Page 60 of Bewitched By the Sea Monster
Alistair must have noticed my shudder, because another one of his hot breaths fanned over me. This one was unfortunate, though, because it hit me in unison with a breeze, which lifted the hem of my blouse, and sent Alistair’s hot air dancing across my belly.
And ittickled.I squirmed and bit back a laugh.
The black slits of Alistair’s eyes narrowed. He cocked his head, aiming his next breezy breath into my neck, where it grabbed a big tuft of my hair, making it stand up on end.
I squealed.
One of those deep, sonic boom chuckles reverberated out of him, rattling the stone beneath my feet.
“I’d like to hear your story,” he said, bumping his nose apologetically against my hip when our laughter cooled.
“Uh-uh, no sir. You’re going first.” I cautiously lowered myself down, letting my feet dangle over the edge.
Alistair ruffled and rested his chin against the ledge beside me, his orange eyes fixed on my face.
When I touched him, stroking between the spikes on his cheek, he sighed, lavishing the contact.
You poor, poor thing.
I kept petting his face, giving him the touches and affection he was so obviously craving. “So, Cinderella, I have a ton of questions, but there’s one I’m gonna need you to be honest about, Alistair. You don’t turn into a pumpkin when the clock strikes midnight, right?”
Regret tasted like rancid eggs,especially when it flavored my tongue first thing in the morning.
It wasn’t visiting Alistair that I regretted. It’d been, to use his phrase,lovely, to talk with him, even if I did sacrifice a night of sleep for it. He was sweet, and he’d been so happy to have the company, which had mademehappy. Because I hated to see such a kind creature so sad.
The regret was for the secrecy. The fact that I hadn’t yet told Jackson about Alistair. That I chickened out every time I searched for the words. It wasawful, what I was doing to him.
“Babe. Hey.”
I blinked when Jackson waved his hand in front of my face.
I’d been blankly staring, watching people shuffle to and from the breakfast buffet without absorbing any of it.
“Earth to Pippi. You with me?” he asked.
I dropped my hand from where it’d been (barely) holding my lead-weighted head upright on the table and beamed at him. “Of course.”
He raised an eyebrow as he speared his fork into his fried eggs. “Didn’t seem like you were.”
“Well, I might’ve gotten a little distracted with people watching,” I said. “And ogling up the premium buffet.”
Jackson twisted, shooting his eyes over to the row of black-clothed tables on the other side of the room. “Yeah. Their stuff does look good, doesn’t it?” He turned back to his slightly rubbery fried egg with a sigh.
Brew & Bites had two breakfast buffets. The premium one was at the far end of the cavernous, high-raftered room, wrapped around the big arched windows that overlooked the foggy path to the docks. That buffet looked and smelled delectable. Cooks worked behind the black-clothed tables to prepare waffles, meats, eggs, and fish, while baristas hustled to keep up with the orders for cappuccinos, lattes, and other specialty coffees. People had to wait in lines for their meals, sure, since all the cooking was done over old coal burners, but everything they received was fresh and piping hot. And once they’d finished with their five-star breakfast, they could mosey back up to peruse the dessert table, where fruits and breakfast pastries were scattered in a colorful array.
I would’ve gotten quite pleasantly plump this week, if we’d had access to that buffet. Sadly (or maybe fortunately), we didn’t. It was for premiumguests—the spattering of people who were willing to pay extra to get the good food. The rest of us riffraff got the regular buffet at the opposite end of the room, nestled against the wall between the bathrooms and the staff lounge. And we had some scrumptious fare to choose from too, like muffins, bread, cereal, and a hot bar that had rubbery eggs and sausage. And ourcoffee was super-duper fancy: tepid brown water that trickled from old carafes.
All that said, it wasn’t abadbreakfast. A regular old continental fare. But it sure felt like slop when that other glorious buffet was in eyesight, which was by design—to tease people with the better food until they forked over the money.
It was an excellent marketing ploy.
“Babe!” Jackson snapped his fingers. “I lost you again.”
“Sorry.” I leaned back in my chair, trying to straighten myself up, but I cracked my shoulders against the unyielding wood and winced, sending my fork sliding out of my slackened fingers. It made an awful clatter when it pinged off the end of my plate.
Jackson frowned. “What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing.”
