Page 27 of Bewitched By the Sea Monster
Which might’ve felt old-fashioned—as though we’d walked right out of the twenty-first century and dropped into an era of horse-drawn carriages and fashionable top hats—if it wasn’t for the alicorns. Those big, otherworldly,majesticanimals looked ridiculously out of place harnessed to a rickety wooden wagon.
But they were amiable, as they trotted around the island, stopping at each cottage and waiting patiently while peoplegathered themselves and offloaded. When questions were asked, the alicorns answered in friendly, upbeat voices.
“I love the colors on all the buildings here,” I said after we’d rolled past the first batch of cottages, all painted in eclectic shades of hot pink, lapis blue, sunflower yellow, and dusky lavender. “Is there a particular reason they’ve been painted like this?”
“It was thought, when the island first opened, that it was too grey,” Elmas answered. “Most found it wore on their moods and diminished their enjoyment of the island. So colors were added to the buildings.”
“It also helps keep one from becoming disoriented in the fog,” Aeolus added.
“Ah…that’s what I thought.Thank you for clarifying!”
“Of course,” Elmas and Aeolus said in unison.
Twenty minutes later, the wagon rolled to a stop outside the magenta-and-white cottage that would be our home for the next week—cottage E20.
“These cottages are adorable,”I said, after Jackson and I had stepped off the wagon—and I’d given both alicorns a pet, thanking them for the safe journey across the island. “Don’t you think?” I turned to Jackson.
He grimaced as he drew the key out of his pocket and strolled up the white-railinged porch to the front door. “I don’t know if I’d call itadorable.Pink’s a little too much.”
“I think it’s cute.” I shrugged.
And the inside was even cuter.
The door opened to a little entryway that branched off to the right into a kitchenette—complete with a fire burning stove, some cupboards for utensils and dishware, and a corner table that could seat up to six. The left side led into a living room with a cushy sofa and an old-fashioned wooden rocking chair. A big, ornate coffee table sat in front of the sofa, and a bookshelfstretched the full length of the wall that separated the living room from the bedrooms.
The door to the left of the bookshelf led to a square room with two sets of bunk beds, while the door to the right brought us into the primary bedroom, with its airy balcony doors and sprawling king-sized bed.
Our bags waited for us in the primary bedroom. As I moved toward the suitcases, hoping the familiar routine of unpacking would settle my nerves, Jackson threw open the doors to the balcony and stepped outside.
“Babe!” he called, suddenly thrumming with glee. “Holy shit!We’ve got a waterfront property!”
My stomach plummeted. “What?”
“You gotta come see this!” He clapped the railing.
“I’d…I think I’d rather not.”
“Don’t be like that,” he pouted. “We’re on land here. And this”—he thumped his heel against the balcony—“is as solid as solid gets. It’s safe, babe. C’mon.”
I did. Only because he was so excited. And I looked over the railing, allowing my eyes to scale down the side of the cliff that held our tiny cottage out of the sea’s jaws.
Below us, the sea roared, frothing and angry, shooting white-capped waves through the roving tendrils of fog. They looked like monsters. Big, hulking, frothing monsters, curling out of the bowels of Hell to rampage upon the earth.
“What a view, huh?” Jackson hooted.
“Looks like something out of a horror movie,” I said.
He tutted and gave his eyes an affectionate roll. “You’re being dramatic, babe.”
“Am not.” And I told him exactly what I’d thought about the monstrous waves, which had him clutching on to the rail and laughing—in that big, booming, unadulterated way he did when something really tickled his funny bone.
“That”—he swiped at the tears leaking from his eyes—“isdefinitelydramatic. And a little overdone, yeah?” He laughed again, warmly, and pulled me in for a bone-smashing hug. “I promise I won’t let the big bad wolf of an ocean blow our cottage down.” His lips brushed the top of my head, tickling me, and then they shifted down, seeking my mouth.
I pulled away.
Jackson emitted a grumbly growl.
“Puke breath,” I reminded him. “My toothbrush is in the backpack.”
