A Selkie Story

Chapter Ten: Of Cheese and Selkies

"Bone apple teeth, my friend. Breakfast is served."

Andrei was just finishing filling Frankie's water bowl when he looked up.

His eyes crinkled when he smiled.

"Thank you, Sam, it looks delicious."

I shrugged.

"It's breakfast food. First thing you learn how to make as a kid."

He waited for me to sit before doing so himself. Then, he also waiting for me to take a bite before doing so himself.

Never seen that move, before. Wonder what that's all about.

The question must have shown on my face while I chewed.

"You look courtesy."

My brow rumpled, and I blinked.

"Courtesy? I look... courtesy?"

He blinked, too, then looked off to the side, temple furrowed.

"No, not courtesy. Cour-- cur--"

"Curious?"

"Yes," He breathed a sigh, "curious. You look curious. Why?"

"Well, I guess, uh... I noticed you waited for me to sit down, then you waited for me to eat. Why is that?"

"Why is what?"

"I mean, why did you do that?"

"You always wait for women to eat first. You watch, make sure they are safe. Then, they watch for you."

"But why do women eat first?"

"I--" Andrei paused for a minute, puzzled, "I think because women are mothers. They need to feed babies. Babies are the future." He shrugged, "Danger when we are seal. We feel same when human."

"I guess that makes sense. I don't think many animals do that, though." I noted.

He nodded,

"Yes, we are human and animal. And not. Fae. Different rules. Different rules from Fae, too."

I nodded in response, and conversation finished, we dug into breakfast.

Halfway through the dishes, I remembered the mess we'd made on the coffee table the night before.

"Shoot! I've gotta throw all that stuff away now! Damn it, now I've really got to go to the store." I mumbled as I chucked the dried out charcuterie board into a plastic grocery sack. Adding the room temperature ranch dip to the mix, Sam poked his head through the doorway.

"Do you need help at the store, Sam?"

"No, I'll be good, I've just got to-- whoa!" A wave of dizziness washed over me, and my hands shot for the arm of the couch. They missed. What I hit instead was flat chest, and strong hands lifted me from the waist.

How the hell did he get over here so fast? Cat-like reflexes, my butt. Fae-like reflexes take the cake!

"I think you need help, Sam."

"You're right about that one, Andrei. You're right about that one."

__________

Andrei parked the motorcycle in one of the closest parking spaces to the market. Bags in hand, we headed in. Andrei took it upon himself to push the cart, while I walked alongside grabbing things from the shelves.

One time, when I was particularly struggling to grab the sliced deli cheese on an unnecessarily high rack and contemplating adventuring into bouldering, he walked right up behind me, reached over my head, and snatched the nefarious cheese right off the hook.

He looked down into my face while handing me the plastic packaged in plastic,

"You need tall shoes, Sam."

How romantic.

I rolled my eyes at him and turned away, dropping the package in the cart. When I looked back at him to see his reaction, his face was turned back towards the aforementioned cheese hook, grinning, smile lines clearly visible.

I looked down and away, and shoved my hands into my hoodie pocket.

The pet food was on the clear opposite side of the store, and I steered us that way best I could. Mr. Soft Coat, however, decided he wanted to look down the international aisle to see if he knew anything. Russian food wasn't popular in the U.S., at least, not where I lived and not that I knew of. He left the aisle, despondent air dripping from his stooped shoulders.

Just before we turned into the pet aisle, another cart came barreling out. In shock, I froze, and Andrei pulled me out of harm's way with an arm around my waist.

I braced myself against the nearest shelf, and watched as the tip of our cart was rammed into a slight turn.

Andrei's friends from the first day I saw them hurdling out from behind the careening cart and halting in their tracks.

"Andrei?" Questioned a tenor from the back of the pack.

"ANDREI!" Roared the collective recognition of the group. The biggest men pulled him in for a hug, and the rest huddled around, patting whatever inch of him they could get a hold of. I noticed he was smiling, widely, reverting back to his native Russian and I guessed giving greetings back to his friends.

"I see you have zhenikh with you. What is name?" A deep voice inquired. I searched for the source, and found Mr. Cup Wiper, the one I had bumped into at the cafe, was it.

"Klan, this is Sam. Sam, this is my klan, my sem'ya."

Mr. Cuper Wiper--I forget his name--reached his hand out first. I took it, and did my best to give him a nice, firm shake. My grandpa always said a handshake is one of the first impressions you make, so make it a confident one.

"Nice to meet you." I conjectured.

"And to you." He echoed.

He continued, turning back to Andrei.

"Why are you here? You said ty ukhazhival za devushkoy." He morphed into Russian. Not to keep me out of the loop, I don't think, but because it was easier--and faster--to convey in Russian.

"I am. We are on a date right now." Andrei grinned as he said this, and grabbed my hand. I smiled, startled, but I didn't flinch away, nor did I take my hand away. His hand was warm, against my usually cold ones, which were now sweaty with nerves I realized with a start. My eyes shot to his face, but he still smiled genuinely, no farce was there.

I looked back to Andrei's klan, and noticed them eyeing our joined hands. A few smirks from the guys, most were indifferent. The girls, who I just barely noticed, stared with wide, sparkling eyes, whispering energetically in Russian behind flat hands to each other. They all, I noticed, were wearing a combination of well-worn black leather, blue jean, and flannel. This was not an all inclusive list; some chose cargo pants, some black or dark wash jeans, but in general, it was the combo of the three.

"Vy obmenyalis' klyatvami?" Mr. Cup Wiper inquired.

"Net, ona chelovek. Yey nuzhno vremya. YA otdam yey." Andrei shook his head, smiling somberly.

I pulled on our hands,

"You good?"

His smile brightened,

"All is good, Sam. No problem for you."

He turned to face his klan again.

"We need cat food, then we will leave. Sam is not good today, she was sick. YA budu doma segodnya vecherom."

The group nodded, almost in sync, and we passed by each other, some of them giving parting slaps to his back.

Andrei righted the cart, we grabbed the cat food, and we made our way to the cashiers. By the time we made it to the motorcycle, I realized we had held hands the remainder of the time we were there, my hand resting within his on the steering bar of the cart. It had felt so damn natural, that I hadn't even noticed.

What was happening?