods. “We took it slow.”

“Perfect,” the younger sister says. “You two always did seem made for each other.”

They switch to talking about the summer festival. I let Rex handle it. When they finally head into town, promising to see us at the bonfire, I step away from his arm and cover my face.

“Putang ina,” I mutter. “What did I just do?”

“Started a rumor that’ll be all over town by morning,” Rex says, amused. “Nice work, Cor.”

I peek at him. “Sorry. I panicked. You didn’t have to back me up.”

He shrugs. “What are best friends for if not fake dating when exes show up?”

The absurdity hits me. I laugh, shaky. “You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be?”

“Because I just volunteered you for a fake relationship?”

He grins, one corner of his mouth quirking up. “I’ve survived worse. Besides,” he says, voice softening, “you looked like you needed a lifeline.”

I did. Hearing Muir’s name sent me spinning. Four years should have dulled the pain. It hasn’t.

“He’s really back,” I say, quiet.

Rex nods. “Seems that way.”

“Why now? Why…” I stop. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t it?”

I set my shoulders. “No. Like I said, ancient history. I don’t care why he’s back.”

Rex just looks at me.

“I don’t,” I insist.

“Okay.”

“I mean it.”

“I believe you.”

“No, you don’t.”

He sighs. “Cor, it’s me. You don’t have to pretend.”

His gentleness nearly undoes me. I turn away, watching the sun gild the lake. The water calls me, promises peace.

“I need to change for the bonfire,” I say. “We can figure out this… fake dating thing later.”

Rex pushes off the rail. “Whatever you need. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

He leaves. The lake calls, promising to wash away everything, if I let it. Later, I tell it. After the bonfire, I’ll come back and let the water hold me, remind me how to breathe.

But first, I have a performance to give. And somewhere in town, a selkie who has no idea he’s about to find his ex-girlfriend moved on with her best friend.

The thought gives me a vicious little thrill, even as something softer inside me aches. Some wounds, like sirena songs, linger long after the echoes fade.