Page 88 of Siren Problems
Just one note. One syllable.
Her name.
The water stirs. The ley lines shimmer. Something ancient and gentle hums beneath our feet, answering like it’s been waiting for this song all along.
Her breath catches, and she touches her chest like the sound hit somewhere deep.
“I’ve never heard my name like that,” she says, voice a whisper. “Like a prayer.”
“I meant it like one.”
A tear slips down her cheek, but she’s smiling too. “Damn it, Calder.”
“I know.”
She throws her arms around me, and I hold her like the sea holds the moon—tightly, reverently, like I’d drown without her.
“I love you,” she says against my chest, fierce and certain.
My throat tightens. “I’ve loved you since you stormed into my cove and called my fish-netting system medieval.”
“Itwasmedieval.”
“And now I’d defend it to the death because it brought you here.”
She laughs through a sniffle. “Romantic and grumpy. My type.”
We settle on the tide-worn rocks, our feet dangling into glowing water. The wind tugs at her curls, and I tuck a piece behind her ear, fingertips lingering.
“So... what now?” she asks.
“Now?” I lean back, letting the salt air fill my lungs. “Now we build something that’s ours. You and me. Research, chaos, the weirdest beachside love story ever told.”
“And no more curses?”
“Only the good kind.”
She grins. “Like the one where I’m stuck with you forever?”
“Exactly like that.”
She leans in, lips brushing mine, a kiss slow and sure as the tide. When we part, she sighs and rests her head on my shoulder.
We stay there a long while—just two souls beneath a moon that’s seen centuries of heartbreak and still chooses to rise.
Tonight, the water sings not of loss, but of love.
And I let myself believe, for once, that I deserve it.
She tilts her chin up, eyes locked on mine. The smirk’s gone, replaced with something raw and open. Her lips part like she’s about to say something cutting or clever, but instead she just breathes, “Come here.”
I do.
The moment her mouth meets mine, it’s different. Not hurried like the first time. Not desperate like the second. This kiss is still, rooted. The kind you plant in the soil of your soul and wait to grow into forever.
Her hands come up, fingers threading into my hair, and I swear the whole damn ocean exhales. Around us, the tidepool brightens—tiny sparks dotting the surface like stars falling into the sea. It’s not magic, not really. Or maybe it is, but the kind that doesn’t come from spells or ley lines. The kind that comes from love—simple, inconvenient, undeniable love.
“I think I could live in this moment,” she whispers against my lips, voice trembling like she’s surprised by how much she means it.
