Page 23 of Bewitched By the Siren
After thirty minutes, I started to imagine having to explain to the police why I waited so long to call. I pictured myself being questioned as the main suspect in her “disappearance.”
Fuck, I watch too many true crime documentaries.
Just before the hour mark, I saw movement in the water in the distance. I gazed intently in that direction, and a few beats later, a head and shoulders popped up out of the water much closer to shore––so close, Hali would see me spying on her if she looked in my direction.
I turned and hauled ass back to my deck, praying she didn’t spot my retreating form. I went inside and considered staying there and pretending I never saw her, but in the end, I decided to give her some privacy to get dressed before coming back out.
It will give me a chance to talk to her. To see if she wants to hang out now that she’s finished with her “plans.”
After about ten minutes, I step back out onto the deck. My eyes find her immediately, picking her way across the sand, and a beat later, her own eyes find me. Her steps stutter to a stop, and her eyes go wide, almost like a kid getting caught with her hand in a cookie jar.Shit.The last thing I want to do is make her uncomfortable.
“Hey,” I call out when she slowly starts to move forward again. “Have a nice swim?”
She nods, stopping at the bottom of the stairs that lead to her own porch. “It was a bit cold, but refreshing.”
“I saw you head out earlier, and I was surprised.” Her entire body stiffens visibly, and I grit my teeth with a silent curse before adding, “I meant because of our conversation this morning.”
“Oh. Yeah,” she says, relaxing slightly. “That’s why I decided to go out. I couldn’t stop thinking about a swim after that conversation.”
So, why did she wait until it was dark? So she could swim naked?
I don’t ask the questions aloud, of course. I already feel like I’m skating on thin ice, here.
“It’s a nice night. Want to join me for a beer?” I ask.
She stares at me for a long moment, then slowly nods. “Sure. Just give me a few minutes to rinse off and change, first.”
“Of course,” I say, watching as she skips up the steps and disappears inside her house.
As soon as the door closes behind her, I push myself away from the deck’s railing and head inside. Grabbing a small cooler I found in the pantry, I grab four beers from the fridge and slide them into it before pouring in some ice from the freezer.
Popping into the bathroom to relieve myself, I wash my hands and check my hair before flipping off the light and walking back into the kitchen to grab the cooler. Pausing, I turn toward the pantry and grab a bag of chips I bought earlier before opening the fridge to pull out the cheese dip I got to go with them. Setting the goodies on the counter next to the cooler, I hurry into the living room to turn on the stereo, setting the volume just loud enough to be heard out on the deck through an open window.
Then I gather up the refreshments and head out to my favorite chair to wait for Hali.
It’s not lost on me that I’ve set up a semi-romantic atmosphere for us, here. I know it’s wrong. My interactions with Hali aresupposedto be strictly business. But we’ve sort of become friends over the last few days, and there’s nothing wrong with that, is there? That was my goal, wasn’t it? To get closer toher and get her to trust me? And friends hang out. They drink beer and eat junk food together on nice nights like this.
Who am I kidding? Sure, all of that is true, but it’s also true that I just want to spend time with her. Ilikeher. I want her to likeme.
I don’t know why it’s so important to me. It’s not like I live here. We can’t pursue a friendship, much less something more. Not when I live on the opposite side of the country.
My internal debate dissipates when her back door opens and the woman, herself, steps outside. She’s wearing a pair of comfy-looking joggers and a cropped hoodie, and her long strawberry-blonde hair is still damp and hanging down her back, looking redder under her porch light than it does when it’s dry.
She picks her way down her steps, then up mine, meeting my eyes nervously as she says, “Hey.”
“Hey,” I say, motioning her into the chair next to mine before pulling two beers from the cooler and twisting off the top before holding it toward her.
She’s a bit edgy as she sits and accepts my offering, then takes a too-long swallow like she’s hoping for some liquid courage. And since cheese makes everything better, I motion toward the chips and dip I set on the small table in front of us.
“Help yourself.”
“Thanks,” she murmurs, plucking a chip from the bag and coating it in a healthy amount of cheese dip before popping the whole thing into her mouth.
I want to ask her about her swim. To find out if she always swims at night. If she’s ever timed herself underwater, because damn, she must have Olympic-level skill, being out that long and not even looking winded when I saw her next.
But I have a feeling that would be a bad idea, so I search for another topic, finally saying, “I love this song.”
She cocks her head, listening to the music drifting through the window for a moment before nodding. “It’s a good one.”
