We take a seat at the retro orange-and-yellow kitchen table.

“So,” I say around a mouthful of chocolate goodness, “How old are you?”

Reed grins. “Twenty. You?”

I’m about to tell him eighteen, but I’ve managed to get another year older during all the chaos. My birthday pretty much went unacknowledged by me—and apparently, by everyone else. It’s been a busy year. “Nineteen.”

He glances at Galen. “And you?”

“Twenty-one.”

Reed nods, more to himself than to us. Then the stringy sound of a banjo fills the air, giving us a reprieve from yet another awkward moment. Reed jumps up and grabs the cell phone erupting with country music on the counter. Apparently it’s his mom. He walks it into the living room, and all we hear are a few hushed words and then, “See you soon.”

This makes Galen uneasy. Not that everything doesn’t make Galen uneasy nowadays. When Reed returns, he brings with him his laid-back smile. “Mom wants you to stay the night and visit with us. Galen and I can take the couches in the living room, and you can sleep in my room.”

“We don’t want to impose,” Galen says quickly. “If we’re going to visit,” he glances at me as if he’s asking me if we are, instead of agreeing to it, “then we can stay at the bed-and-breakfast. What did you call it? Sylvia’s?”

“The sign said there’s no vacancy,” I say.

“The sign always says that,” Reed says. “Mr. Kennedy creeped out poor Sylvia, so she’s not accepting new out-of-towners. I’m sure you’ll be the exception though, since you’re one of us.”

A frown tugs at Galen’s mouth. He doesn’t like being referred to as “one of us.” It makes me feel guilty that I do like it. In fact, I’m kind of delighted by it. But for now, I’m relieved to check in to our room and have a private discussion about the day’s events. Staying here at Reed’s house would feel too … public. Which is silly, given that the inn is about dead center in town. Anyone who’s curious could come up there to see us—including the spooktastic Mr. Kennedy.

I admit Mr. Kennedy wouldn’t have registered on my weirdness radar under normal circumstances. It’s just that Reed seems to view him as “different,” and it’s nice to view someone else that way instead of feeling like the outcast, as selfish as that sounds.

Reed offers to accompany us to Sylvia’s, but Galen holds up his hand. It’s a finalizing gesture. “No, thank you. I remember the way back.”

Our new friend doesn’t miss a beat. “Just be back here at six o’clock. I told Mom you were coming to dinner, at the very least. Don’t make a liar out of me.”

When it looks like Galen might protest again, Reed supplements, “Toby caught some trout over at the creek. I’d love to know what you think of freshwater fish, Galen.”

Galen runs a hand through his hair. “Fine. We’ll see you at six o’clock then.”

I pretend not to notice that Reed is smiling at me like a canary-gobbling cat.

10

GALEN HAULS the suitcases to the second floor of Sylvia’s Starfish Bed & Breakfast. He waits while Emma opens the door to her room before he drags her belongings in behind her. Since he and Emma aren’t mated yet, Sylvia insisted on them staying in separate rooms, as all of them were “romantically designed” with only one bed.

Apparently the town of Neptune picks and chooses which of the old laws is most convenient to follow.

Emma falls onto the bed, a beautifully appointed wrought iron creation with light blue satin bedding and lacy ruffles around the bottom. The bed squeaks with her every movement, and she giggles. “It’s not that romantic, if you know what I mean.”

Galen grins and sets the suitcases underneath the window. Then he takes a spot on the bed next to Emma. The air in here smells stale to him, as if this room hasn’t been used in ages. “What do you make of this place?”

What he really wants to say is, “What do you think about Reed and his infatuation with you?” but that would just start a fight, not to mention bring all the jealous feelings he’d had bubbling up back to the surface. Reed’s fascination with Emma has gotten Galen’s imagination stirring on so many levels.

First, he imagined bringing the SUV to a sudden stop that pitched Reed straight through the windshield and landed his bloodied, broken body on the gravel road ahead.

Then there was the fantasy of using his fist to relieve Reed of every one of his teeth, thereby creating his own version of an easy smile.

Not to mention the daydream of punching Reed in the stomach hard enough for him to choke on whatever remnants he forgot to chew of his chocolate chip cookie.

“I think it’s too early to tell yet,” Emma says, startling him from his reverie.

“Really? That’s not what it looked like.”

She rolls her eyes as he rests his elbow on the mattress, propping his head up so it rests just over hers. Their noses almost touch. Triton’s trident, her skin is flawless. “I don’t think you give me enough credit. And I don’t think you give Reed enough credit, either.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” He leans back and stares at the ceiling. “Emma, we don’t know these people. And what we do know about them is that they shouldn’t exist. That they’re here living on land, risking our discovery.”