Page 118 of Bewitched By the Sea Monster
“It’s no big deal. Honestly,” I said. “It’s?—”
“She gets called Pippa all the time.” Jackson drew me in for a flat hug. “I don’t even notice when people get it wrong anymore. I always joke that she should change her name.”
Do you? Always joke?
I’ve never once heard you say that.
“But then I remind him that we’d lose this fun conversation starter.” I daubed a grin on my face, ignoring the throbbing pain it left in my cheeks, and angled my head up to stare at Jackson.
He smiled, but his eyes were hard. Cold.
A wrathful god wearing a mask of happiness.
“It’s a conversation starterfor sure,” Kian said. “Pippi. Like the cartoon, right? The girl with the pigtails?”
“That’s the one.”
“My mom used to love that show,” he said.
“Mine too.” I pointed to my chest. “Obviously.”
Kian chuckled. “That’s awesome! We’ll have to wrangle up the crew and do a coolness check, to see who gets the reference and who doesn’t.” He gave my hair a friendly ruffle.
And I…actually liked him. He had an easy-going temperament. A little boastful, maybe, but harmless. And he softened whenever he glanced at his wife.
I almost hated to admit that Jackson had been right about me taking to him. Then again, he’d accused me (rightfully) of likingeveryone.But I wanted to extend this olive branch to him, a balm for the raw sores I’d inflicted on him this week.
I do like Kian, Jackson.
You were right. I’m sorry I acted like an ass when you mentioned this earlier.
Please forgive me.
I touched his arm, stood on my tiptoes, and started to whisper all of that into his ear.
Jackson shrugged me off and walked away.
Kian’s wifewas a doll of a woman named Elisabeth.
“Oh, gosh, whatlovelyhair,” Elisabeth trilled as I wobbled over to where her group milled around a set of bar tables and stools—shining black furniture thatshouldn’thave been so stationary atop a bobbing ship. But I supposed they were bolted down by magic.
“Thosecurls.Hmm.” Elisabeth sprang from her stool and fluffed her own silkily straight gold locks. “I’mjealous.”
“I was actually thinking how much I’d love gorgeous hair like yours.” The breeze had fluffed my curls into a tizzy. “I guess you always want what you don’t have, right? But this humidity isn’t kind to curly hair.”
“That it is not.” Elisabeth tutted and strode the short distance to the black-steeled minibar. “It’s all thesaltfrom the sea.It’s rough on the skin too.”
“Sea salt is only good for chocolate and French fries,” I said.
“A-fucking-men, sister.” A tall woman with strawberry blond waves raised her glass in a salute.
“I’m going to make that my life motto,” Elisabeth said before she tapped her glass against the bar top. “Mango seltzer, please.”
There was atinkas ice dropped into her glass, and a lightgloog-glugas it filled itself to the brim with fizzy water.
I gaped.
Elisabeth laughed. “It takes some getting used to. Magic. And italwaysoverfills the glasses.” She raised her cup, slurping until the bubbly liquid was below the rim. “There. Now I can walk with it. The enchantment’s on the minibar,” she added. “So all you have to do is tell it what drink you want. Now”—she strode back to the stool she’d vacated and gave it a hearty thump—“come here, love. I’ll do something with your hair to protect it from the dreadful sea spit.”
