When he left her a couple moments ago after that kiss, he couldn’t get it out of his mind-or can’t stop replaying it as he went to the liquor store and brought them some booze for the beach-whiskey, wine, vodka-but he stopped back home to grab a jar of moonshine and a change of clothes-a sliver denim button down and jeans with some black boots-and met back up at the bar. He was practically giddy-if one can call it that-when he nearly jumped up the stairs and waited.
When she did show up, he broke out into a smile and stood up, helping her with the food and tied it securely on his motorcycle before handing her a helmet. “Safety first, and hold on tight,” he said, helping her get on his bike before he started it up and peeled out of the bar’s parking lot and down the street to the beach.
Sunny rays filtered down onto the ocean and onto the lonely fishing boat. It was nearly quiet with the steady rocking of the waves breaking the total silence, along with the fishing net being hauled up from the depths. It was a perfect day to be out at sea and the perfect weather to catch some fish.
Just as the last of the net was hauled up, the silence broke with the old fisherman crying out. “Balls!” He threw down his trucker hat before marching over to the sliced holes in his net. “Damn net!”
A shadowy figure nearby smirked, knowing that the planned worked as he could hear the old fisherman’s shouts. Careful not to be seen the figure swam away, diving deeper so he wouldn’t be detected.
“I know you’re out there!” The fisherman narrowed his eyes at the gentle lapping water.
The salty air smelled like home to you as you biked your way down to the docks. You smiled over at some of the fishermen you knew, getting a friendly ‘Hello’ back. You slowed your speed as you neared the fishing boat you had set out for, Karen.
“Bobby!” You called out, coming to a stop near the beat-up boat. Sure, it still worked, but it could use some paint. “It’s Y/N.”
“Ya, I know who it is.” He came out of the cabin, greeting you with a hug. “Only girl that comes hollering for me these days.” He chuckled.
“Oh, I’m sure you make all the ladies weak in the knees at the Roadhouse.” You smiled.
“Don’t know about that.” He turned, grabbing a small cooler from the boat.
“What’d you get today?” You leaned over.
“Not much.” He popped the cover off, showing off a few small crabs and small fish. “Damn nets got cut again.”
“Third time this week, huh?” You searched through your purse for the money you owed him. You had a good arrangement with Bobby as he sold most of his catches to Crossroads the fancy restaurant in town, but the smaller catches he sold to you. Any other fisherman would’ve thrown them back in the ocean, but Bobby knew your father when he was alive and wanted to make sure that you were provided for. It was sweet and over time, Bobby became like a father to you. “Don’t tell me you pissed off the wrong person.” You handed him over the money as he set the cooler in front of you.
“More like thing.” He muttered. “Called Maiden’s Cove for a reason.” He didn’t bother to count the bills as he slipped them into his wallet.
“You mean those mermaid legends?” You rolled your eyes.
“Legends start from somewhere.”
“Okay, Bobby.” You gave him a small smile, taking the cooler and strapping it to your bike. “See you tomorrow?”
“Sure, if Crowley doesn’t skin me alive first.”
“I’m sure lots of fishermen have problems with their nets. Maybe try a different location.” You suggested, getting on your bike. “And maybe this is how mermaids flirt.” You teased. “Gotta get your attention somehow.”
“Sure.” He rolled his eyes.
“See you later, Bobby.”
“Take care, Y/N.”
Gliding past the fishing boat from earlier in the day, the figure made his way to the sandy beach. His whiskey eyes darted over the land, making sure no humans were in sight. Thankfully most were occupied in the nearby Crossroads restaurant or the Roadhouse.
Solid feet pushed against the sand and the figure walked out from the water. He grabbed a hidden duffle from the shed that everyone ignored. It was worn with half the roof collapsing, but it wasn’t a problem so no one ever bothered with it.
He quickly dried himself off, then slipped into a pair of dark washed jeans, a maroon button up and some boots. Sweeping back his honey brown hair, he was satisfied that he looked good and hid the duffle back where it was.
He sauntered up the sidewalk and headed toward the Roadhouse. The only clue he left behind of who or what he was, was the small golden scale in the sand. But with any luck, it’d be gone by morning. Washed away with the tide, much like the figure who emerged from the ocean.