Tide Changer

Five

We were in no rush to finish dinner. Not when the food was delicious and the seascape spectacular. Once the sun dipped beneath the horizon, candles on the tables cast the terrace in amber light. Strings of lights wrapped around the railing lit up, adding to the ambiance.

The romantic atmosphere became even more intimate when a violinist appeared and played a few songs. After the musician left, I leaned back in my chair, nursing the cool wine Emrys had refilled.

"Emrys."

He winked. "Rys. That's what my friends call me."

"Am I your friend?"

Rys sighed.

Not friends, then. I wished I hadn't asked. Awkward Lyra and wine were a deadly combination that reeked of disasters and regrettable decisions.

How many friends did I have, anyway? Mila and Hazel, but Brock didn't like them, and because of that I wasn't as close with the girls as I could've been. Payton had been with me since middle school, so best friend status rightfully belonged to her. As for Brock... I could hardly call him my friend. He used me to satisfy himself in the bedroom and to vent about his problems out of it because he was always so stressed out. So worried he'd have to work hard with his father.

"I just realized I could've asked the violinist to play a song for you," Rys said, glancing at the open French doors the musician had disappeared through.

"What?" I gripped the edge of the table with one hand. "No! I'd...I'd die right here on the spot. Or thaw like the ice in the bucket."

He threw his head back, laughing. "It'd make you uncomfortable, I take it?"

I nodded, taking a generous swig from my goblet, and put the glass beside the plate holding crumbs from the most decadent dark chocolate cake I'd ever tasted. "I'd rather stay in the background because I don't do anything public well, least of all speaking. I get so terrified I freeze and either say nothing or blurt the opposite of what I mean."

Rys looked down, rubbing the hem of the tablecloth between his fingers. "That used to be me."

"No way."

I narrowed my eyes skeptically, and he chuckled again. "I'm not kidding. I've always admired my father for knowing what to say and how to say it, but for me, each school recital turned into a little tragedy. When the risk of dying a virgin outweighed the embarrassment of attending public speaking classes, I gave up and told my father I needed help."

My gaze lingered on Rys's handsome features — the chiseled jawline shadowed by the dark stubble and magnetic blue eyes framed by thick, dark lashes and brows. Even his nose was perfectly straight. There was no way in hell — or heaven — this guy would ever be alone.

"You'd never die a virgin," I said.

He folded the corner of a linen napkin carefully. "Not just a virgin, but a stuttering one. No one's perfect. I'm wary of those who think they are."

Then you'd be wary of Brock. The absurd words popped into my head but luckily didn't fall off my lips.

The wick of the small candle trembled in its holder — a big seashell like the ones I'd seen on the beach. I wrapped my arms around myself, and Rys tilted his head. "Cold?"

"A little."

"I'll ask for the check, then. Come on, let's go inside. It's warmer there."

I didn't want to leave, but my clattering teeth and icy hands disagreed. I finished my wine and followed Rys into the restaurant, where several couples were dining, exchanging tender touches and shy smiles.