

Copyright © 2012 by Consuelo Vazquez

Cover Art by Bigstock, Kathy Gold

All names, characters and events featured in this novel are imaginary. They are not inspired by any individual person, incidents or events by any individual person, incidents or events known or unknown to the author. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

SEA SIREN

Consuelo Vazquez

Copyright 2012 Consuelo Vazquez

Smashwords Edition

RECENT BOOKS BY THIS AUTHOR (WRITING AS CONNIE KEENAN)

Glimmers of Heaven

Champagne Taste

Dimension

'Twas the Spy Before Christmas

The Cop & the Mermaid

Paradise Road
This book is dedicated in loving memory to

LILLIAN GOSSAGE

who was in life my husband's grandmother

and a friend to me,

one that I will never forget.

ONE

Tino Suarez would start off by making a meal out of that first scrumptious kiss.

If he could handle it, and only if he could handle it, he'd postpone touching her through the duration of that kiss. Their only physical contact would be his tongue probing hers, his mouth smothering her supple lips. Neither of them would care whether they ever came up for air again, because, really now, there were things that were more important than taking in oxygen.

Besides, according to folklore, a mermaid could go for long periods of time without surfacing from the ocean depths to breathe air. The mermaid seated on the edge of the fountain across Mariner Avenue could make it through one wickedly good kiss. Couldn't she?

Except she's not a real mermaid, he reminded himself. She's a woman in a mermaid costume. And you're a pathetic cabrón getting off on a fantasy.

Instead of her mouth, the rim of his glass touched his lips, some sips of vodka and soda lubricating his throat. For decency's sake, Tino looked away for some moments, feigning interest in the snapshots of commercial fishing vessels taped to the mirror behind the bar. Around him, the Atlantic Sea Breeze was in usual full-swing mode on that Friday night. The place was packed with people, most of them fishermen, all of them drinking and with a story to tell.

Not him, though. He was more interested in stealing another glance at the woman handing out some sort of flyers. The dingy bar window formed a frame around her and the fountain, giving the effect of some haunting, forgotten painting.

Next, I'd kiss her neck. Those bare shoulders begged to be kissed, too. Round, soft shoulders, the same tawny complexion as her face. God, she was pretty, in an exotic way.

Kiss her neck, kiss her shoulders. Finally, he'd lose his restraint and touch her. He'd wrap his arms around that lithe waist. Slowly, her arms would curl around his neck. Then she'd be whispering in his ear, telling him to do whatever he wanted with her...whatever his body and his desire urged him to do.

"Hey, whatever that lady's selling, I'm buyin'!"

His own irritation surprised him. He was actually annoyed, having his reverie disrupted by one of the guys at the other end of the bar, who'd boldly blurted out what he himself was thinking. Tino recognized him as one of the guys who'd served as a crewman on the Wind Voyager not that very long ago. The crowd around him laughed—with the exception, naturally, of his clinging girlfriend, who shot him a disapproving glare.

"What is she peddling, anyway?"

"That lady's new around her. Never seen her before."

"She bought that old luncheonette on Jefferson Place. Remember that place? Supposedly, from what I heard, she'd turning it into some other kind of restaurant. Spanish food, I think."

"Hear that, Suarez? That's right up your alley. She's one of your people."

The drink scratched on its way down that time. When he recovered, he asked, "Who's 'one of my people?'"

Sandy, the bleached-blonde bartender with the cherubic face, clicked her tongue.

"Oh, c'mon. Don't tell us you haven't noticed that goddess from the sea across the street," she playfully accused. "The one you've been eyeballing for the last twenty minutes, at least."

In spite of his eyebrow twitching, he maintained his hell-with-it attitude. "Yeah, I see her. And I'm from Spain. She looks like she swam up from Caribbean waters. But, yeah—you could say she's 'one of my people.'"

"Eh, Spain, the Caribbean..." Hugh Rodgers, who owned and operated one of the deep-sea party boats, waved a hand in the air. "You're wasting time with specifics, Suarez. You're not getting any younger, either. How long you gonna play the bachelor fisherman? Why not go up to that little mermaid, introduce yourself, and offer to build her an aquarium in your backyard?"

"Because with my luck, she'd probably run back to the ocean before dawn, anyway."

The conversation shifted so easily, as it typically did on a Friday night in the Atlantic Sea Breeze. Gratefully, Tino accepted having lost the center of attention to the latest gossip disguised as local news. He polished off his drink, tossed a generous tip on the counter for Sandy, and rose from the barstool.

What was that snide comment, the one about him not getting any younger? He resented that remark, in spite of having successfully ignored it. At thirty-six he could hardly be considered an old man. Although, truthfully, sometimes he did feel he was way beyond his years. Still, he was doing better than he had been two years earlier, back when he'd had his heart ripped to shreds and thrown in his face before a church full of people.

He had his business to credit for getting him through that rough period. Fishing now occupied more of his time than ever. The profession that had been such an integral part of his father's life, and his grandfather's before him, was now the tapestry of his own life. Certainly, it wasn't the most glamorous of occupations. Often frustrating as hell, its main occupational hazard was the sea itself, so beautiful and yet so unpredictable and deadly.

Which made quite a bit of sense, now that he thought about it. Wasn't the ocean considered feminine? And justly so. She was a breathtaking woman, mesmerizing and ageless, her mystique supernatural. As satisfying as a devoted lover; she could betray a sailor's adoration—and had, thousands of times, over the centuries of her existence—malevolent in her destruction.

A fact that made her almost as dangerous a woman fashioned of flesh and blood.

Like the one visible through the large picture window, masquerading as a fisherman's dream girl. Tino knew better than to allow himself another look, but his eyes seemed to have a will of their own and found her once more.

Now where was I? Back to my fantasy...

He'd want to see what delightful surprises that outrageous outfit was camouflaging—particularly the breasts, outlined by the top of the costume. Her cleavage teased him with a naughty game of peek-a-boo. He'd leave his hands to do the inspecting first. In his imagination, he could touch one of those breasts, feeling the sensation of body heat through the sequined, dark green fabric. Her breasts were in proportion to the rest of her slender body, one fitting his hand as comfortably as a glove.

She's smiling. Hiding no secrets, looking me straight in the eye.

She would want to watch every moment of their lovemaking. No turning off the lights for her. In her mermaid's voice, she was murmuring his name in between little gasps of excitement while he freed her from the costume. Slowly peeling it down the length of her glorious body, he moved faster as his own control seeped away from him, responding to the urgency of her kisses.

And then for some reason, she raised her hand. Her fingers wiggled at him before an outburst of laughter exploded behind him.

"Will you look at that! Hey, Suarez—your little mermaid likes you!"

"Did you catch that smile she threw your way? That was an 'I ain't goin' back to the ocean anytime soon, sailor' kind of smile."

"Maybe she wants to talk you into building that aquarium for her in your backyard. Better yet—in your bedroom."

All that ribbing was the result of one smile delivered by a flirtatious mermaid-woman. He could imagine the embarrassment the bar's regulars could have put him through, had they gotten a glimpse of the R-rated scenario in his mind.

"Ah, some other time, I guess," he muttered on his way out. "I gotta get ready for a trip. No time for mermaids."

He ignored the collective sigh of "Awww" behind him, but not Sandy calling out, "There's always time for mermaids, Suarez. If not, there should be."

Now the view would be clearer without the tinted glass of the bar window to enhance her appearance, ripping away at the fantasy. She would be nothing more than a mere a woman in a costume, who'd given both his thoughts and adrenalin a creative workout. One more look and he'd be on his way, steering clear of trouble.

To make matters worse, she was returning his gaze. And that damn daydream had no intention of dissolving into reality. She looked gorgeous with her head tilted to the side, her skin the darkest shade of olive, her hair the darkest hue of brown. Wild and wind-tossed, it cascaded over one bare shoulder in thick spiral curls. Pretty, not in a magazine cover way; her style of beauty wasn't tame or conforming to standards. They were the kind of looks the eye had to settle on to appreciate.

Fortunately, that two-lane avenue divided them. He'd be fine as long as he refrained from crossing to her side. If anything, it was drawing later into the evening. The clouds that had threatened a summer storm all day had rolled in, so he had to get going to avoid getting drenched to the bone.

Catch you later, my little sirena. It was fun making love to you...even if it was only in my head.

The traffic motoring along the boulevard had winded down some, another indication that nightfall was coming. Most of the establishments on the strip—bait and tackle shops, pleasure craft rentals, scattered churches—had closed for the day. Except for, of course, the bars. Those doors would remain unlocked till the early hours of dawn, providing a haven for locals to drink and vent about what a rough week they'd had.

Especially the men. Some would drink more than they really should, in the midst of a bar crawl, and come out to see a sexy siren from the sea.

A foolish, sexy siren. Tino slowed his gait, glancing back over his shoulder. True, the Hispanic mermaid was in a good section of town, the harbor end. She was still alone, though, and it was getting later. The park was situated directly behind the fountain, which ordinarily was safe—unless a troop of young guys high on beer and hormones decided to hang out.

Whoever had deposited her would be back for her. Obviously, she hadn't walked to that location in that oversized fishtail. They'd return for her. He wasn't about to appoint himself her guardian angel.

Besides, that was what the police were for. Police cruisers regularly patrolled the avenue. But as his luck would have it, Tino didn't see a cop in sight.

A flatbed truck heading north slowed down in front of the fountain. Its driver, a scruffy, bearded man, hung out the cab's window.

"Ey, sexy mama! Swimmin' my way?"

Tino halted in his tracks, rolling his eyes. The young woman offered the driver a hesitant wave, losing a few of her flyers in the process.

"Want a lift?" the driver suggested with a wink. "I'll give you a ride. Take you right to the big man—Neptune!"

She shook her head. Her smile faded. The mermaid was about to land herself in trouble.

As if you should care. Don't look for trouble.

Still, he knew it was the right thing to do. He couldn't just walk away or count on a patrolman to miraculously appear out of nowhere.

And he was another fool, obeying whatever primal, male protective instinct that made it impossible for him to abandon a lady in peril—no matter how cruelly one lady had slapped him in the face, figuratively speaking.

"Come on, baby! It's gonna rain!" The bearded creep pulled the truck alongside the curb and backed up. I know you can swim, but damn! Let's try and keep you dry, all right?"

Tino hastened across the street, his temper rising. A man had to be an amoeba of a human being to take advantage of a woman who couldn't possibly get away with her legs restricted like that.

"Amorcito—sorry I'm late!" he shouted loud enough to be heard. Quickly, he rounded the truck's cab. "You didn't wait long for me, did you?"

Confused at first, the young woman understood and played along. Her hands fastened to her hips, sending more flyers to the ground. The perplexed driver looked on.

"Don't you amorcito me, mister!" The mermaid's voice was edged with a city-woman spunkiness that complemented the rest of her. "I've been waiting here for over half an hour for you!"

"Forgive me, mamita." He held his laughter at bay, seating himself next to her.

"Oh, all right. Te perdono, papito."

He never saw those feminine arms coming, taking him by surprise by wrapping around his neck. Just as swift was the kiss—moist and sweetly enthusiastic—heating up his mouth. His head told him it was a kiss from a real, live, mortal woman, who just happened to kiss like a runaway legend.

How much was a guy supposed to take in the name of chivalry?

Somewhere in the distance he heard the sounds of a man cussing in gruff disappointment, an engine being gunned, and skid marks being engraved into the pavement.

"He's gone. You, uh...you can let me go now."

Let her go? When had his arms entwined around her waist? The billowing clouds overhead, weighted down with reservoirs of rain, rumbled loudly enough to transport him back to the present.

Tino withdrew his arms, easing some inches away from her on the fountain.

"Oh. Sorry about that."

"No, no reason to apologize. You rescued me. If you hadn't been there, I don't know what that creepy guy would've done."

"Yes, well..." Clearing his throat, he looked away. "As long as you're okay. That's all that matters."

Kiki realized she was safe now. She wasn't too sure about his safety, though. Particularly considering she'd already kissed him a few times over, in her imagination, during the time they'd checked each other out. Impulsively, she'd acted on those wayward thoughts, embellishing their ploy with a whopping kiss.

"That—that guy had me a little nervous, you know? I don't normally kiss strangers. Men...I don't know."

"Na. Of course not. I knew what you were doing."

I'm glad one of us did! she thought, managing a smile. He was being courteous, a gentleman. But, oh, the story he'd most likely brag to his drinking buddies, about the woman Saran-wrapped in a shimmery mermaid outfit, sacándole fiesta, then shanghaiing a kiss from him.

He'd gotten into the kiss, too. The way he'd done in that arousing scene playing out in her thoughts, watching him across the street. The only thing was, the taste of liquor hadn't been in that kiss's imaginary counterpart. That hadn't played into her fantasy.

"What's your name? Or are we still restricted to mamita and papito?"

She chuckled uneasily. "Kiki Figueroa."

"Kiki."

"Well, it's really Theresa, but nobody's called me that in ages. Kiki was my family's nickname for me...and it kinda stuck."

"Ah. I'm Tino Suarez. Nice to, uh...meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too. Tino's your full name?"

"No. It's Augustino." He tipped his baseball cap back on his head, appearing embarrassed. "I was named after the saint."

"San Augustin? Really?" Somehow, the man before her didn't conjure up visions of angels plucking the strings of golden harps and circling the clouds. For those brief seconds of the kiss she'd smelled the sea in his hair, peeking out from under that cap bearing the logo of the New York Yankees. Strands of premature silver flecked here and there throughout the jet-black hair.

She admired his profile as he tossed back his head to inspect the clouds after another explosion of thunder.

"Listen, maybe you'd better call it a night, Miss—Kiki," he advised.

"I wanted to...about thirty minutes ago. That's when my friend and sister-in-law were supposed to come back for me."

"Oh, somebody is coming for you?" So he did have a reprieve, after all. An unexpected flash of disappointment interrupted his relief. "Maybe they got held up?"

"That's what I think. I'm afraid we didn't plan this too well. And my cell's battery was dead so I didn't bring it. Everybody's so busy, still working out the kinks, and tomorrow's our grand opening. When I left, my brother was tinkering with the electricity in the place. Last-minute repairs."

Recalling her purpose for being there, she whipped out a flyer and handed it to him.

"This is what all the fuss is about!" Her smile beamed with pride. "La Sirena Restaurant. Finest Puerto Rican cuisine on Long Island. You'll be there, won't you? We've got everything on that menu. Chuletas, arroz con gandules, mariscos, bistec en salsa—"

Glumly, she watched him scan the flyer absently, then fold it into a square that got deposited into his shirt pocket.

"It's—it's going to be a success," she told him.

"I'm sure it will be. But, eh...want me to call these people for you? Your sister-in-law and whoever? Because it's none of my business, I know, but this isn't the safest place to be this late at night. And any minute, it's gonna pour."

Oh, great, she thought. The man whose looks got better with proximity was nothing more than a concerned citizen. An aloof, concerned citizen, distancing himself from her on that fountain. In her book, drinking had already ruled him out. It didn't matter if he was a casual drinker or en route to the next bar to get himself sloshed. She'd first seen him in a bar; there'd been a glass in his hand, and evidently, it hadn't been filled with Coca Cola. That was all the warning she needed.

Yet, if he had been more comfortable around her, and if that had been a soft drink or coffee, or anything but liquor, that extra half hour out there on the avenue wouldn't have been wasted.

"That's nice of you, but calling them would be a problem."

Tino folded his arms around his chest. "Why would it be a problem?"

"We're having a little trouble with the phone line. It's hooked up. You can dial out; you just can't receive calls right now. And they're so busy, I'm not sure they'd hear their cells, either."

"Ah ha!" Turning away to roll his eyes, Tino muttered, "What kind of people are they? The phone's down, they forget she's here—"

"What did you say?" The question, more of a demand, was accompanied by a saucy shimmy of the shoulders. Through the saleswoman smile, the exquisite green eyes, and a kiss potent enough to excite him, there blazed an attitude.

A mermaid with an attitude.

"Nothing. I was thinking out loud."

"You were thinking of criticizing my family, that's what you were thinking. And they did not forget about me. For your information, Ceci's car is in the shop, and that pickup truck is on a respirator. Debbie and Miriam are probably having trouble getting it started."

All that, plus before the restaurant's opening tomorrow, those electrical and telephone woes had to be resolved. That mermaid and the rest of her brood were off to some start with their soon-to-be-a-big-success small business. The first drops of that oncoming August storm cooled the skin on Tino's neck.

"Look, I wasn't criticizing your family. It's just that I have to get home, and I can't leave you out here alone. You saw what happened with that guy in the truck."

"Yes, and you were a true gentleman, coming to my assistance like that. But that doesn't mean you can criticize my family!" Realizing she was overreacting, she drew a breath. "We've never done this before, we're new to all this. We haven't even lived on the Island that long."

"No? Where'd you live before?"

"In the city. On 116th in Spanish Harlem."

"Wow. That's a long way from here."

"More than you know."

The droplets of rain grew in size and intensity, dampening the balance of the flyers and her costume—rather, the costume that belonged to the rental place in Blue Point. Her best friend, Debbie Wilcox, had struck gold by finding it. It had been Debbie's idea—she'd called it a marketing ploy—to have an actual mermaid announce the grand opening of a restaurant named La Sirena.

The all-day search for the perfect costume had seemed futile. Most of the outfits had been either chintzy or poorly designed, fit for a night of fun on Halloween and nothing else. Her search had been rewarded at the last place she'd visited, although between Debbie, Miriam and Kiki, only Kiki could've gotten into that tight size four.

As the storm instantly transformed into a deluge, with sheets of rain pounding down to the earth, she glanced down at the dark green satin and sequins. Now the costume would be ruined. Another bill coming in, in addition to the stack behind the restaurant's counter waiting to be paid.

She'd anticipated setbacks. They all had. But not this early on, a day before the dream was born, when things were starting to look up. She'd made a vow to herself not to accept failure anymore, either from life or herself. A promise to go for the gold had obstacles coming at her and her family like steel darts.

"The restaurant's on Jefferson Place, right?" Tino raised his voice to be heard above the thunder and wind.

"Right. Jefferson Place. But I'm still here. And you don't have to be."

"I don't intend to be."

Moving quickly, he stood, planting his hands firmly on her waist and lifting her from the fountain to her feet.

"What are you doing?"

Short on time for explanations or debates, he bent over, enveloped that exaggerated fishtail in his arms, and hoisted around a hundred and twenty pounds of mermaid over his shoulder. Every last flyer blanketed the patch of sidewalk beneath them.

"What are you doing?" Kiki repeated, slightly panicked.

"Taking you back to Neptune, my little sirenita! He's gotta be wondering where you are right now."

Her lower jaw dropped open. In that position, she had the most stimulating view of strong, masculine legs and a firm backside. Beneath her, she could feel each step of his fast-paced walk, her heart skipping a beat as he gave his shoulder a huge shrug, shifting her weight on his body. She gave a startled yelp when his hand roughly grasped part of the fishtail for another adjustment.

"That's my behind, you know!"

"Oh. Sorry. Don't know where the costume ends and you begin. Just trying to make sure you don't fall."

Kiki pushed the hair dangling in her face behind her ears. As was to be expected, the rain had made it curlier, wilder, and more unmanageable than usual. She and Tino Suarez had to be a sight, turning a corner onto Jefferson Place for the three-block journey to the restaurant. A man with a mermaid tossed over his shoulder was fodder for those people at the Atlantic Sea Breeze Bar, and every fisherman in town.

What a way to kick off a new business!

"You were teasing about Neptune." She did her best not to sound fearful. "You're not going to take me to the pier and throw me over as a joke or anything. Right?"

"Does it look like I'm taking you to the pier?"

"No." She swallowed hard, afraid to say the words. You're a stranger: I don't know you. I kissed you, and I thought about what it would be like to make love with you. But I don't know you from Adam. "I'm just a little bit...terrified of the water. Ever since I was a kid."

"No! You wouldn't make a very good mermaid, then. And here I was thinking of hiring you for one of my boats. You could sing for the guys on the Wind Voyager."

She relaxed slightly. "You're a fisherman, too?"

"Yep. I think my father took me out on a boat as soon as I could walk. I mostly hire the crews now, run my boats, the Costa del Sol and the Wind Voyager. Still, I take a boat out once in a while. I must have saltwater instead of blood in my veins by now."

Beneath her, he walked faster. She held on for dear life, one hand grasping his belt, the other shaping around the muscles of his back. Carrying her had to be some job for him. She didn't weigh much, true—both she and her brother, Cecil, had always been the naturally lean Figueroas—but her height and bone structure were another story, especially combined with the speed his legs were moving at and with the wind fighting him all the way.

He was doing fine, though. Not a gasp for breath out of him. Big, strong, alpha fisherman that he was. She would have preferred a less awkward position, perhaps carried in his arms, instead of tossed over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Yet that would have been the romantic way to carry her. This man wasn't too keen on romance or dealing with women. What a shame, considering he was attractive in that outdoorsy, seafaring sort of way. Chivalrous, maybe. Romantic? Only in her fantasies, the first she'd weaved freely after a failed marriage and two years of convincing herself that she could get along without those desires.

"That seawater that you have for blood," she asked, "where'd it come from?"

"Spain. A generation back, though. I was born in Florida, but I've been to Spain a few times. And you, sirenita Puertorriqueña?"

"Puerto Rico, where else? A generation back, like you. But I've never been there."

"No? You have to go. Puerto Rico's beautiful. And the fishing's out of this world."

Kiki sighed. In other words, he was a man who questioned her family's actions and complimented her homeland. Knowing Ceci, her brother wouldn't give him the opportunity to do either. He'd thank Tino for bringing her home in a nothing-else-better-have-happened tone of voice. Her only brother, two years younger than she, had grown increasingly protective of her toward the end of her marriage.

Little did Ceci know that he had nothing to worry about where Tino Suarez was concerned. She'd flirted with him and he'd played the knight in shining armor, saving her from an ugly scene with another stranger, then getting her home in one piece before the rain completely destroyed that rented costume.

However, for the duration of that stolen kiss that Spaniard fisherman had made her feel like the mermaid he'd longed for on one of his many voyages on the open sea.

TWO

"Two hundred and fifty dollars for Ceci's car..." Inez Figueroa rattled off items on her mental list. "Twelve hundred for the new transmission for that broken-down pickup of Debbie's...oh, and twenty-five dollars, give or take some change, for the cab fare last night. That was for Miriam and Debbie riding all over town like maniacs, looking for their mermaid."

Kiki knew where her oldest sibling was headed with the conversation. No way would she take the bait this time. In the past, Inez had never failed to push her buttons, forcing her to admit defeat.

Now that wouldn't be happening. In fact, in the three days her sister had visited with them, none of Inez's negativity or nitpicking had daunted Kiki. And despite Inez's reserve, Kiki's absence of temper and stoic patience were driving her crazy.

"Don't forget the plumber yesterday, Titi Inez," Jasmine, Ceci and Miriam's little girl, interjected into the adults' conversation. "And Titi Debbie went to buy food for the customers. Lots of food, and we don't even got customers to eat it."

Kiki bit back the urge to laugh, feigning avid interest in the pile of job applications from prospective waitresses on the counter.

Childishly, Inez accepted the six-year-old's unwitting nail in La Sirena's coffin.

"That's right, Jazzy—that what I'm talkin' about!" She took a seat at one of the empty tables, prettily decorated with linen tablecloths and votive candles. "That's what I've been telling your Mami and Papi and Titi Kiki. But does anybody listen to me? Uh uh. This place spends more chavo than it makes."

Another half hour. That was all the time that was left before Kiki drove Inez in Ceci's car to the LIRR station. She was welcomed to take her dark cloud of negativity with her, too. God knew, Kiki and her co-owners of the restaurant had enough gloom and doom of their own in the form of their dwindling bank accounts.

She knew starting the business would be an uphill climb, but at their feet was a culinary Mount Everest.

"We had some customers in here for the grand opening," Kiki ventured at her defense. "A couple of people yesterday, too—"

"Yeah? And you took in, what—twenty dollars? If that?" Inez huffed out a triumphant laugh as she scooped some cosmetics from her tote bag. "The ones that came in bought coffee and pasteles. I told you guys before you left home, this place was a big mistake."

"We've also been talking about it for a long time, Inez. It was a matter of time before we took the plunge and actually did it. You have to take risks sometimes, you know. You have to do what your heart tells you to do."

"Oh, really? Tell me, Kiki. Do you still trust your heart after some of the stuff it's told you to do?"

Kiki glanced up, checking on Jazzy. She was such a little woman, rearranging the candles and flowers and sugar packet holders on the tables. Looking remarkably like her Titi Kiki at that age, she was a spindly kid with swirls of cocoa-brown hair tamed by two thick ponytails. Jazzy had been at her door bright and early that morning, asking if they could run down to the marina to watch the boats sailing out before opening the restaurant.

Kiki had been more than happy to accept the invitation, because sooner or later the novelty of being so close to the sea would wear off. Besides, her sweet niece wouldn't stay little forever.

"That discussion is not for now," she told Inez sternly. "Not in front of Jazzy. But in answer to your question, yes. I still trust my heart. Very much so, I trust my heart."

Not one to surrender easily, Inez looked up from her compact mirror, intent on using the last of her ammunition.

"Go on and tell me this, Kiki. What qualifications do you—oh, make that any of you—have for running a restaurant? Debbie, okay. I understand her. She went to college and she studied business.

"But you, Ceci, and Miriam?" she went on. "Ceci doesn't know anything except construction. And Miriam? That woman had a good job in Manhattan. But still, she was a secretary. And you—you're the best one..." Her voice dipped sarcastically. "What? You work as a waitress since you're sixteen, so that qualifies you to be the boss now?"

It wasn't worth the hassle of an argument. What sounded like an insult from her sister may have hurt, and Kiki was tempted to reach through the pain and return the insult. She decided instead to follow her instincts, knowing precisely where her sister was coming from, that she wasn't the tough cookie she'd always fancied herself being.

"You're right," she conceded, moving toward the room's windows. "That's all I've ever been. A waitress with a little education. No college for me. It's a wonder I even finished high school. So you're right. I'm probably the one who brings the least to the table."

Kiki yanked open the vertical blinds, allowing the afternoon sun to brighten the room. Out of the corner of her eye she watched Inez. Her older sister's eyebrow arched incredulously, the eyeliner pencil poised in her hand.

"I didn't say you brought the least to this place." She bristled. "You misunderstood me. What else is new?"

"That's sorta what you meant, Inez."

"No, it was not. What—what you don't have in experience or education, Kiki, you've always made up for in enthusiasm. You work your butt off, too. And you're stubborn—my God, you're stubborn! You're no quitter—"

Inez stopped. The blush on her face deepened in color when she saw the mischief in Kiki's smirk.

"Thanks, Inez. Thanks for having faith in me. It means more than you know to me."

The kitchen doors swung open, preventing Inez from hurling an indignant retort at having been outsmarted. Into the dining room breezed Miriam, Ceci's wife. From behind her flowed the rich aroma of a morning's worth of cooking, sadly, for La Sirena's nonexistent customers. Miriam pulled her purse over her shoulder and jangled a ring of keys in her hand.

"Vamos, vamos, Inez!" she ordered cheerfully. "I'm not throwing you out, so don't get your feelings hurt, but we do need to give ourselves time to get to the train, get your ticket, all that."

Inez narrowed her eyes at her. "I thought Kiki—"

"Kiki was taking you. But, ay, bendito, do I ever need a break from that kitchen. A drive and some fresh air will do me good." She addressed her daughter. "Want to take a ride, mamita?"

"No, Mami. I wanna stay and help Titi with the customers."

Inez cackled, rising from her chair.

"Oh, yes—and aren't they a demanding bunch?" She flailed her arms at the lonely tables and chairs. "Be right back. I have to say goodbye to my baby brother."

Kiki waited until the kitchen doors had closed behind her to lean closer to Miriam.

"You need a break?"

"One of us does." Her sister-in-law smoothed down her short locks with her fingers. "Inez is best in little doses, and you're about to overdose. Let her get in her last licks at me before she leaves."

"She won't. She likes you." Kiki realized too late that a certain little chismosa was eavesdropping again. "And sure, she likes me, too."

"Did Debbie get back from the fisherman's market?"

"Not yet."

"Coward!"

Inez's farewell to her was pointedly cooler than her goodbye to Jazzy; the obligatory embrace, the begrudging peck on the cheek. No wistful, final look before following Miriam out the door. The emotions left unexpressed were more hurtful than angry tears of the past could ever have been.

"Why is Titi Inez so mean to you? Doesn't she love you?"

Kiki sat herself down at one of the tables, waving Jazzy over to her. "Know what it is, nena? Titi Inez is one of those people who, no matter how much she loves you, she has a hard time showing it. That's just her."

Jazzy scooted onto the chair facing her aunt. "She shows me. She's nice to everybody else. Titi Debbie, too. How come not to you?"

Her aunt took a deep breath. She couldn't do it. She couldn't lie or fudge the truth. Not to Jazzy, who reminded her of the daughter she would have wanted to have, if her marriage had survived.

"Well, remember when Daddy told you Titi Inez practically raised us because Abuelita was working two jobs and Abuelito was sick? Your daddy always listened to Inez and so did Titi Leidi. I was a bad girl...sometimes. I didn't always do what Titi Inez wanted me to do. So I guess she's used to being extra strict with me."

Jazzy's eyes widened. "You were a bad girl? Like how? You stole something?"

"No, no—relax! Not that bad." Kiki giggled. "I was the next oldest girl, and I...I didn't want to be bossed around by my big sister. I didn't come home when she told me to; I came home later. I got bad grades in school; I wouldn't do my homework. And...I didn't listen to her, and I got married, when she kept telling me not to."

"Because Tio Xavier was bad?"

"No. No, Tio Xavier was not bad." She reached across the table and squeezed Jazzy's hand. "Titi Inez knew Tio Xavier had a problem, right from the start. And after we got married, his drinking got worse. And I would always take him back, something that made Titi Inez frustrated with me. She did love me, that's why she got mad at me. You understand now?"

Jazzy nodded soberly, then shook her head.

"That's okay, baby. It'll make sense to you one day, when you're older. But it doesn't matter, because things will only get better from now on."

Like the kid she was, Jazzy's attention to the subject dwindled, and she went onto the next juicy topic.

"Was that man a prince? The one who brought you home the other day?"

Kiki laughed. "Why? Did he look like a prince to you?"

"Uh-huh! Like a prince...in disguise. And you were a mermaid princess in disguise."

"Mmmm." Kiki sat back in her chair, relishing the vivid imagination of a child. "You thought he was handsome, like a prince? You liked him?"

The little cup cupped her chin in her hands getting into el bochinche, Spanish for "gossip", which she'd later confide to her mother. "You did."

"I did? I—I thought he was cute."

Completamente chevere, to be exact. And he'd lingered on her mind those past two days, though their paths hadn't again crossed. Eventually, she assumed they would, living in that small seaside town. It was probably best that nothing came of it.

"You liked him!" Jazzy teased, wagging a finger at her. "And he liked you, too. I saw him looking at you."

"Yes. At that hour. I really have to talk to your mami and papi about moving down your bedtime, something reasonable, like...five o'clock in the afternoon or something."

The front door pushed open. Expecting to see Debbie, Kiki pivoted, finding herself greeted by a pleasant surprise.

In traipsed eight men, ranging in ages from their early twenties to late sixties. They wore the telltale signs of a half-day fishing trip: unzipped windbreakers, faces bronzed by the sun, a couple of the older gentlemen with metal lures pinned to their caps, the faint smell of fish on their clothes. A bedraggled bunch, to be sure, wonderfully storm-trooping through La Sirena's portals.

That was the first big delivery of the restaurant's customers. An excited Kiki sprang to her feet.

"Hola! Welcome to La Sirena," she greeted them.

"See? Customers. I was right not to leave you by yourself," she heard Jazzy whisper behind her.

"Hola!" a sixtyish man echoed, removing his cap to reveal a totally bald pate. "Tell us the menu's in English, young lady, and lead us to our tables. All I can ask is that you seat me far from that man, right here!"

He pointed to another of the older men, an overweight gentleman wearing a New York Jets T-shirt. The comment brought a round of laughter from his buddies.

"Pay no attention to him, miss," the heavyset man said, shrugging. "He's just got his boxers in a wad because I caught enough fish to feed a family of four for a week, and he turned up empty. As usual, I might add."

Smiling, Kiki took the reins.

"You can sit anywhere you'd like, as close or as far from your fishing rivals as possible! And the menu is in both English and Spanish. I'll take your orders for drinks and we'll get you your menus."

She turned, speaking to Jazzy in a lowered voice. "Baby, tell Daddy we got customers. Lots of 'em. And bring out eight menus and hand them out to everybody."

"Okay, Titi." Thrilled to finally be put to work, the little girl spun on her heel and burst through the kitchen doors.

As the men seated themselves, Kiki stepped to the center of the room, announcing, "The special for today is chuletas—pork chops—served with salad, tostones—fried plantains—and your choice of potatoes or arroz con gandules. That's a delicious Puerto Rican rice with pigeon peas. We also have a delicious vegetable soup that Miriam, one of our chefs, likes to call Boricua Surprise."

"Better get some of that, whatever it is, while we can," one of the younger men was overheard telling one of the other guys."

"Oh, there's plenty to go around."

"There's plenty now," another customer said. "You got a whole shipment of people coming from another party boat. They're just coming to shore."

"Really? We do?"

Through the building's west window, she watched an assortment of vehicles pulling into the few available spaces left in the modest parking lot.

"Where's everybody coming from?" Kiki spoke aloud, quickly adding, "This—this is great!"

"Well, you got the owner and the crew of the Wind Voyager telling everybody how terrific this place is," another man explained, pausing to thank Jazzy for a menu. "Let's see if La Sirena lives up to its reputation."

"It will. Oh, it will."

She barely had time to retrieve a check pad from behind the counter before several men, women, and a few children entered through the doors. Jazzy squeezed by her, giggling as she grabbed an armful of menus.

Debbie Wilcox arrived moments later, balancing a grocery bag in each arm. The young black woman with short-cropped hair looked frazzled after stepping out of a cab. Her gaze inspected the room from one end to the other, her mouth dropped open.

"Hallelujah!" she exclaimed. "I told you that mermaid outfit would do the trick!"

"It wasn't the outfit, Debra. We had some free public relations handed to us." Kiki relieved her of one bag, leading her by the arm out of the customers' hearing range. "Your choice. You wanna take their orders, get drinks, or help Ceci in the kitchen?"

"Miriam's not here?"

"No. She shouldn't be too long, though, I hope."

"What free public relations are we talking about?"

"I'll explain later."

"All right." Debbie sighed happily. "I'll take their orders. You're bartender."

The Wind Voyager. It had taken Kiki a second to recall the vessel's name, linking it to Tino Suarez. She hurried behind the counter and began filling glasses with ice, then started brewing fresh coffee for their sudden bonanza of business.

Why couldn't those customers have arrived sooner—like when her sister was still there? Inez would have experienced a temporary lapse of poor sportsmanship, with the unanticipated success of the restaurant proving her wrong. Even if it was for only one afternoon! Yet Kiki liked to think that, ultimately, her sister would have been happy for LaSirena's owners, that all that good cheer would have been extended to her, as well.

Being right in the argument now seemed like such a minor thing, in light of watching that place come to life. The place belonged to her, her family, and her closest friend, housing their mutual dream. It was nothing more than an eighty-year-old brick building, with its as-yet-to-be-restored tin ceiling. But looking back over her shoulder and seeing the buzzing activity, that glimpse at wonderful prosperity—Debbie joking with her first real customers and Jazzy jubilantly getting into the act—it meant something.

Incredibly, Tino Suarez had played a role in that exceptional afternoon. Out of—what? Kindness? He himself hadn't been to the restaurant, because she'd been there every day. She would've remembered seeing him. There was something unforgettable about him, difficult to pinpoint.

In between filling orders for coffee and soft drinks from Debbie, she made a note to herself to thank the prince in disguise. Personally.

♥

Down through the centuries, according to David Suarez, the mermaid was such a poor, misunderstood creature, undeserving of the bad reputation bestowed on her by seamen and their legends.

Tino Suarez found himself more inclined than ever to disagree with his father. The man who'd reigned as patriarch over his brood of four sons, until the stroke that ended his life, had had a lifelong fascination with the mythical beings. For a man who claimed to be free from superstition, he'd sprinkled his sons' childhood and youth with tales handed down to him by their grandfather. Back then, as a kid, it had seemed to Tino that his father had spoken of mermaids as if they were real, more than just the beautiful sirens created by the imagination and lust of seagoing men.

That mermaid aficionado had given him something of an education about the ladies of the ocean. He'd found the stories beguiling but had dismissed them as folklore. Collecting his things to leave the Wind Voyager, the "facts" as recounted by that salty Spaniard, came back to him.

The mermaid was the dream child of various cultures, including the ancient Greeks and the Celts. From what Tino gathered, she was part flower child, part valley girl, and total diva, leading an idyllic life in Poseidon's kingdom. Though her lifespan was supernaturally long, she was an eternally youthful knockout. Eventually, even her life would end.

Before then, however, the little vixen would find time to wreak mischief in the lives of sailors. Every so often, that gorgeous half-woman, half-fish, who possessed magical powers and a talent for predicting the future, would rise to the surface. She'd scout out a rock on which to seat herself, comb her long tresses, and belt out a tune like Broadway star.

What man could resist that? Except the eyes that fell on her belonged to the poor slob of a sailor who would be doomed. Seeing her was a bad omen; the girl was just plain, old bad news, determined to lure the man down to the depths of the sea.

But it's not that the mermaid is wicked, his father would explain in Spanish, time and again. No, that's not so. She is simply in love with the sailor, with a love so desperate that she can't imagine ever being separated from him.

So, in other words, the mermaid was misguided rather than evil. It was the original fatal attraction. Perhaps his father had meant to tone down her dark side for the sake of his little son, who would have hesitated before stepping foot onto another boat again, and rightly so. Nevertheless, the message Tino had derived from the story was, "If you see a pretty muchacha with long hair and scales, flirting up a storm with you, run for the hills."

It was harder to run away from her when she'd decided to haunt a man. It was nonsense, nothing more than his imagination in overdrive, but he could swear he'd seen mermaids everywhere in the past two days following the evening he'd chatted with one seated on a fountain. They were silly things: a mermaid tattooed on a crewman's arm; on a matchbook on the counter at the Atlantic Sea Breeze; a snippet of "The Million Dollar Mermaid" with the American actress, Esther Williams, on the old movie channel.

Coincidence. That was it.

It was even more difficult to run from her when she assumed the form of a human woman...and she was headed up the pier in the direction of his vessel.

He might have been a doomed sailor, but she was in for the fight of her supernaturally long life.

"Ahoy, Captain!" She saluted him. "Permission to come aboard, sir!"

That make-believe mermaid hadn't just sprouted garden variety legs. The limbs unobstructed by those hip-hugging shorts were the kind that garnered wolf whistles down a busy intersection.

He'd given in to legs like that before. He'd learned his lesson and wasn't going to be a pushover for them now.

"Permission granted."

The woman who'd confided her fear of the ocean approached the boat awkwardly. Grabbing hold of a cable, she swung one leg onto the deck, her sneakered feet wobbly before she adjusted to the gentle bobbing of the vessel in the water.

"You caught me," he said. "I was just getting ready to leave."

"Oh, that's fine. I won't keep you. They told me I could find you here, so I came to thank you in person."

"Thank me for...?"

"What do you think? For recommending us to people." She squinted at him. "The grand opening wasn't so grand. I guess people still don't know there's a restaurant on Jefferson Place. So, you know, a couple days went by without much business. But then, you came to the rescue again. We really appreciate that."

Tino ran a hand through his hair, avoiding her eyes. "I didn't do much, really. I happen to know how hard it is to run a business. But you start to know the faces that come on these trips, so...I just put in a good word for you. I didn't do much."

Kiki shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Her long hair was drawn back in a ponytail, swinging behind her with each motion.

"You say that like it's no big deal. Well, it's a big deal to my business partners," she told him softly. "And to me. You didn't have to do it, either."

"But as I finished telling you, I've been there. People get off these boats, they're tired and hungry. Why shouldn't they try the new restaurant in town?"

"Verdad!" Shrugging, she took hold of the cable. "Hey, Captain. One more thing."

"What's that?"

"You don't like me much, do you? Why is that?"

His gaze shot up at her from across the deck, studying her expression. Kiki didn't seem to be confronting him; she was earnestly confused.

"Is it that you're this superior Spaniard," she guessed, "up there on your high horse, and I'm this New Yorican?"

"Oh, I see. I'm a hero because I recommended your restaurant to people, but then I'm 'this superior Spaniard.' Does that make sense to you?"

"No. But then, it doesn't make sense that you would do something so totally sweet, then you act like a cold fish when I go out of my way to thank you." Planting her hands on her hips, she smiled. "Or is it that you're a cold fish to everybody, and I'm taking it personally? Is that it?"

"Woman, what do you want me to say?"

"'You're welcome' would've been nice, Tino. 'Glad to help out a fellow small business owner. I know if you do well at running your restaurant, then I, the fisherman, do well because I get to sell you the fish.' But 'you're welcome' would've been enough."

Giving a curt nod of his head, he conceded, "You're welcome, Miss New Yorican."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Again. And incidentally...I'm not a cold fish."

A wind gusted in from the sea, rustling his salt-and-pepper hair. He looked different from the night she'd met him, without the baseball cap and the stubble shadowing his face. The sailing man had thought to wear a light jacket against the cool of the evening, with its collar turned up. She'd wore the same short-sleeved top that had been comfortable during a scorching and humid day; now she was hugging her arms to ward off the chill.

"Well, then I'm—"

"I mean it. I'm not a cold fish. Maybe that's how I come across, but I'm a..." He took a deep breath. "Look, Kiki, I work hard, I work long hours. I go out sometimes, with the crews, and I'm gone for days. So that's usually where my head's at. It's not that I'm cold or detached, or that I don't have anything in the way of social graces. As a matter of fact, I think the opposite's true."

Was that a glint of hurt in his eyes? Kiki got the distinct impression he'd used that same line of defense before.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Tino. All I wanted to know was if there was something about me, personally, that...never mind."

"Kiki, what would there be about you to be disliked? You're friendly, you're...simpática."

"Really? Well, I find you simpático. Very. You're a hot kisser, too."

It was a joke, meant to lighten the conversation, to make him chuckle. He obliged halfheartedly, trying not to notice the memory of that kiss rushing back into his thoughts. To his recollection, Jamila had never kissed him like that, or if she had, it had been long before that other man had come between them.

Neither had his former fiancée been as disarmingly forward as this woman with the heart of a flirtatious sea siren. Jamila had been more like him, reserved and serious.

More like me. What a laugh. She'd hidden her deceptive side so well—along with the fiery, passionate side she'd saved for someone else.

"What were you doing her before I so rudely interrupted you?" Kiki asked, sensing his discomfort had triggered the silence between them.

"Routine stuff, after a boat gets through with repairs and has a trip to make. Checking her gauges, her engine, the radio, the fishing equipment. Taking inventory of what my crew's going to need for the trip. Nothing that would be of interest to you, I'm sure."

"You're sure, are you? You hardly know me. You're the first fisherman I've ever met. I mean—the first one who does this for a living. Ceci only goes out for fun, and that's when he gets the time. I'm sure you must have stories to tell I'd be interested in hearing. For instance..." She leaned closer to him. "When the day's over and the boat's docked in the harbor, what does the captain do, just for fun?"
THREE

Fishermen were blessed with the memory of that non-aquatic mammal, the elephant.

Under ordinary circumstances Tino would have steered clear of the Atlantic Sea Breeze, especially if accompanied by the town mermaid. The plan had not been to drop by the bar at all that night. For once, work hadn't been on the agenda. Exhausted, he'd looked forward to his head hitting the pillow at a decent hour.

How he had gotten himself roped into a date was a mystery. Perhaps it wasn't an official date; it sure as hell wasn't a planned date. Technically, it couldn't have been a real date. Yet in his mind, spending time with a woman and buying her a drink was a date—unofficial and unplanned, the first since the wedding that never was, but a date, all the same.

To his chagrin, that was how the Sea Breeze regulars perceived his being there with a young woman, as well.

"This round's on the house, 'kay?" the strawberry-blond waitress said, setting down another Absolut on the rocks for him and a ginger ale for her. "Compliments of the bartender. She said it's so you can 'toast your cozy home aquarium.' Whatever that means."

Kiki glanced toward the bar. He was afraid to do likewise, reluctantly spotting Sandy at the bar, grinning impishly back at them. The circle of men and women surrounding her raised their glasses to him and Kiki, as they warbled an off-key chorus of "Strangers in the Night." Most of them couldn't recall all the lyrics, their voices trailing off in scooby-dobby-doobing.

Adding fuel to the fire was his supposed "date", raising her arms to applaud them and joining in their laughter.

"They look like a fun bunch, Tino. If you want us to hang out with your friends, I wouldn't mind that at all."

That was still another bit of proof of how strange the situation was. Tino lifted his eyes to see the woman across the table, whose green eyes caught the light from the flickering candle between them. She was sincere about having no qualms about joining people she didn't know, simply because they were his "friends." She was social, gregarious, not an ounce of shyness in her.

Definitely not the type of woman he'd been attracted to throughout his life.

"No, I'm fine here. I don't...hang out with them. They're just here when I'm here."

"Oh. You come here to drink alone?"

He tipped the glass to his lips, taking a long swallow. "Yeah. To unwind after a day of work. Two drinks, maybe three. I don't need company while I'm drinking them, but then I'm a lone wolf, anyway."

She appeared disappointed. At last—something that discouraged her, because through that first round he thought he'd seen the onset of something warm and affectionate in her expression.

I'm a loner. You're Miss Congeniality. Ain't no future there, baby.

"You know, there are other ways to unwind." She kept her tone light. "To relieve the pressure of the day—like watching movies, reading a good book. That's something I never did when I was younger, but I'm finding out how much I love to read, now that I'm an old lady of twenty-eight."

Before he could catch himself, he chuckled. "Wow, you're ancient! What constitutes a 'good book' to you? A romance novel?"

Kiki leaned forward in her seat, folding her arms on the table. "I won't lie. I love those. They're like chocolate. A delicious food group unto themselves. I didn't read in high school because the teachers kinda forced you to, you know? And you had two weeks or a month to finish one book. That never seemed like enough time.

"Now I'll read anything. And if it grabs me, I'm obsessive about it. I'll finish it in two days flat. One month I read a bestseller; the next month, I read a classic. Steinbeck, Joyce, Hemingway....You know Hemingway, don't you? The Lone Wolf and the Sea?"

Pointing at her, he said, "That one, I read. But it's The Old Man and the Sea."

"Same thing, believe me." Her laugh was unintentionally alluring. She took a sip of her soft drink, the ice clinking in the glass, before going on. "But back to methods of unwinding. Nothing beats listening to music. Finding a comfortable spot—for me, it's the front steps of the porch—putting on a set of headphones so I don't disturb anyone, and tuning out. I love music. Better than drinking any day."

"Ah ha. And the music would be...Victor Manuelle? La Banda Loca?"

She laughed at the mention of Latin music. "Oh, so you know them? La Dueña de Mis Amores. I love that one! Sure. Why not something happy? We deserve that much, in this short life. We could also use something soothing. Something that wakes up the soul. Like Nessun Dorma. Turandot wrote some beautiful music. And I don't know exactly who wrote it, but...La Granada."

"Te gusta 'La Granada?' That was a favorite of my father's. I remember him enjoying a glass of port wine while listening to it. He combined your way of relaxing with mine. But you have some problems with liquor, no?"

He'd caught her red-handed on the soapbox. "No, no, I don't have any...well, all right. If you really want to know, drinking ruined my marriage. I'm sorry, I know that has nothing to do with you. But if you ever watched someone you loved hurting himself, over and over again, that's impossible to forget."

Kiki braced herself for the inevitable. Shortly before the application went through the Small Business Administration, she'd been outnumbered three to one on the issue of whether or not to serve liquor in La Sirena. Ceci, Debbie, and even Miriam, who was raised by an evangelical minister and who'd known the particulars her sister-in-law had kept secret from her brother and best friend, had all been in favor of hiring a bartender for their customers. The expense of obtaining a liquor license had settled the argument.

Everyone who drinks isn't an alcoholic, Kiki. Ceci's words were now to be repeated by Tino Suarez. For some reason, from him, the chiding tone was going to hurt more.

"You were married before?" he asked, looking surprised.

"Yes. To the same guy I dated all through high school. I knew him for a long time. Before he drank."

"And when, uh...when he drank, he didn't...he never..."

"No, not physically." That question had come up before. Many times, in fact. Mostly from a brother vowing to beat up her husband, if he so much as dared to raise a hand to her. "He hurt me with disappointment. With broken promises. With worry. In and out of rehab, never able to hold down a job. He'd disappear for days without telling me where he was. But you don't want to hear all this."

Licking his lips, Tino leaned forward. "Who...ended it?"

"I had to. Nothing was going to change. Naturally, my family kept telling me that, my best friend. I held on for a long time, though, until I realized my love wasn't enough for him."

"Yeah, I know that feeling," he muttered into his glass, tossing back his head and draining it. "Where's that waitress?"

Drink Number Three, coming up. He was going on to his third glass. Kiki wondered how many it took to make the captain drunk. She didn't want to stick around and find out. She began sliding out of the booth.

"Listen, it's getting late, to I'd better—"

"Hey, I don't blame you for walking out on that." He stopped to motion to the waitress. "He was in hell, and he was taking you down with him. You had every right to walk out. But to tell a man you love him, and to know he loves you more than his life, and then to abandon him and humiliate him by..."

"By what?" She moved back into her seat. "Are you divorced, Tino?"

A stern scowl lined his brow. "That's personal."

"Is it, really? So it's okay for you to hear the true confessions of my life, but yours are, what—property of the CIA?"

"We were supposed to be talking about fishing. Remember? You were so interested in hearing about my profession."

"And I still do want you to tell me about it. But you asked me who walked out of my marriage. That's personal, too, but I answered it honestly. I think that's more intrusive than a simple question like, 'Are you divorced?'"

Now he recalled why he preferred drinking alone. He regretted having ordered that third drink, which the waitress was bringing to him at that very moment. He cursed himself for not paying the check and shuffling her out of there, ending the date he'd been talked into by a bubbly female who reminded him, ironically, of a bottle of pink champagne.

No, he had to go and order another drink. To scare her off. To discourage her. And himself.

"I'm not divorced. There, you happy? I never got married. I got as far as the altar, because the bride didn't show up. Cute, huh? No wedding, no marriage. No marriage, no divorce."

"You were left at the altar?"

"Yep. The young lady decided she didn't want to be my wife after all. Never bothered to tell me. All was not lost, though. I heard she had a great time on our honeymoon with the man of her dreams—who just happened to be somebody else."

Tino Suarez in a black tuxedo, black sash around that lean waist. His hair combed back, adoration for his bride making that face even more handsome. Kiki rubbed her arms again, this time not from the cold, but from the shivers on her skin. She'd forgotten she was still wearing his windbreaker, which he'd slipped onto her shoulders while leaving his boat.

"And you don't have to look at me that way, either," he warned.

"What way is that?"

"Like it's sweat off my brow, Jamila not showing up for the wedding. It was embarrassing, sure. It happened in front of two hundred people. Otherwise, it worked out for the best. She got what she wanted: a big, powerful executive for a husband. And I'm better off, too. I found out a fisherman's love wasn't enough for her before the rings were exchanged."

"That's true. You are." Her hand closed firmly around his hand, preventing him from lifting the glass. "But I'm not so sure about her. Throwing away a fisherman's love seems very foolish to me."

The second she released his hand, he proceeded to down half the drink. It was a strained action, evident in his wince afterward. She preferred how he'd looked on the deck of his boat, or when she'd gotten him to talk about his line of work.

So he wasn't at all a cold fish. He was capable of passion that reached past his work. Kiki found that invigorating. The way he had of meeting her eyes whenever she spoke heightened the intimacy of their conversation.

Yet she sensed he was trying to prove something. What that something was that he was so stubbornly intent on proving, she didn't know. She wasn't risking anything by blowing the whistle on whatever game he was playing.

"I have to go. I report for work early. Well, you know the rules of running your own business." Resolutely, she rose from the table. "Hope you don't mind. I didn't expect to be out this late."

That was the worst vodka on the rocks Tino had ever swallowed. He was accustomed to nursing his drinks, not slamming them down his throat for the vodka to chart a burning course for itself all the way down to the pit of his stomach. A small price to pay considering she was leaving. The goal of discouraging her was accomplished.

He should've been counting his lucky stars, not choking out the words, "Wait a sec, Kiki, I'll pay the bill and walk you back—"

"No need. It's not that far."

"But it's late."

"Ah, but that's why I took the form of a woman. These legs are a lot more efficient than that tail when it comes to running away from trouble." She smiled, bending over to give his cheek a kiss. An innocent kiss, warm and tender. "Good night, Captain. Remember La Sirena in your travels."

With her gone, Tino gave the last half of his drink his undivided attention. Almost undivided. His beloved father and his crazy stories infiltrated that booth, blocking out the ruckus of the nocturnal crew living it up that night at the Atlantic Sea Breeze.

When the mermaid takes the form of a woman of flesh and blood, it's a secret. No one knows. The only ones who know are the mermaid and her sailor.

What had been seated across that booth was a woman of flesh and blood. A woman who'd survived a marriage filled with pain, not the leggy airhead he'd first assumed she was. She'd managed to recount that part of her life without the strain of bitterness. The opportunity had been there for her to call her drunken husband every name in the book, but Kiki Figueroa had risen above that.

Like a lady. A lady who grew up in Spanish Harlem, who'd become an avid reader and—curiously, like the heroines of his father's legends—loved music.

Still, she deserved to get chased away. Regardless of what the woman had gone through, where did she get off, questioning him about his runaway bride and his after-hours drinks? Bachelorhood was not without its virtues. He came and went as he pleased, enjoyed an unpredictable but honest living, answering to no one.

As soon as he was out the door, the brisk evening air slapped at his face. He'd gotten a buzz he hadn't needed or wanted from that last drink—the disillusion-the-mermaid drink.

Stupid.

He could still see her, walking toward Jefferson Place. Her back was turned to him, that mane of hair bouncing back and forth across his windbreaker's collar, her head held high. She was a proud one.

Well, so was he. It took effort for him not to run after her, admitting he'd misled her, persuading her to linger a little longer in his presence.

Tino walked the four blocks to his home, trying to ignore the burning sensation inside him that had nothing in the least to do with vodka.

♥

Downtown. She'd gotten on the A train somehow, coming home late from waiting on tables at Allie's. The moment was surreal and vivid at the same time.

But...she didn't work at Allie's anymore. Why was this happening? And where was she going? Back to the apartment she'd tried to make a home for Xavier? Or to the old place, where Leidi, the baby of the family, still lived with Mami?

This was ridiculous. As soon as the train stopped, if it ever did, she needed to catch the LIRR back to the Island.

Home to her new life.

The lights in the empty subway car flickered on and off as the train barreled through the subterranean tunnel. Through its windows the Fourteenth Street station appeared. Grinding to a shrieking halt, its doors slid open, allowing her to hasten onto the platform.

This was a dream. The stench of fuel and dampness and God knew what else clung to the air, but none of this was really happening. She chose to hurry on down one end of the platform. She passed only one other person: a homeless woman in an old gray coat, sitting on a pile of newspapers, who looked like something out of "Les Miserables," slowly veering her aged face up at her.

Not stopping, she climbed the staircase. Graffiti and political campaign stickers decorated the walls in flagrant imitation of real life. It didn't matter. Once she reached the top of those stairs, the dream would be over. She was climbing those stairs, climbing out of her sleep to find—

—a deserted beach.

Desperate, she looked around. Where was the city? The train hadn't left her on Fourteenth Street, or in Long Island, or anywhere else recognizable to her. There was just a dismal stretch of sand, with a slate-gray sky, the surf pounding along the jetties in the distance, and a long, wooden bridge.

"Goin' to Long Island?"

The voice had come from a teenager on a bicycle, a kid with longish brown hair. He seemed to have come right out of nowhere. He pedaled alongside her, asking again, "Goin' to Long Island, right?"

"Trying to."

"Same here. It's over the bridge. Make it fast, though. High tide."

That was where the scene took on an all too familiar feel.

The young biker rode away and disappeared over the bridge. She'd been there, in that same place, before, though the setting had been slightly different. It had been a long time since she'd revisited, yet she knew exactly what was coming next.

Maybe she could run back down the stairs. Catch another train, figure it out from there. She'd be out of harm's way, if nothing else. But when she turned, the subway station had evaporated into thin air, just like the biker.

That left the choice of the beach or the bridge. No choice at all.

Walk across a bridge from Manhattan, arrive in Suffolk County. It was so absurd, it had to be a dream. She did it anyway, walking quickly, hearing her heels clicking against the planks of wood beneath her.

Slowly, slowly, the ocean rose under the bridge.

On the other side was beautiful, glorious dry land—about a quarter mile away. She picked up her pace, the waves crashing into the side of the bridge, which was shaking treacherously beneath her.

She was running now. She could hear the swells on either side of her, growing in height and power. Vividly, she heard the groan of the bridge's support beams, her heart beating furiously—

Then her eyes opened.

Kiki sat up in bed, consulting the alarm clock on her nightstand: 5:12. She'd been cheated out of her last twenty minutes or so of sleep by the theatrics of her unconscious mind. An old rerun, no less.

She wasn't frightened; annoyed was more like it. Knowing at that point that she was up for the day, she tumbled out of bed and reached for her terry cloth robe, once white, now beige from too many launderings. Opting for a caffeine fix before her shower, she walked toward the kitchen.

Her kitchen. Small as it was, it was part of her apartment—not under her parents' roof, not under her husband's, but the first place she'd ever called her own.

The kitchen of the one-bedroom cottage looked out at the yard separating it from the main house which her brother and his family now called home. The purchase of the property had been heaven-sent, an estate sale ending Ceci and Miriam's year-long search for an affordable homestead.

Situated a short ride from the restaurant and tucked into a cul-de-sac, the icing on the cake had been the backyard cottage, used as a guest house by the original owners. It was tailor-made for Kiki, who wasn't yet ready to jump into the commitment of a mortgage. That was just as well for Ceci and Miriam, who applied her rent to their monthly payments.

Stirring sugar into her mug of coffee, she positioned herself at the butcher-block table for two, ensuring her view of the backyard. On either side of the narrow, cobblestone walkway were peach trees planted by the previous owners. There was room for a garden of flowers on one side and some cherry tomato and strawberry bushes on the other. Next year, she promised herself. At the beginning of the season, she'd set time aside for gardening. She'd always wanted to try her hand at it, but city apartment dwelling had prevented it.

Gardening was only one of the big plans for her little corner of the world. In the hallway closet waited rolls of wallpaper, cans of paint, and strips of wood molding. She didn't need much more than her own creativity to make that place sparkle with warmth and personality.

If only she could channel that creativity into producing some new material for her dreams. Last night's journey through familiar territory was nothing but a leftover, she reassured herself. As a child, she'd had those recurring dreams of a turbulent sea, marked by massive waves. Although those mysterious dreams had all but ended when she'd entered adulthood, their impact on her hadn't.

The sea could never gain her trust. A day at the beach was a pleasure, and she'd immerse herself up to her hips. Depending on the sea's mercy, however, was out of the question.

She liked the other dream last night more, if it could be called a dream. Conceived in that island of consciousness between the state of being awake and dozing off, she'd seen Tino Suarez in bed with her. The sheets thrown off the mattress, he'd covered her naked body with his, him wanting her, his kisses urgent and demanding.

Before going to bed, she'd draped his windbreaker over the other kitchen chair. Kiki pulled it free and examined it with her senses of sight, touch, and smell, especially the last one.

It smelled so good. Just like him.

Not good, girl. Another Mr. Wrong.

Maybe. Or maybe Mr. Right was incognito, protecting himself.

From out of the right-hand pocket she drew a set of keys dangling on a metal ring. Attached to the ring was a piece of black plastic, bearing the words ROYAL BOAT WORKS in gold. Beneath the words was an emblem of a gold crown.

Something a prince in disguise would hide.

And in her hand, the keys to his kingdom.

FOUR

How could any man be foolish enough to lose a woman like that as a wife? And all over a craving for alcohol? Tino Suarez would've thought making love to her was enough of an addiction to last a lifetime.

He sighed to himself, exchanging a cursory greeting with a man and woman entering the restaurant, arm-in-arm.

Once again, he was doing it—observing Theresa Figueroa, a.k.a. Kiki, through a window glass. This one wasn't tinted, belonging not to a bar but to a restaurant. Her restaurant. By the looks of things, business was definitely looking up, too. Customers occupied a few of the tables and booths; cars were in the parking lot, including his trusty old Mercedes.

Still, he wasn't there because of his interest in La Sirena's prosperity. Truth be told, he shouldn't have been there at all. If he hadn't hired Jesse Cochoran beforehand, he might have captained the Wind Voyager himself. The boat was gone at four-thirty sharp that morning, as scheduled, thanks to that spare set of keys. He would have been productive, getting his hands dirty with work, rather than swimming straight into temptation.

So far, she hadn't noticed him, peering in through the picture window, debating with himself whether or not to forget the boat keys. He couldn't care less about the windbreaker. Replacing the keys certainly wouldn't break him. And it wasn't like Kiki—who'd admitted the ocean filled her with dread—would be capable of boat-jacking the vessel for a joy ride.

No, his motives for being there were more complicated than that. Motives that were a matter of pride.

Matters of the heart.

Intermittently, he caught glimpses of her, when she wasn't disappearing behind the counter or into the kitchen. He recognized the other woman, holding down the fort at the cash register, as her friend from that first night he'd been there. The little girl handing out menus and refilling the salt and pepper shakers...had she been there that night? Tino couldn't remember. Yet her features were a strikingly similar to Kiki's; she was like a kid-sized version of the woman.

Her daughter? She hadn't mentioned a daughter from her broken marriage. Not that she was under any obligation to, either.

But if that was her child, that was further proof her ex-husband had screwed up, besides the problems his drinking had brought to the marriage. It was easy to see the man had been married to a honey of a wife. Affection, which came so naturally to her, was subtle, but it was there. He witnessed it in the interaction between her and her friend and the loving manner with which she stroked the girl's pigtail as they passed each other. She was smiling with genuine warmth at a customer, making Tino ache a little to know that smile wasn't for him.

At that moment, two elderly Latinos exited the restaurant. Tino smiled at them.

"Thinking about going in, my friend?" the old gentleman asked him.

Tino loosened his necktie, which he was positive was cutting off the circulation in his neck.

"Well, yes. I'm thinking about it."

"We recommend it very highly. Verdad, corazon?" He linked his wife's liver-spotted hand through the crook of his arm.

"Oh, yes, it's wonderful!" the silver-haired woman agreed, smiling. "The food is great, the service is very nice."

More pleasantries were passed between him and the old lovebirds before they departed, walking slowly down Jefferson Place. Their praise for their lunch in La Sirena brought a surprise swell of pride to him.

So she and her co-entrepreneurs were doing well for themselves. On the downside, she didn't need any assistance from him anymore.

"You waiting for a personal invitation?"

Busted! And he'd believed he'd done such a great job in front of that window and door, too. Obviously, he wouldn't be quitting his day job and becoming a spy anytime soon. Running his hand through his hair, he faced Kiki, who was leaning out the open door. She was smiling at him, radiant in a short, short skirt and chunky, high-heeled sandals.

"As a matter of fact," he said, "I was just going in."

"Mmm, hmm. Whatever you say. By the way, you look real handsome in that suit. You really somethin' else, Valentino."

He hesitated, his hand on the door handle. "It's Augustino. But I think I like Valentino better."

"Yeah. I think you look more like a Valentino than a saint. Come on in. I believe I have something that belongs to you."

Like what? he was itching to demand. My heart?

Stepping into the dining area, he watched her slip through the kitchen doors, her svelte hips doing a number on him with that left-right swing of her hips. Her hair drawn up in a high, swaying ponytail of curls and the low cut of her pullover let him see a delicate birthmark on the back of her neck. Teasingly, it invited a kiss.

He'd lived in town long enough to remember the place's prior life as a luncheonette, a place that dated back to the 1950s, though it hadn't been in operation for long after he'd gotten there. The house specialty had been fabulous Philly cheese steak sandwiches. Seated at the old-fashioned soda fountain, customers used to sip on traditional New York egg creams, either vanilla or chocolate.

Music provided the backdrop for the sounds of lunchtime conversation and silverware clinking against dishes. Classical music, a piano concerto piece, lent its quiet elegance. On one wall stretched a large, colorful map of the lady's native homeland, with the Puerto Rican flag right above its capital San Juan. Tino chose to sit at a table near the opposite wall, decorated by a framed oil painting of a lone lighthouse on a cliff, overlooking a tranquil sea at night, the moonlight falling softly on the breakers. Curiously, the artist's name sketched in the right-hand corner read Leidiana Figueroa.

"Hola. Thank you for coming to La Sirena. Menu?"

Standing on his left was the little girl, greeting him with a smile and kid-like poise. Dressed in cargo jeans, a bright pink T-shirt and a pair of glittery pink sneakers, she looked more comfortable than he felt, trapped in that suit.

How his brothers—and other men clinging to the corporate ladder—did it every weekday made him passionately grateful for his own profession, which had him practically living in denim.

"Thank you, young lady." He nodded and accepted the menu.

She was a charmer. Clasping her hands behind her back and rocking her weight back and forth on her skinny legs, she recited, "Our special today is broiled red snapper. That's fish."

"Mmm, yes, I think I've heard of that." He folded his hands on the menu, turning his attention to her. "I've been here once before, right before your grand opening. But I don't remember seeing you. I'm Tino Suarez."

"I was here that night. You carried Titi Kiki home when she was dressed like a mermaid. I remember you." She held out her hand in grownup fashion. "I'm Jazzy. Nice to meet you."

"Jazzy. Ah. Great to meet you, sweetie." Amused, he took her small hand in his calloused one, lightly kissing her fingertips. "Always nice to meet such a mature young lady."

His sweet hostess blinked a couple of times at his gesture, then a giggle bubbled from her lips.

"I knew it. I knew it!"

"Knew what?"

She twirled around, skipping toward the kitchen. On the way, she called out, "Titi Kiki, hurry up! Your prince is waiting for his lunch—and he is so cute!"

The customers looked on curiously, turning their heads from her direction to his. He was the first to admit he was clueless when it came to kids. He liked them well enough, despite his limited experience with them. Other than his own nieces and nephews, whom he only saw a couple of times a year, he felt ill-prepared to interpret his little hostess' remark.

Neither was there time to dwell on it, with that man at the kitchen window giving him a critical once-over. The brother. Him, Tino did remember. Cecil, or "Ceci," as Kiki had introduced him, had the same complexion as his sister, sharp features and same lean build. He was a good-looking guy, but then good looks seemed to run in the Figueroa family. Realizing Tino was looking back at him, Ceci cracked a reluctant grin.

Tino nodded, more to himself. As far as he was concerned, Hispanics single-handedly invented the institution of the protective brother. Ceci's expression clearly growled, You watch the way you treat my sister, bro. Even though there hadn't been a girl in the whole Suarez bunch, he respected that, particularly coming from a man who'd already watched his sweet sibling hurt once.

"I thought we had it bad," Kiki was saying as she returned from the kitchen, his windbreaker draped over her arm, "getting up early for the breakfast crowd. Guess I wasn't early enough. I stopped at that marina on my way here to drop this off, and your boat had already left."

"Well, that was thoughtful of you to try..." He was subdued, smiling when she slipped his key-ring from the windbreaker's pocket and dangled it on her fingers. "Yeah, I know. I completely forgot they were there. You could hold on to them, if you want. Take the family out on a cruise, one sunny afternoon."

She laughed. "You have the wrong girl for that. The only boat I've ever been on is the Staten Island Ferry. And that baby had me freaked out. Have you decided what you're having?"

"What? Oh...I'm gonna need a few minutes. And..." Tino rested his elbows on the table's edge, rubbing his hands and meeting her eyes.

The sooner he got it off his chest, the better he'd feel.

"And?"

"And I want to apologize for the other night—at the bar. I really made a jerk out of myself."

Kiki's eyebrows arched. "I'm not sure what you mean, Tino."

"I mean I didn't come here for my jacket, or my keys, or even for lunch—although, I want to have lunch here, you know. Check out your place." He took a deep breath. "I came here because I left you with the wrong impression of me. An impression that has nothing to do with me, really. And I don't want that to be the impression of me that comes to your mind."

"Does it matter what I think of you?"

It was a simple question, direct. Her pull-no-punches, city girl streak was showing.

"Sure, it matters. I don't want you to think I'm someone I'm not. And I'm not some hard-drinking guy, bitter over a relationship gone sour. I don't want to be that guy to you. I think you might have perceived me like that."

She had to work to keep her laugh behind her smile. Folding her arms across her chest, she informed him, "Don't worry. I didn't buy that at all."

"You...didn't?"

"Well, okay. Maybe you had me going for a minute. But maybe I should be the one apologizing, for getting up on a soapbox. I should've just minded my own business and let you have your drink in peace."

"I understand, though. After what you went through—"

"That's all in the past. That's what I have to remind myself, you know? The only place to go now is forward. And I like that...that business about you caring about what I think. Pray tell, Valentino, what impression do you have of me?"

The woman really knew how to put him on the spot. What part did she want to hear first? What part could he say without encouraging her or himself? That his impression of her was of a woman that any man in his right mind would have fought heaven and hell to keep, much less a cruel vice? Of a young woman, the first in a long time, who he would've wanted to take to his bed?

Or of a lovely soul that had risen from the depths of the sea, or maybe through the centuries, as if her desire had been waiting for his.

"My impression of you is of a good woman. An intelligent and interesting woman, whose opinion of me is very important to me."

A moment passed while she digested those words, spoken so softly and sincerely.

"Well, I've been in the kitchen all morning. I'm kinda starved. I think I'm going to break for lunch. Should I...bring out a plate for you, too?"

"Please. And sit here with me, Kiki."

"And you're having...?"

"Whatever you're having is fine with me." His eyes danced at her. "I'm starved, too. I have a craving for anything Puerto Rican."

Playfully raising an eyebrow at him, she turned, liking the sound of that masculine chuckle behind her.

"Twenty minutes," she told her sister-in-law, scooping arroz con gandules onto two dishes. "That's all I'll be. Maybe even less."

Miriam leaned closer to her, wiping her hands with a dishtowel. "You're talking to me, remember? It'll be longer than that."

"No, no. Twenty minutes." Putting down the metal spoon for the rice, she inspected the contents of the other pots and pans.

"Bistec en salsa. How can you serve a prince anything less than steak?" Miriam was having fun, teasing her. "And besides, everyone else already ate, nena. Lunchtime's slowing down, anyway. You're the boss now. You can take as long for lunch as you like."

"Remind me later to tell you what he said to me."

"Why not tell her now?"

Both women regarded Ceci, looking over his shoulder at them while preparing more recaito.

"What pretty thing did this sailor say to you that you don't want me to hear?" Her brother was challenging her, making it sound like a jest. "Just remember, girl, a guy might pour the honey on thick, but damn if he's got somethin' else on his mind."

"Absolutely! Worked for you with me, didn't it?" Miriam punctuated her words with a light slap to the seat of his jeans.

Kiki laughed with her at her brother's expense, getting a firm grip on both full plates and pushing the kitchen door open with her back.

My impression of you is of a good woman, an intelligent and interesting woman, whose opinion of me matters very much.

Pretty words. Yes, they were. So sweet, so kind. They fed her self-esteem, which had come a long way since her younger years and the divorce. The time of day and being in the restaurant and the voices around her running interference wouldn't permit her to dwell on them, like a wonderful meditation.

What a difference from the last time she'd seen him. What had caused the change? It was safer not to read too much into it, to enjoy the moment for what it was.

"There's an artist in the family, or is the name a coincidence?"

She'd just set down their plates and seated herself. Casting a glance at the painting, she replied proudly, "Ah, there is, in fact, an artist in the family! My baby sister, Leidi. She didn't do that just for the restaurant, though. It so happens that she painted it two years ago, when she was a sophomore in high school. For an art contest. And that little girl took first place."

"That's the work of a teenager?" Tino paused to observe the painting again, pointing at it with his fork.

"A very talented teenager, yes. She's in college now and she's majoring in art. Originally, there were three schools that accepted her. Leidi's the genius of the family. And the first one to go to college."

"The first one between you, Ceci, and the baby of the family?"

"Uh, well...there's another sister," she answered, after her initial surprise at his sharp memory in remembering her brother's name. "Inez. None of the three of us furthered our education. Inez mostly worked in offices, Ceci took the first job that came along, which was construction, and I...wouldn't have made it through high school if it weren't for that lady over there."

Tino followed the nod of her head to her best friend, who was talking briefly with customers as she rang up their orders.

"Debbie talked you into staying in school?"

"Talked me into staying? She fought with me about it. She cried, pleaded, until I gave in."

Seated at the table behind them were three middle-aged men, engaged in loud conversation. They were executive types lunching away from the office, calling to mind his brothers, though the slightly overweight one commandeering the discussion lacked their finesse.

"...And I'm tellin' the stupid idiot," he raised his voice as he spoke, "I don't give a rat's behind if you already scheduled your freakin' vacation and your kids have their hearts set on goin' to Disney World. I say you gotta get in here this weekend and work on that's system, and that's that. I mean, he's got an obligation, right? That obligation's to the firm first. Lazy son of a—"

Kiki raised her head in time to see Tino shaking his, noting his irritation. Was it something she'd said? Or was it that loudmouth in the three-piece suit behind them?

"Debbie sounds like she's been a good friend to you," he told her.

"Always. She's great for the business, too. Debbie studied business and marketing. I have a degree in..." She waited, some embarrassment in her laughter, "...waiting on tables."

"Nothing wrong with that. Everybody has to start somewhere. And I have something in common with your sister, Leidi."

"What? You're the only one who went to school in your family, too?"

"No, the opposite. I'm the only one of my brothers who didn't go to a university. A degree's not necessary for catching fish or handling two commercial boats in nasty weather—"

"One freakin' little report! That's all I asked for. Stupid secretary. She's dead weight and she shoulda been gone a long time ago..." A string of obscenities followed.

Tino set down his fork and ran a hand through his hair. "Would you excuse me a second, Kiki?"

"Sure."

Her curiosity was satisfied immediately, seeing the fisherman turn in his seat to tap the pompous businessman on the shoulder. The other man muttered a "Yeah? What is it?", each word reeking of arrogance.

"Sorry to interrupt your meal, but, uh...is it possible for you to express yourself a little more like a gentleman?"

The executive squinted at him, not understanding. Either he wasn't used to having his authority challenged or raw stupidity was doing his talking for him.

"What're you talking about?" the man growled.

"C'mon, man. I'm talking about when there are ladies present—and a child, right over there, your hostess—a gentleman doesn't swear like he's alone with his buddies. He shows some respect and watches his language."

Kiki watched Tino, given solely his profile. He was speaking quietly, trying not to denigrate the man in front of his colleagues. Yet he was firmly getting his point across. The churlish businessman, whose personality was identical to a former employer of hers, was certain to have a stand-off with him, right there in the restaurant.

To her relief, the businessman blinked first, mumbling sarcastically, "Oh, well, I do beg your pardon," and cleared his throat loudly in cowardly protest as he turned back to his awe-stricken colleagues.

It seemed Tino hadn't lowered his voice enough, being overheard by a trio of women at a nearby table. Done with lunch and lingering over their espresso, they showed the fisherman their appreciation with a robust round of applause, the one with the oversized earrings tossing in a cheer for him. Luckily, the businessman didn't respond.

"Only in New York, huh?" Kiki murmured, amused by the color in his face. "And you. You're always the captain, aren't you? On land or at sea."

Tino fidgeted with his tie again. "It's probably archaic. I guess it's my upbringing. I'm not the world's greatest gentleman, either. I just don't think you—or any of those ladies or Jazzy—should be subject to hearing that. And in case you're wondering, the answer is no. I wouldn't let my crew get away with cussing up a storm in front of a woman, either."

She reached across the table and loosened his tie for him. "I think you're a gentleman. I don't know about the world's greatest gentleman, but...you're a gentleman. Were you on your way to a meeting or something, all dolled up like that?"

Stalling, he took another healthy bite of his steak in sauce. He couldn't very well admit he'd worn his Sunday best for her. At least, not without placing himself in a more vulnerable position than he was in already.

"Actually, this is a free day for me. A free...night, too. I was thinking about taking the Wind Voyager out for an hour or so. Ever see the ocean at night, Kiki? It's beautiful."

"I've seen it. Not often at night, though." She braced herself, afraid of what was coming next.

"Not from a boat, though, right? Would you like to come out with a gentleman?"

She gave him a nervous smile. "I don't know..."

"You haven't told me why you're afraid of the sea. Did you have some bad experience? That's usually the case. Getting caught in the undertow as a kid, that sort of thing."

"No, that's not it. It's silly, really." A smile came to her as she pushed away her plate. "I've never had the experience of almost drowning, but I imagine that would be terrifying. No, with me, it's...these dreams. They happened more when I was little; they don't happen much now. But they were unforgettable."

"They're just dreams. You can't let dreams rob you of real-life experiences. I don't want to push you, but we'd only be out there for an hour. Not that far from shore, either. It's going to be a beautiful night, and the water's as calm as bathwater."

Whatever was he doing to her? A flood of emotions swept through her, the strongest of which were apprehension and excitement. The thrill of doing something she'd spent her whole life avoiding, an over an unreasonable fear, was even more thrilling because of the company she'd be keeping while the experience was happening.

"Only for an hour?" she repeated. "And close to shore, right?"

"One hour. Close to shore. We'll pretend it's the Staten Island Ferry."

FIVE

Even on a night as humid as that one, it was cool out on the water. The Wind Voyager sliced through the currents at a swift pace, the sea spray and breezes making the deck seem cooler than it had been on shore.

Kiki buttoned her light sweater, which she'd worn over a flowing sundress. Not exactly adequate boating attire. She was trembling, perhaps not only from the mild chill, her hand gripping the steel railing. Her breath caught now and then in her throat.

What am I, of all people, doing here?

Hours earlier she'd been on dry land, taking turns with Debbie and Miriam in La Sirena's kitchen. Now she was on the boat, a sight before her she thought she'd never see. The Long Island Sound opened up before her, resembling a desert of dark water. There was still enough light, as the sun took its time dissolving into the horizon, for her to see the shore. It might as well have been in another country.

I wonder how deep the water is right here. Kiki pushed away the thought. It was deeper than any water, fresh or laden with salt, that she'd ever been in in her entire life. Never having learned how to swim, she'd drown in less than six feet of it anyway, so it was her illogical to worry about the fathoms beneath her.

She could hear the waves, small and benign, slapping against the boat's hull. And she could hear the boat's master, the man who'd brought her to that point, coming down the steps from the wheelhouse.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Tino asked, smiling. "Having a nice time?"

"Oh, just great!"

She bit her lip and faced the water again. Foolish, foolish, unreasonable fear. Anyone else, who hadn't dreamt for years about being swallowed alive by terrifyingly huge waves, would've enjoyed the cruise. How much she wanted to enjoy it, as well.

"Sure you like it?" He placed a hand on her waist. "Because if you don't feel comfortable, just say the word. I'll turn her around and get us back to shore."

Looking up at him, she saw the concern in his eyes. Her heart calmed itself for a moment.

"I'm afraid, but...don't they say you're supposed to face your fears to overcome them?"

"That's true. Still, if it gets to be too much, let me know. I want you to enjoy this, not traumatize you."

"No, it's all right. Really. I'm doing okay."

No one else had joined them on the private cruise. She'd neglected to tell Ceci where she was going that night, knowing what he'd say. Most of it she couldn't have argued with, either.

What a vulnerable position for her to have put herself in as a woman. She was miles from shore on a boat, alone with a man she'd only recently met.

At his mercy.

Anything could happen: forcing himself upon her, throwing her overboard, sacrificing her to his North Atlantic mistress. Yet it seemed far more likely for that jealous mistress to turn on her, exclusively, than for him to suddenly betray her trust.

He hadn't removed his hand from her waist, the effect soothing to her.

"I know this is a crazy question, Tino..."

"Hmmm?"

"But...are we on automatic pilot or something?"

He looked amused. "I dropped the anchor. We're not moving at all."

"Oh." Kiki swallowed, asking the next question hesitantly. "Any chance of the anchor...getting stuck down there or anything?"

"Hasn't happened yet."

"No. Claro que no. That's silly." She grasped the railing with a death grip. "What's that?"

"That sound? Whales."

"Whales?"

Tino nodded, politely biting back the urge to laugh. "Yeah, whales. You usually find them further out than this, though. We're lucky tonight."

"Yeah. Real lucky."

"Hear them singing?"

She didn't reply, instead inclining herself to listen. The whales couldn't be seen; they were out there somewhere in their watery domain, lifting their voices to the atmosphere. It was a soul-stirring sound, audible above the wind whistling through the cables and the gentle rocking noise of the steel hull bobbing in the water. It was like nothing she'd ever heard before.

The fear in her loosened, though not all the way.

"What kind of whales would you say they are?"

He shrugged. "Whales. Ballenas. Humpbacks, maybe? Hey—I wonder if blue whales would travel this way? I've always wanted to see one of those. They're the largest mammal on earth. And they're familial animals, so they bring the whole clan with them."

Blue whales. That was the type of whale on display in the Museum of Natural History, wasn't it? Her mind conjured up the room she'd been to numerous times, where the replica hung from the ceiling. It was a very long ceiling, and the replica had taken up an enormous amount of room. Rare and huge, its dimensions magnified in her mind, truly the largest animal known to man.

Big whale. Little boat. A disaster of biblical proportions.

"Is it...possible for, um...a whale to get carried away, while it's having fun? I mean, like getting under the boat, thinking it's a playmate, and tipping it over?"

"Hasn't happened yet," he repeated. "But then there's a first time for everything, right?"

At that suggestion her stomach tightened. She raised her head to catch him winking at her, chasing away some of the fear and drawing her laughter.

"Why are you thinking that way?" He chuckled, putting a finger to his temple in demonstration. "You got this incredible imagination, I have to say. Anchors getting stuck in the ocean bed, stranding a boat. Giant blue whales capsizing us. What's next—the Force 5 Hurricane from Hell?"

She laughed at herself.

"Kiki, you're doing this to yourself," he went on soberly. "You have it in your mind that something's gonna go wrong, this terrible catastrophe. All you're doing is psyching yourself out to be frightened."

"Oh, I know. Can I try it again?"

"Try what again?"

"Listening to the whales. Or—let's do this. What does your crew think about, why they come out here?"

"Well, they'd better be thinking about working. After catching fish and making the trip profitable, because it's certainly expensive." That wasn't what she needed to hear. Realizing that, Tino added, "But there are times like this, when it's quiet. And I'm sure they do what I've done, from time to time."

"And what's that?"

"I let my imagination rest. And I take it in—this whole other world, apart from the one we see every day. I touch it."

Her gaze lingered on his face as she nodded, before she tore it away to look out at the ocean. There was an innocent quality to her concentration that appealed to him.

And what about her wasn't appealing?

During that lapse in their conversation, which had become so easy between them, he listened with her to the whales in the distance. He also questioned his own judgment in bringing her out there, following his impulse to do so earlier that day in the restaurant.

Bringing a woman out on the boat and having her to himself in all that solitude was in no way to discourage her unspoken feeling, or his, for that matter. Never mind that he rarely took such excursions on his own. Both the Costa del Sol and the Wind Voyager were workhorses to him. He'd owned another boat—a seventeen-foot cruiser, pleasure craft—in his twenties, and that one he'd taken out for some R & R.

This was another date. Kidding himself and insisting otherwise was impossible. He wanted to spend time with her. Get to know her, seeing what lay beyond the physical loveliness and surface details. And a bad job he was doing of it so far, being so out of the loop, never having been very good with women.

At first, bringing her on the boat had seemed a good idea. After all, he would be in his element. She was still timorous, probably traumatized, although he had to hand it to her: The woman was a good sport. He'd talked about whales, for God's sake.

Finally she spoke, without looking at him. "You know, it's like another world out here."

"Isn't it? Listen, Kiki, I'm going down below for a minute. I'll be right back."

Was she appeasing him with that comment? Was she simply being courteous? He hurried down to the cabin, taking out the bottle he'd placed in the freezer before she'd arrived at the pier. Tino frowned at the two glasses on the shelf, borrowed from home.

The plain truth was, after so long, he could've used some pointers on creating a romantic atmosphere. But he didn't own any fancy champagne glasses. These were regular drinking glasses, short and stout. Ironically, they were the kind used to serve whiskey and water. A lot of women, he knew, would've been delighted by the champagne ones, had time permitted him to find any.

Realistically, however, this woman didn't care for champagne. And if she could laugh at herself heartily, maybe her sense of humor would be on his side.

Not one to keep a lady waiting, he shot back up the steps. He was met by the sight of a wayward breeze lifting the skirt of Kiki's sundress, raising it to her waist. That wind teased him with a titillating peek at those great legs and baby blue bikini panties, discreetly concealing another part of her body that, to his knowledge, was foreign to mermaids.

She saw him and laughed, frantically holding down the skirt, fighting another lusty wind. Secretly, he wished the wind would win that round.

"Well, that was fun," he admitted, laughing with her. "Care for some champagne? It's nonalcoholic. It won't give you a buzz, but the guy at the liquor store assured me it tastes pretty close to the real thing."

"Nonalcoholic? You got that especially for me?" She held their glasses while he opened the bottle. "Que dulce!"

Another gust of wind swept onboard, this time rustling Tino's hair. Momentarily, Kiki forgot her fears, watching him with fascination as he wrestled with a corkscrew to pop open the bottle.

What was it about looking at him that made her want to kiss him all over? Particularly the way he was now, with his head cocked to the side. His sleeves were rolled up halfway, exposing arms made muscular by hard work, a sad sort of smile on his lips.

"They even gave this fake champagne a French name," he quipped. "Vin de la Vide. Translated that means, 'if you can get this bottle open, you win a trip to Par-ee."

"All that from Vin de la Vide?" She giggled. "I'll bet you've seen Par-ee. Besides Madrid."

"Yeah, I've been there. The City of Lights. Whoa!" The cork blasted off, that nonalcoholic bubbly erupting in a joyous, white spray. He held it away from them, letting it fizzle over the railing before filling each glass halfway. "I've been to Hawaii, too. I like to travel. Though I don't get to do as much as I'd like. Too busy running two boats constantly."

"That's something I'd like to do someday. I think I will, too. Now that we have La Sirena, and I helped make it real, it feels—sometimes—like no doors are closed to me."

"You express yourself in this really nice way." The thought had been there before, finding his voice. "Te gusta la poesia?"

He'd asked her if she liked poetry. She shrugged, taking the time to enjoy his pronunciation of the Spanish language. His accent returned whenever he spoke it, while his English was interestingly peppered by the different places in which he'd spent time.

"Only what I read in school. You know, you're the first one who'd ever told me that, about how I express myself. What about you? You like poetry?"

"I love it. I love reading it out here. And at...other times."

Like before I make love to a woman.

"You have a book of poetry onboard? You wanna read it to me?" Her smile was coy. "'Cause I'd like that."

"Read it to you?" Tino took a deep breath.

For him, that would be dangerous territory. How was he to read lines from the romantic poets to her and not want to touch every part of her womanly body?

Jarring them both to reality was a sharp knock from beneath the boat's hull, followed by a pronounced left-to-right swing on the vessel. Startled, Kiki lurched forward, supporting herself with an arm around his broad shoulders. He steadied her, his arm reaching around her waist, the rocking becoming less and less.

"What was that?" Her voice came out in a tight whisper.

To hold her so close again ignited his emotions. That was no act on her part; the violent motion of the vessel had frightened her, that tremble of her body was real. His hand raised from her waist to stroke her hair in a comforting gesture, but feeling awkward, he dropped it back down.

Peering past her over the railing, Tino investigated the cause of the boat's rocking.

"That was the first time for something," he replied, pointing out toward the water. "Look."

Another second more and Kiki would have missed it. A gray form in the water, indistinguishable except for the magnificent, huge tail flipping in the air before descending beneath the water's surface.

"That's a humpback. And I guess we're lucky it wasn't a blue whale."

Because a larger animal might have put the Costa del Sol in jeopardy. Tino had left it unsaid, yet Kiki caught his drift. She managed a nervous laugh, licking the droplets of nonalcoholic champagne that had spilled onto her hand in the motion.

"That's the first time, in all the time you've been doing this, that that ever happened to you? Well, I'm lucky, then. I get that first time out."

He laughed at her sardonic statement. She was still trembling, in all likelihood looking forward to losing her sea legs back on dry land. Through it all, she'd counted on her sense of humor and the inner strength that drew his respect.

"I'm turning her around." He drank some of the contents of his glass, thinking it tasted like white grape juice. "You have to be up early tomorrow. That's enough sailing for the first time, anyway."

Kiki released him from her hold, watching him ascend the steps back up to the wheelhouse. Minutes later she heard a cranking sound, which she assumed was the anchor being pulled back from the depths. She heard the vessel's engine roar in the night and steadied herself with a hand on the railing with that strong jerk forward of the boat.

Why had she let that ridiculous fear of hers get the best of her? The captain was disappointed, and rightfully so. She finished her drink, turning the glass in her hand and smiling.

He'd gone to such lengths to create an atmosphere that any woman—well, any woman who hadn't dreamt of malevolent seas since she was a kid, anyway—would have found romantic. She could blame the whales for that. It was silly, but it made sense. There are whales here; this is really the ocean. It was the one thing in the world that she couldn't handle, even above the hardships she'd faced.

The ocean was also Augustino Suarez's territory—the prince's kingdom. That put a whole new spin on it, the first time she'd ever seen the sea that way. She held onto the railing, looking out at the foam-capped crests becoming one with the hull, trying to will herself to accept the watery desert, if not earnestly love it.

Kiki cast a wistful glance at the wheelhouse. He probably couldn't wait to get back to the marina himself, to get the evening over with already. She wouldn't be getting an admission from him of the disappointment, of that she was certain. Firstly, because getting him to open up and speak honestly about himself was about as easy as her jumping overboard for a late-night swim. Secondly, because he was a gentleman. If he wasn't, he wouldn't have come to her earlier that day to right a wrong.

Sighing, she climbed the steel stairs to the wheelhouse, grasping the railing tightly so as not to lose her footing against the boat's motion. He had his back to her, looking straight ahead through the windows as he plowed the Wind Voyager through the water. She leaned back against the door frame, observing him.

Detecting her presence, the boat's captain gave her a smile, returning his attention to manning the wheel.

Watching him was exhilarating. A ship's captain was supposed to be some old, salty relic, if you believed those clichés in the older movies. Until that night, that had been the extent of her experience with men of the high seas: whatever she'd seen on television or on the wide screen.

This sea captain was younger, more vital. He turned the job of commandeering a fishing boat into something sexy, so provocatively masculine.

And there was more to him that she didn't understand—his ability to stir feelings in her that she had convinced herself, over time, were dormant.

"It wasn't so bad, you know, being out here." She added a tone of conviction to give herself credibility. "I think you're right. It was mostly in my mind. And I had fun."

"That's good to hear. Me alegro mucho."

There was a formality in his disposition. He was aloof but not cold. Kiki didn't know whether that was due to his temperament or a bit of restrained disappointment in her behavior during the cruise. She pursed her lips in silent protest. It wasn't as if he hadn't known what he was in for; taking her out there. She caught herself in time before she slipped into a silence conveying her own disappointment.

"Give me your advice, as a businessman." She changed the subject. "Miriam, Ceci, all of us—we just want to stay afloat. It'd be nice if we got rich from La Sirena, but we're not counting on it. How long does it take for a business to really take off?"

"I'm not the best one to ask. Maybe you should check with other entrepreneurs in the restaurant business. You can't go by the fishing industry, that's for sure."

"Why not? You've done well for yourself. You can tell me if we're doing something wrong, at least."

"As far as I can see, you're doing everything you can do—working hard, giving it a hundred and ten percent." Then he muttered, more to himself, "Some of us put that in and more, and still come back in the red."

She was surprised. "I'd think you'd be in the black. With two boats, really, wouldn't you...?"

"Two boats, yeah. Sometimes I think I bit off more than I could chew, buying the Costa del Sol after running this baby for a couple of years. Two boats to maintain. Two boats to equip, to repair. Two crews to pay. A lot of days there's no fish in the hold. No fish, no profits. Not to mention the regulations the feds come up with that you gotta follow."

A glint of bitterness, so unexpected. Kiki thought back to Jamila and the successful businessman responsible for Tino's broken engagement. Had he thought her innocent remark about his business meant she was una interesada, a woman out for a man with money?

Because if he did, she was the one to avoid confronting. Kiki Figueroa had her limits, too.

"Then it must be your stubbornness that keeps you going." She chose her words carefully. "I can understand that. That's what keeps me in the game, too. That...and the fact that I know I can stand on my own two feet. I don't want to depend on anyone but myself."

His smile infuriated her. "Well, lady, you're in for a rude awakening."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yes, ma'am. You want some business advice, right? Here comes the best advice you can get. You ain't no island. Nobody is. Try running La Sirena by yourself. With no partners, maybe. With no 'crew' you can trust...I doubt it."

She shook her head, unwilling to go with him in another direction.

"That's not what I meant. I meant, for the most part—other than what you're saying—I don't look for anyone else to take care of me. I can take care of myself. I always have. And like I said, I don't need to make it rich. If something belongs to me, that's enough. I throw myself into it to make it work, with all my heart."

Once more he regarded her, this time with a mysterious smile. "Then you'll do well, Kiki," he announced. "At business."

Well, thank you for your blessing! Realizing she couldn't say the words without heaps of sarcasm, she decided to forego it, deciding instead to ask the question that had been on her mind all evening.

"Without making myself look like a coward, which I've been all night, anyway—"

"You're not a coward," he corrected her. "I didn't think that word was even in your vocabulary, to tell you the truth."

Appeased, she smiled. "What about the danger? Of doing this, I mean."

"You never know what she's going to do, the ocean. That's all I can say. And you do what you have to do."

"What're you saying, though? Have you ever been in any danger out here, or...is that a stupid question?"

"Stupid, no. It's a question coming from a lady who doesn't trust the sea, as it is." Quietly, he went on, "There've been a couple of storms. Okay—more than a couple. They caught us by surprise out here—thirty-foot swells, Force 4 winds. It felt like an amusement park ride that went out of control. We made it through, though, thank God."

Thirty-foot swells. She took a breath, exhaling loudly. If she permitted herself, she could envision the scenario—see it, hear it—the terrible creaking of the vessel, the moaning of the wind, the waves sounding more deafening than thunder.

If she permitted herself. Her imagination, like a thief, robbed the image of him from in front of her—this physically strong man, proud and yet vulnerable, defending his crew and himself from that wheelhouse.

Finally, she forced aside that image, along with an odd sliver of pain.

"That has to be hard on a fisherman's family. His wife, the kids..."

"The woman that marries a fisherman knows what she's getting into. She knows what her husband is. There's gonna be times when he's gone, sometimes for weeks at a time. She doesn't know what's gonna happen to him out there, but that's the hard part of real life. You have to put a roof over a family's head and food on the table and shoes on your kids' feet. You're not gonna stop a man from earning a living the only way he knows how."

"I understand that, but there are other ways to earn a living."

Tino narrowed his eyes at her. "Not for me."

"No, of course. Not for you. Makes me wonder how much you can sympathize with your crew's wives. I'm sure you wouldn't be so cavalier if you had someone waiting through a storm for you."

"Cavalier?" He huffed. "That'd be true if I'd never been on the other side of the window, waiting for my father to come home after one of the hundreds of storms that could've taken him from us. That kind thing makes a man out of a boy pretty fast."

"Sure. Especially if Daddy doesn't come home."

Wisely, she didn't venture any further. To do so would've been criticizing his admittedly machismo views, but to submissively agree wasn't her style, either.

Besides, she felt she grasped the concept of "real life" better than most people. For all her dedication invested in keeping her marriage together, real life had proven itself too often a force to be reckoned with. Xavier usually couldn't hold onto a job; when he was sober, he talked of going back to school and learning a trade, passionately promising her better times for their life together.

Better times that never materialized. She worked double shifts at Allie's, bringing home a meager salary, portions of which would disappear. Rarely did the money cover the mounting bills. Despite her resourcefulness at finding hiding places in that upper west side apartment, Xavier's determination to find the money—and in effect, to drink it—usually won the battle.

She couldn't fault the average, hardworking fisherman for not finding less difficult, steadier, and safer work.

"And while we're talking about it, the fisherman's wife is no wilting flower, either. The ones I've known are tough ladies. They deal with it."

Oh, so he didn't know when enough was enough. Childishly, she made a face at the back of that salt-and-pepper head. And wouldn't she have known, he turned around in time to catch her.

"What's that? Your way of telling me I'm full of it?" He was amused. How infuriating of that macho man!

"No, I'm not disagreeing with that. In fact, tell me more about these tough ladies. I wonder how many of them, who grew up in sweet, suburban Long Island, know what it's like, going to a city school. Having girls, who could beat the living daylights out of a boy, try to get you into a fight with them. And having to wear the same clothes your big sister wore the year before, and everybody knowing it."

"You went through that? No kiddin'. Were you able to get out of the fights, or did you...end up in the schoolyard for this girl-fight?"

In spite of herself, she wanted to laugh at his curiosity. "I got out of any many fights as I could."

"Oh, good."

"However, the ones I couldn't weasel out of, well...taught me how to fight. What?"

Tino gave an exaggerated shrug after giving her slight, feminine frame an incredulous once-over. He kept a chuckle at bay.

"Nothing. I'm sure you were very...intimidating. I guess. Naturally, if I'd gone to school with you, I would've pulled you out of there—and fast. Even if I did find it kinda...cute, in a strange way."

She rested her head back against the door frame. As a man, and a Spaniard machito to boot, he'd surely find a catfight humorous. In bantering with him she'd forgotten they were out on the Sound. For that time, she realized, she'd been released from the fear that had gripped her since they'd set out. Now she could feel the wind heavy with that ocean scent on her face and saw the silvery lights of homes and establishments not far away along the shoreline.

Her first time sailing on a boat. She'd made it without the sea, that predatory animal, smelling her fear and swallowing the Wind Voyager whole. She felt foolish, she felt relieved, she felt the spirit of celebration coming over her.

They were dreams. Nothing more. Powerless, silly dreams. Barring the last one, she'd outgrown them. Her unconscious had discarded them, like less-favorite toys from her childhood.

No. Toys were a lousy metaphor. Those nocturnal images had kept her captive, afraid of new experiences that, while not necessary, shouldn't have been avoided.

Lingering at the bow, Kiki watched Tino as he secured the boat to the dock. His life differed radically from hers. She didn't fully understand him any more than he seemed to understand her, if he even cared to. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, he might have.

The thing was, she cared to make the effort. And not for the superficial reason of that experience having been offered by him.

The reason was more personal and affecting.

"Can I come out with you again sometime?"

His eyes widened at her. "You'd want to go again?"

"That depends."

"On?"

"On if you wanted to take me. I wouldn't go with anyone else. Only with you." She rolled up her sweater sleeves, subconsciously. "And on the other things, too. If you have time and...well, if I can get away from the restaurant."

"Tonight, on the Costa del Sol, was unusual for me. But if you've never gone deep-sea fishing and think you'd like to, I'd love to take you out on one of the party boats some weekend. I didn't think you'd like it."

"You know what you're doing. I think that makes a difference to me."

Tino stepped onto the pier first, turning to lift her off the boat by her waist.

"Oh, then I made you feel safe out there, with my dangerous mistress?"

Kiki noticed his hands made themselves comfortable on her waist. "Curious point—how a man attracted to such a dangerous 'woman' can make another woman feel protected."

"Even more curious when the one he's protecting is almost as dangerous as the first one."

"Don't tell me you're loosening up...at last?"

"And why not? We're not exactly strangers anymore."

She grinned. "No, that's true. And I don't consider you a stranger once you've been served at La Sirena."

"And you're not a stranger once I take you out on one of my boats."

The man was getting adventurous, shedding his armor of reserve to flirt with her. She was struck by the tenderness a moment later, with him leaning hesitantly closer to her, coaxing a soft kiss from her mouth.

Playfully, she prompted him, "Kiss me the way you'd kiss her—the dangerous one, if she was a woman on two legs."

"That is the way I'd kiss her. And this is the way I've wanted to kiss you all night."

Another light brush of the lips, and another, and then her lips parted eagerly to receive his tongue.

Now why couldn't he have kissed her that way before? The boat could've passed through the eye of a hurricane and she wouldn't have flinched.

SIX

Two days later, the forty-five foot Wind Voyager returned to dock, carrying a fish hold full of good fortune.

The whimsical sea, that could be as miserly or as generous as she pleased, saw fit to bless the crew with her rich bounty. That trip turned out to be the best fishing either of Tino Suarez's boats had seen all summer. Accordingly, some local fish store merchants waited anxiously on the pier for the boat to pull into its slip, with the high-spirited crew moving deftly to secure her.

Tino returned the wave of that trip's captain, Nate Wagner as he stepped down from the wheelhouse. One of the younger but experienced crewmen, Santiago Peña, spotted the boat's owner and flailed both gloved hands in the air, comically.

"Yeah, you're gonna like this one, boss!" Santiago shouted with the other men rowdily hooting and hollering behind him. "We're gonna be rich! Maybe only for a day, but baby, we're gonna be rich!"

Tino saluted him. "That's what I like to hear, my man. That's what I like to hear!"

He loved those successful trips. Aside from the monetary benefits, there was nothing more uplifting than four or five men rejoicing over the knowledge that nets full to the point of bursting meant cash in their pockets. The productivity of a trip compensated for the days away from land, far from their girlfriends or wives and kids, the sunburn or the cold, and the nerves often on edge.

Coming back from a commercial trip happy, dirty, and smelling of fish beat downtrodden attitudes, long faces, and empty pockets any day. Hands downs.

The morning of a huge catch meant pandemonium to a certain extent. The fish merchants pushed and shoved for choice fillets, most of the bounty going to local fisheries and the restaurants. The crew worked vigorously to keep up with orders. Gray gloves became a dark crimson from the fish blood; money exchanged hands; voices shouted through an otherwise ordinary and quiet morning, haggling over prices and bickering.

Drunken pirates couldn't have matched the energy and craziness.

Life would've seemed faultless if every trip came to such an intoxicating, victorious close. But since no trip was a guaranteed winner, Tino mused while counting a thick wad of bills, a fisherman had to make the most of those good times.

"I'm taking my girl out to dinner tonight," he overheard another of his blood-soaked crewman, Mitch, telling Santiago. "After dinner, I'll take her to the Sea Breeze. We gonna party till we drop."

"Hell, you wanna eat and drink with your girl, man?" Santiago scoffed. "Who wants to eat and drink? I've been on that boat so long, me and my lady, we're gonna make love all night long!"

Tino laughed heartily. But boy—a combination of those plans sounded good.

And wasn't it ironic that dangling from Mitch's ear was a tiny, gold-plated earring in the shape of a mermaid? A small, insignificant reminder sending the face of a very significant woman into his memory.

Work. He had work to do. Between the preparations for the Costa del Sol's upcoming trip and the Wind Voyager's big win, he didn't have time for Kiki Figueroa.

All right, so the woman had almost had him two nights ago. He'd sensed the warnings, telling him to back off. Don't be a fool, don't get so close to that riptide. He hadn't wanted the night to end. Part of him had hoped to take her to one of the boat's cots and promptly release the desires clamoring for satisfaction.

Through some resolve he'd talked himself into taking her home. He'd been caught unawares by the sudden emptiness that had come to him like a sharp blow as soon as he left her side to drive alone to his place.

She hadn't liked the cruise one bit, although it was gracious of her to insist she had. He'd still played the fool, taking her out there, probably seeming callous toward her fear of the ocean.

There was also that little matter of her disapproval—glossed over, yet it came through loud and clear—of his profession. He had a good mind to take the Costa out as captain to prove his point. Not that he'd be seeing her again, because it was better to get out of that blossoming relationship before he got himself in too deep.

Still, if he'd chosen to see her, he would've settled that disagreement early on. He wasn't about to replace his livelihood with any other trade in the world, surrendering an integral part of himself, for any woman.

When all was said and done, it was time to dole out the wages to his captain and crew for their troubles and hard work, not to mention some hours of boredom out on the open sea. His own take as owner was the most impressive it had been all year, including a percentage to be reserved for business expenses and taxes.

Thanking the men and praising them one final time, he headed toward the parking lot for his car. In the hustle and bustle he hadn't seen the oh-too-familiar face of a man leaning over the railing and watching. At the sight of him, Tino groaned to himself, hoping to avoid the spectator.

It was Seth Ramsey. Tino almost didn't recognize him; he'd put on some weight and was sporting a beard now. Even from that distance, he could see the eyes smiling at him through silver wire-rimmed glasses. Out of common courtesy, he waved a greeting.

A mountain of a man, Seth had all but disappeared from town for the past year or so. Painfully, Tino recalled that their parting had been a tumultuous one. It had climaxed with him firing one of the best fishermen who'd ever worked his boats. More than that: Seth was one of the finest fishermen he'd ever known, period.

The truly upsetting thing was that, regardless of how irascibly their working relationship had ended, he'd always liked Seth Ramsey. Their life experiences were similar: The American having practically grown up on his father's clam boat down in South Jersey.

The common bond ended there, with Tino's character being reserved and businesslike, and Seth being a man who thrived on good conversation with the intensity of his love for the sea. He'd never quite figured out how Seth did it, but he'd always managed to draw him into deep, evocative, man-to-man conversations that filled those relentless hours away from land.

"Here's what I make of it," Seth began, as Tino reached him on the pier. "One of two things: either your captain made a pact with the devil to get a catch like that, or your crew got buddy-buddy with some very hospitable mermaids."

Another reference to sea sirens. Tino was starting to feel perfectly spooked.

"I'll leave you to wonder which. I'd rather not give out trade secrets." Out of respect for their forgotten friendship, he offered Seth his hand to shake. "Good to you see you, man."

"Eh, you and me both know that's not true. But I appreciate the thought." His handshake was as firm as ever, the chortle more rounded, perhaps because of the added weight, which suited him well. "I like what Santiago said, when I saw him. 'You still around, Big Man? We thought you were dead.'"

Pretty logical conclusion. Tino agreed inwardly with Santiago. The thought had occurred to him, too, in the stretch of Seth's lengthy absence.

"Where've you been?" he asked. "Whose boat you workin' on these days? You must zip in and out of here, because I know our paths haven't crossed in a while."

"I wish I could rattle off the name of every boat in this place. Especially the Wind Voyager and the Costa. But, no—I just got back to the Island."

"Oh. That's good. Real good."

Seth squinted at him, knowingly. "Aren't you gonna ask me how I've spent this lovely year?"

"That's none of my business. If you want to tell me, that's—well, you will."

"Yep. I'm talking to the same Tino Suarez. Good man." Seth laid a large hand on his shoulder, proceeding to stroll slowly with him along the pier.

"Okay, then, the truth is...I've been getting my act together."

Here it comes. Tino said nothing, automatically composing in his mind a brief, No, I'd rather you not work for me anymore, sorry, speech.

"Oh? What happened?"

"Uh...use your imagination. Totalled my car, banged myself up somethin' wicked. I really thank my lucky stars nobody else was hurt in the accident. I would've done time for getting high and then getting behind the wheel."

"Yeah, I'd say you would've." What else could he say? Not surprisingly, the news of his old friend's whereabouts pained him. "Glad to hear you're all right now. Well, I gotta get to the bank—"

"I spent the rest of the time at rehab," Seth interrupted him. He took Tino by the arm in a manner that seemed an unspoken plea for him to listen, immediately releasing him. "This place in Manhattan. Top-notch. I got clean there, Suarez."

Tino distanced himself with a generic response. "Oh, well...I'm happy for you, Seth. For you and your family."

"My family. Yeah. That's what I, uh...I came down here to talk to you about." Thrusting his hands into his pockets, Seth cleared his throat, sounding no less hoarse. "I hear the Costa del Sol is going out this week. I need a job, Suarez, I really do. And I was wondering if you had a spot for me on that trip. If you'd...if you'd hire me again."

"A spot on the Costa. Eh..." He shook his head in unspoken doubt—a lie, and one that hurt him to utter. "Sorry, man. Offhand, I don't think so."

Seth shrugged. "Yeah. Look, uh, you don't have to tell me right here on the spot. I don't wanna pressure you. It's just that...Emily's not with me anymore. Oh, she lets me come over sometimes, and she's never stopped me from seeing my kid. But she wants to see proof that I've turned my life around before she takes me back."

Tino was pensive. Emily reminded him of another loving wife, one who'd fought for her marriage, who'd held on, hoping against hope. He felt his heart softening.

"I start working again," Seth continued, "start being a man and providing for my family...That's proof, right? I start working, be a real human being again...I get my family back."

That's it. I'm gonna cave.

Tino knew himself, and he was going to give in. Although, how could he? He'd originally fired Seth because he'd committed himself to two trips and, in the haze of drugs, had never shown up. Contrary to Seth's easygoing nature, he'd become belligerent with his shipmates on the last trip, a dangerous situation out in the middle of the Atlantic.

Their impromptu meeting was so different from the day they'd parted ways, which ended in a shouting, head-to-head match where the shoving had almost led to a fistfight.

Yet, staring back at him, anxious for a positive answer, was an old friend and a good fisherman. Seth was smiling, trying to keep his dignity and pride intact while humbling himself. Tino couldn't help himself; he respected that, and he clearly understood a man's right to his pride.

"Just think about it. All right?" Seth was subdued. "That's all I can ask. If you decide yes, you can call the old number. My phone's not hooked up yet, but Emily'll give me the message."

"I'll give it some thought," Tino promised.

Seth shook his head again. He turned to walk away, keeping his back erect and his head high.

"Oh, and Seth!"

"Yeah?"

"I missed those long, long conversations of ours."

"They called B.S. sessions, buddy." A shadow of the old Seth, before his drug problem, surfaced in his impish grin. "I can say that. There are no ladies present, if you notice."

If nothing else, his comment won him Tino's sincere laughter.

♥

That Wednesday night was a night off in name only. Miriam, Ceci, Debbie and Kiki had been alternating evenings off from La Sirena for rest and relaxation away from the restaurant. Tonight was Kiki's turn, and she was spending her free time exactly as she'd spent the last night off—catching up with household chores.

She didn't mind. Now that she had her own washer and dryer, she'd washed two loads leisurely while catching on her reading. It was so pleasant, lounging out in her little house, folding clean clothes and sipping a cup of coffee in her kitchen. Definitely a lot better than being stuck for a couple of hours at a city Laundromat.

It was so peaceful. The music of Marc Anthony played from her aging stereo system. Kiki sang along with him, having memorized the words of a romantic bolero, amusing herself by mimicking the singer's same emotional overtone to the song.

Hey, why not? All this feeling has to go somewhere , right? I might as well use it up with singing.

She sighed. Two days had come and gone since she'd taken a sea cruise with her favorite sea captain. She didn't claim any right to those feelings of frustration after so short a time. To his credit, the man had mentioned maybe taking her out again. Sometime, as in the future. The future didn't necessarily mean within the same week. He hadn't made any solid promises or led her on at all. By that same standard, she hadn't obligated herself to anything more.

Yet what she felt couldn't be expressed easily. They'd exchanged home phone numbers, so the itch was there to give him a buzz and invite him to share her precious free evening. He was on her mind constantly, almost to the point of obsession.

A sweet obsession, something supernatural and awesome. It brought her both affection and desire. They were two people who hadn't known each other that long, yet they were like lovers attached by their human spirits. Or at least, that was true as far as she was concerned. It didn't seem like her feelings were reciprocated.

She laughed at herself, setting a bundle of folded towels on the rack in the bathroom. That was the silly and desperate ardor of teenagers, and she definitely wasn't a teenager anymore. Her only serious relationship had been with Xavier; that made Tino the only other man in her life who'd ever effected her so powerfully.

With Xavier, it had been different. Their love for each other was born when they were fourteen years old, so it hadn't really been love at the start. The relationship, through time, grew into love.

Kiki was a girl when he came into her life; she was a woman when she first laid eyes on Tino—a man who, for all intents and purposes, could either take her or leave her, judging by how he kept his distance from her.

There was nothing she could do about it, either. She'd flirted with him, given him more than ample hints of her interest in becoming more to him. She wasn't about to cast aside her pride and openly fling herself into his arms.

Except I belong to you.

There was that thought again, as unreasonable and mysterious as her fear of the sea.

The doorbell chimed as she was about to tackle the last round of unfolded clothes. According to the microwave oven's clock, it was 7:22. Since her people were still at the restaurant, that meant it was probably one of the neighbors. Perhaps Mrs. Frobisher, the elderly lady in the house across the yard. Ceci, as a good neighbor, had taken it upon himself to mow her lawn along with his own, and she was a sweet person who repaid the Figueroas with her homemade butter cookies or tomatoes from her garden.

"Mrs. Frobisher?" she asked through the door, out of habit.

"No, it's me. Tino."

Speak of the devil! He was standing in her doorway of his own accord.

"Tino?"

Incredulous, she opened the door to see him standing there, his hands in the pockets of his windbreaker, his legs spread slightly apart. He lifted his head, his smile endearingly shy.

"Hi. I was in the neighborhood and thought, uh," he stammered, "I'd drop in. Unless you're busy. I know I should've called first..."

"No, no. Por favor, entra. I'll try to tear myself away from the exciting task of folding the wash to entertain a guest." She opened the door fully, inviting him in.

"Gracias. Actually, I passed by the restaurant to see you. Your friend, Debbie, told me you had the night off. Then she told me where I might find you."

So much for his excuse of "passing through the neighborhood." Neglecting to tell him he didn't need an excuse to come to her home, she efficiently cleared the pile of clean clothes from the table and put the clothes basket aside.

"Let me turn that stereo down a little," she said. "Y quieres café?"

"Okay."

"American or espresso?"

"Ay, americano."

Tino seated himself on one of the two chairs at the table, taking a moment to appreciate his surroundings. The kitchen was small but friendly and intimate, scented with the aroma of pine cleanser. Colorful ceramic canisters lined the wall beneath the wooden cabinets. Beside them, a small spice rack with room made for bijol, comino, Sazón, and Adobo, and a little trophy for "The World's Greatest Aunt" helped to compose the cheery arrangement.

He sat upright when she breezed back into the room, setting the teapot on a burner for herself and preparing the coffeemaker for him. A wide hair band tamed her thick mane away from her lovely face.

Lovely was not the word to describe her, she was preciosa—and naturally so, relaxing in her home, her face clear of cosmetics.

For a woman to be, at least outwardly, unimpressed by her own good looks made her even more irresistible. His former fiancée had been beautiful, too—but vain, very vain. She wouldn't have been caught dead receiving a guest, whether it was her fiancée or anyone else, dressed in an oversized T-shirt and flip-flop sandals. With her back to him, Tino was free to admire her curvaceous behind in those cut-off shorts and her tawny, willowy legs until she turned around.

"I won't stay long," he told her. "I just passed by to see how you're doing, and...for a couple other reasons."

"I'm doing pretty well. You know. Siempre en la lucha!" She smiled, setting onto the table a dish of cream cheese, a bar of guava paste, some Ritz crackers and a butter knife. "Soooo what brings you here tonight?"

She nodded at the plate of goodies, motioning for him to help himself first, as her guest.

"Well, I have the Costa del Sol," he began, slicing a sliver of cream cheese onto a cracker, "going out this weekend on a trip..."

"And you were wondering if I'd like to be a part of the crew?"

He winked at her, easily teasing back. "Exactly. You interested?"

"Sorry. I'd love to, but I have a previous commitment on a boat down in San Juan. We're going out for mahi mahi."

"I don't blame you. Sounds like more fun." He handed her the knife, taking a bite of the snack. "Seriously, though. I was approached today by a guy who used to work for me, a guy I fired over a year ago."

Kiki leaned forward, interested. "Why'd you fire him?"

"That's just it. He had a little problem with drugs—as in, he was addicted to them."

"Hmmm." She listened as she sliced away at the guava paste.

"Nice guy—when the drugs weren't doing his thinking or talking for him. He says he's cleaned up now, after some time in rehab. He and his wife are separated. They have a little boy. Seth wants a job for obvious reasons, to make some money, but also to show his wife he's back on track."

"I see. And...this has what to do with me?"

"Well, I've been tossing this over in my mind all day long. I didn't commit to anything, but do I hire him? Do I believe he's all right now? Or am I supposed to be suspicious and tell him to get lost? I thought I'd talk it over with you, get your perspective on it."

She blinked. "Because I have experience with an addictive personality?"

"No. Because I'd be interested in hearing your opinion. And maybe your advice."

"My...advice?" A little smile broke on her face. "You know, I'd probably consider his wife, too."

"That's what I'd hoped. I've known Emily a long time, too. She's a nice lady. He's American, she's another Boricua, like you."

"Ah. An American with good taste!" she observed, laughing deliciously. "What happened, specifically, that you fired him?"

"You can imagine. He slacked off where his responsibilities were concerned, and worse—he got into a fistfight with a crewmate on the Costa del Sol. Seth would've thrown him overboard if the other guys hadn't pinned him down."

Kiki shuddered. She nibbled at a cracker in silence, thinking. On the one hand, she was touched by his respect for her, having gone out of his way to seek her opinion. Or was there more between the lines that he wasn't saying? It would've been simpler and more convenient to pick up the phone.

But he wanted to see her again, to spend some time with her. All the more reason for her to be cautious with the advice he'd solicited from her on handling such a delicate situation.

"He gave me permission to call Emily," Tino went on, "to check out if everything he'd said about being off drugs was true."

"How sad to have to do that, because he knows his word's not good enough anymore."

"I know." Finishing another cracker, he leaned forward. "To tell you the truth, it upset me. I know it's not a position I'd want to find myself in. Part of me wants to be the tough businessman, part of me wants to cut him a break. Hey, if it's true, if he got his life back and I can help him and his family in some way..."

"That's very noble of you." She'd almost forgotten his coffee, already brewed in the carafe. Rising from the table to pour it, she said, "And that's what I want to tell you is the right thing to do. Did you call his wife?"

"Not yet. I'm doing that as soon as I get home."

"Good. Call her, Tino. And then if she tells you he's telling the truth, give him a job. I mean...after everything is said and done, it's your boat, your decision. But you have to do what you feel is right. And I'm thinking of his wife and kid, too."

"I thought so." He accepted the mug from her, his hand brushing against hers. "I'm trying to think of them, too. It's just that—"

"He let you down before. I know. Besides that, you're responsible for what goes on with your boats. You have a right to be careful, Tino."

"Which brings me to my other reason for coming tonight." Drinking his coffee black, he said, "I'm going on this trip."

"You are?"

"Yes, I am." He made the declaration with finality, sternly.

"Excellent!"

Suspiciously checking her express, he repeated, "Excellent?"

"Sure. That's the best, that you'll be on this trip." With gusto, she cut a slice each of cream cheese and guava onto a cracker. "You can monitor his first time back at work. And with the boss himself onboard, I'm sure—what's his name, Seth?—will be on his best behavior."

"Yeah. That's my thought, too." Tino sniffed. "Seth respects me. I think he himself will feel more comfortable, knowing I'm there."

"Wonderful!"

"And on a personal note, I'll be gone for over a week, so...I thought I'd see you before I left."

She finished her tea. They'd come to a tricky part. "Do you need me to keep an eye on the Wind Voyager for you?"

"No, nothing like that. On a personal note, I said. I just...I wanted you to know, in case you didn't hear from me, that you'd know where I was. So you wouldn't wonder about it."

An interesting development. Kiki felt as if he'd dealt out the cards in some game of emotional poker, leaving her to decipher his hand before playing her own.

"I would've assumed you were busy," she told him, honestly, "if I didn't hear from you in a few days. Or I would've thought that...you weren't interested in seeing me again."

"If I wasn't interested, I wouldn't have come tonight."

She cut another thin slice of guava, this time resting it on the length of her finger instead of a cracker, and offered it to him. His mood lightened, and Tino ate it from her hand, thoroughly licking the stickiness from her finger.

"You okay with that?" he asked. "With me going on this trip?"

Understanding right away where he was coming from, she smirked.

"Sure. That's your work, isn't it?" She was coy and charming, parroting his sentiments on the subject back to him. "And are you forgetting I'm a tough lady? I can stand the trials and tribulations of the fisherman's life."

He'd been put in his place quite well. Amused, Tino took the handle of the butter knife, preparing to slice a piece for her, then set it back down.

Should the little game continue, he wouldn't be leaving that little house anytime soon.

"It's fortunate that one of us can deal with it," he admitted reluctantly. "Because this will be a long trip for me. Longer than usual."

"Why's that?"

"Because it's not every day I find myself babysitting one of my crew."

"In a way, that's what you'll be doing."

"Yeah." He was going to regret the next part but said it anyway after taking a deep breath. "And it'll feel like a long time before I see you again."

The tea kettle sent a loud whistle through the kitchen. Kiki had lost her yen for that second cup of herbal tea.

"And in that vein," she murmured, "when you come back, I want to be one of the first people you see."

"You will be."

She went to the stove to switch off the burner. At a loss for words temporarily, she stood with her back to the counter, watching him turn at the waist to look at her.

"I don't expect anything while I'm gone." He sounded hesitant. "What I mean is, I don't expect you to sit and wait for me until I come back. If there's someone you want to see, well...I know how long the days are."

He made it difficult for her, more so than it had to be. She was faced with the decision of making herself out to be some kind of party girl or the equally unflattering status of a wallflower.

"I don't have time to sit and wait," she told him, flat out. "I wish I did. While you're working, I'll be working. But when your boat comes back, I will definitely make the time to be with you. And in the meantime, I will be thinking of you. Often."

"What are we to each other?" Immediately, he shook his head after asking the very question on the tip of her tongue. "I shouldn't ask that. It makes it seem as though I'm bringing commitment and demands onto you, and I don't want to do that."

Smiling to hide her disappointment, she reached out her hands to draw his face to hers for a kiss. He gave into her willingly, and with her eyes closed she heard his chair move noisily aside as he stood to his full stature.

What are we to each other? She didn't have the complete answer to that, being that her own role in his life was murky. All she knew was what he was becoming to her, and that was the only man she'd wanted since the disintegration of her marriage, the only man who haunted her thoughts.

"I have to be going," he said abruptly, in a raspy voice.

Kiki pressed her body tighter against his. "A little while more. Stay."

Moments away. That was all he was from obliging her. Tino buried his face in her hair, holding back a moan. The invitation to stay would inevitably lead from the kitchen into the bedroom.

It was the real thing, not the performance of the fantasy through a bar window.

"Stay," she whispered again.

And how much he wanted to remain there. He didn't even know if he could make it the short distance through the living room to the bedroom, wanting to take her right then and there. Just to push everything off that table, cleaning it to spread her onto it, and be inside her, finally. It'd be animal and wild and against his reserved nature, but he ached for it.

Whatever was coming over him, he fought like the devil to restrain.

"When I come back," he found his voice to tell her, kissing a handful of her tresses. "Please understand. I have to go."

SEVEN

"He's gone. He's been gone for days. But it feels like he's here with me. So tell me the truth: do you think I'm crazy?"

Debbie Wilcox sighed, dropping her chin into her hand. "You're crazy. And I'm insanely jealous that I don't have my own fisherman to miss."

Those slow days at La Sirena were bad for business—good for girl-chats between Kiki and her best friend—but bad for business, nonetheless.

That was all right. The last two evenings had made up for it, with an entire church youth group dropping in for dinner with the minister and a slew of employees from a local radio station choosing La Sirena for a coworker's birthday bash. Ceci was in the back, checking the stockroom for supplies. Miriam had taken advantage of the opportunity to take Jazzy shopping for school clothes.

And Kiki sat at a windowside table with Debbie for a heart-to-heart over Cokes.

"There's not much to be jealous about," she told her. "I don't know, Deb. It's too early for all this yearning on my part. The relationship—if you can call it that right now—is still young."

"I'd call it a relationship. And what's even better, it's a healthy relationship." Debbie laid it on the line, with the frankness and familiarity of an old friend. "It's not like with Xavier, where you wondered if he'd gotten hit by a car or if he'd fallen down drunk in a ditch somewhere. You know where this man is. He's on a boat, for heaven's sake, out earning his living."

Kiki stirred the melting ice in her glass with her straw. "I'd feel better if I knew where I stand with him."

"He told you it'd be a long trip for him without seeing you, right?"

"Yeah, and then I asked him to stay the night—twice—and he told me he couldn't stay."

"You asked him to stay the night?"

"Twice."

Debbie gave her a bad girl smirk. "Hmmm. You somehow forgot to tell me that part!"

"I didn't forget. It was a calculated move on my part." Kiki studied her nails absently, then folded her hands in front of her. "I was rejected. Let's face it. I made a pass at him, and he left me cold. He must think I'm this wanton woman—"

"Which you are not," Debbie emphasized without hesitation.

"Which I am not, that's right. But, oh, Deb—I am so out of practice when it comes to being with a man again."

"And he was a groom left at the altar by a heartless fiancée. You have to take that into consideration, Kiki. That might be why he's not moving faster with you. We women bounce back, emotionally; men'll fight to the death not to have their hearts and pride battered again."

"I know, I know." Kiki sighed with impatience. "But if he would just let his guard down, just a little. And if we could have one night together. One. I'd give him what he was missing. He'd leave my house, Debbie, feeling loved inside and out."

Debbie looked reflective. "And that's what it is with you, Kiki. You're scarred, too, you know."

"No, I'm not—"

"Yes, you are," her friend argued. "You have all this love to give inside you, and you got cheated out of giving it. You finally meet someone who sounds like he's worth it, like he wants you, no matter how much he fights it. I say, hold on and don't let go. You did that before. You can do it this time. This time, it's worth it."

The door to the restaurant opened, causing them both to glance warily at the couple strolling in arm-in-arm. Their conversation ended automatically with Debbie heading to the counter for a menu.

There'd been a store on the strip, some blocks down, that had been robbed a few days earlier. The news had travelled through the grapevine to the Figueroas. It was startling in that their location was a good one, part of their reason for setting up shop in that section of town. Two young men had entered the store, forcing the cashier to empty the register at gunpoint.

The poor cashier and store clerks were shaken. Fortunately, no one was hurt. It was still something one expected to happen in the city—not a quiet, residential fishing town.

The potential for danger was everywhere, by land or by sea. Kiki realized that when she heard the report of the burglary, relating it to Tino out on the Costa del Sol.

The situation was becoming an emotional one for her. If Tino Suarez had meant nothing more to her than someone to pass the time with, his safety out on the sea wouldn't have weighed as heavily on her mind. She wouldn't have found herself worrying about him and saying a prayer for him while a late-summer thunderstorm moved through the coast.

It was even nice, she thought, to have someone to worry about...even if it was still connected to an unreasonable fear.

"Easy one," Debbie said, as she stepped behind the counter. "Two coffees and two flans."

Kiki was about to help her when another customer walked in, a woman with a small child. She nodded at Debbie, getting another menu and check pad.

"Hi, welcome to La Sirena!" she greeted the woman. "I'll be back in a minute.

The customer smiled shyly at her. She was a young woman, a Latina, petite but slightly chunky, her shoulder-length, brown hair tinged with autumn highlights. Her little boy was six or seven, with her features but of a fairer complexion. In tender motherly fashion, she helped the little one off with his jacket and got him settled at the table.

"Are you Kiki Figueroa?" she asked as soon as two glasses of iced water had been placed on the table.

"Yes, that'd be me!"

"Hello, Kiki. You don't know me, but my husband works for—um, I'm Emily Ramsey." Extending a hand in the offer of friendship, she said, "A friend of yours, who works with my husband, recommended your restaurant."

Kiki made the connection instantly with Tino's crewman, shaking the woman's hand firmly.

A friend of yours. Her shoulders sagged mildly. She would've preferred another description, but her smile didn't falter.

"Tino Suarez's word-of-mouth is better than having an advertising agency," she said with a laugh. "Thanks for coming. I hope you enjoy it. And who is this?"

"My son, Christopher." Motherly pride shone through a veil of shyness. Firmly but gently, she eased the fidgeting child back in his seat. "Don't mind him. He's a little cranky now. I've had him out running errands with me all day."

"Believe me, I have a niece around the same age. She's six, she's my sweet, baby girl, but when she's tired out she can be a terror."

"She's six? Oh, Christopher's only four."

"Really?" Kiki glanced at the boy, complimenting his mother with, "That's quite a little man! He's tall for his age."

"Isn't he? He's going to be big, like his daddy."

"Yeah, and with those eyes, he's gonna be a real ladies' man, too! Let me get your order for you and I'll be right back."

Mother and son both decided on light fare. A steak sandwich for Emily, a ham and cheese sandwich for Christopher. Kiki spooned a little extra caramelized onions on the steak and used equal care in ensuring the child's sandwich was delicious. She prepared all her customers' orders diligently, but not always as lovingly.

This was a friend of Tino's. That entitled her to the red carpet treatment. Although if Emily's husband hadn't known Tino from Adam, and Kiki would have known her background, she would have been treated as a queen at La Sirena.

This was a woman who was doing the best she could in holding her family together. From behind the counter Kiki watched them. As shy and soft-spoken as Emily Ramsey was, she'd steeled herself against the man she loved, refusing to accept unnecessary misery and hardship for her son's sake and her own. She was the queen of her modest home and she deserved every ounce of respect owed to her.

In the situation where a customer was known to a friend or relation, Kiki was never sure whether to linger at the table and chat or permit the person to enjoy his or her meal without disruption from her. She neither wanted to make the person feel obligated to talk to her, nor seem cold and walk away. When the place was packed and things were hectic, that problem pretty much resolved itself. On that day, the only other customers were being attended to by Debbie.

Emily Ramsey's shyness didn't help, either. Kiki decided to leave her alone with her son, customarily interrupting them halfway through to ask how the meal was. Everything was wonderful, she was told, and when she had a chance, Christopher was now asking for a chocolate sundae, with whipped cream and two cherries for dessert. He received a little extra chocolate sauce and five cherries, to his delight.

There was genuine appreciation in the woman's eyes. Perhaps she wouldn't have been as appreciative if she realized how much Kiki wanted to pick her brain. She felt a bit guilty, itching to ask Emily what else Tino had said about her, personally, if he'd been given to confide in a longtime crewman's wife. She wanted to ask her what it was like to have a fisherman as a husband, how their relationship was affected or not by his time spent at sea. It would be pleasant, helpful, too, if she became acquainted with someone experienced at being a fisherman's lady. Mostly, she wanted to ask if Emily knew of any other women in Tino's life, or if she was his only one.

They were questions better left unanswered for the time being. The understood protocol of two women meeting for the first time prevented her from delving in those directions.

"I hope you'll come again," Kiki told her, after the meal was over and Emily was leading her son toward the door. "It was a pleasure serving you and little Mr. Ramsey."

"Oh, I'll come here again. I really liked your restaurant." Then Emily unwittingly teased her inquisitive thoughts, saying, "And everything Tino said about you is so true. You are as sweet as you are beautiful. No wonder he adores you."

♥

Hey, baby! We're playing phone tag tonight, huh? Okay, then—you're "it"! Just come over. I'll be home all night.

Between the words "it" and "just", there'd been a bubbly laugh, brief but sexy. Tino replayed the message on his answering machine three or four times, for no other reason than to hear it and get that jolt through his bloodstream at the sound of her voice.

Earlier that day he'd called her to let her know he was back. She'd returned the call, and he'd tried again, nearly exasperated. He'd heard the phone ringing once more while in the shower, dousing off the stench of fish and sweat and sea spray.

Just come over? An excellent suggestion, one he'd made to himself through all the hours spent on that boat. Wasted on the boat was more accurate. The fishing for that trip had been pathetic, hardly worth the expense of fuel, ice, crew, and all the other stuff to get out there.

Some trips were like that: fruitless and disappointing. Nets and lines reeled in, coming up empty. Patience levels of captain and crew were tested. Moods grew somber, sometimes sullen. Conversation dwindled when it became apparent that the sea was being a miserable wench, yielding slimmer profits and lighter wallets. Each man went about his business, doing what he had to do, hoping the technology of the boat's fish-finding equipment would lead them to the surprise jackpot of fish before returning to port.

That jackpot had never come. The slightly inclement weather had made a date with the crew of the Costa del Sol, though. They'd been treated to segments of it, working in their rain slickers. There had been some jostling of the boat, rain, a spectacular lightning show, the winds less than monumental.

The real turbulence had taken place inside the captain, who now drove through the quiet streets of town. His seven-year-old Mercedes, purchasing during a good year of fishing, was still dependable and still purred like a contented kitten. He was a good manager of money, riding out the lean months, a firm believer in making the most of those profitable times.

Yet, his mind hadn't been on fishing or money. Tino had been distracted during those nights away at sea, as he was distracted now, anxious to reach his destination.

It was happening again. For a while he'd done fine there, free from a woman's hold on him. But again, it was happening, that he found himself thinking only of seeing her, of touching her again.

She was making him suffer without wanting to, and he was loving every minute of it.

He parked the car alongside the outside the address, clearing the driveway. The windows of the two-level main house were darkened except for the living room, where a hanging lamp shed light on the figure of a woman watering plants.

It was Kiki's sister-in-law. Miriam, he recalled, was her name. With some stealth, he steered clear of her view, walking down the passage on the side of the house to the back.

Social graces were the least of his concerns. He wasn't there to chat with the woman's relatives. There was a time and a place for everything. This sure wasn't the time or the place.

Kiki had offered herself to him before he'd left. Inwardly, he'd complimented himself on his restraint, on the strength of his will to resist the invitation, refusing to get himself too involved too fast.

And then he'd spent the entire excursion at sea plagued by a gnawing hunger only she could satisfy. He lost track of how many times he'd berated himself for his foolishness, possibly pushing her away from him and altogether ending any chance of being with her.

The lights in the window of the tiny cottage were dim behind the vertical blinds. He knocked on the door, taking advantage of those few moments before she appeared to compose himself.

Easy, now. Down, boy.

Playing it cool was still a prerequisite to the evening. After all, they were two civilized human beings, not walking, talking libidos. He was a gentleman, she was a lady.

Through the peephole, a long-lashed eye peeked out at him.

"Tino!" He heard her call out through the door.

Take it slow, now.

It wasn't as if he were a cave man, although he was fairly certain a cave man wouldn't have had much trouble containing those carnal pleasures running rampant through him. He couldn't very well grab her, kiss her, tear her clothes off, for the sake of propriety—

"Welcome home, Captain!" She opened the door. "You were so missed."

Yes. And she was so nude. Without a stitch of clothing on, there was only that creamy, dark olive skin. Her tresses pushed behind her shoulders left her bare breasts, rounded and firm, displayed for him.

He couldn't move or speak at first.

"You said," she reminded him, "when you come home. Well...you're home."

So much for propriety. Bring on those carnal pleasures!

"I missed you, too," he growled.

The second he had his arms around her body and his mouth claimed hers, a good portion of that steady ache in him fell away. He only now recognized that pain as loneliness; he'd been lonely, specifically, without her.

Kiki took her time kissing him. He smelled of soap and shampoo and a fine after-shave cologne, blending in intoxicatingly with his own masculine scent, enough to drive her wild.

"I can't believe I walked away from this that night." He spoke his thoughts aloud.

She giggled. "I don't forgive you. Not unless you make it up to me."

"Oh, we're gonna be like that, huh?" Tino chuckled, running his hands down the small of her back to her behind, pressing her tighter against him. Her skin was cool to the touch. "Okay. I'll make it up to you."

"No, you won't. You're going to go on another of your fishing trips and make me wait again."

"No, no—"

"Yes, yes!" Pulling free from his grasp, she backed up a few steps. Her mischievous streak was showing, among other fascinating things. "Let's make you wait."

"I already did. Kiki...don't do this to me, you hear?"

"I'm not your crew. I don't take orders."

"Hey—I'm still the captain."

"We'll see!"

He played along, chasing her from the kitchen through the living room. It amused him how she ran like a girl. The muscles of her bottom and thighs jiggling made the game even more titillating. With a cry, she burst through the bedroom door, tossing herself facedown onto the mattress. Immediately, his weight was upon her, his body covering hers.

"Well...looks like I win. You lose." He lifted off her enough to gently turn her onto her back. "I get the prize."

Her eyebrows flared upward. "Which is?"

"You."

His breath caught at the back of his throat. The exertion of running through the tiny house hadn't knocked the wind out of him. Rather, it was the pretty smile beaming up at him.

She wrapped her arms loosely around his neck. "I know I lost, so I'm not supposed to win anything. But you're not going to send me away empty-handed, are you?"

"I'm not sending you away at all. I'm not that crazy, to make the same mistake twice. And the only prize I have to give you is here." Tino slid one of her hands from behind his neck, kissing it caressingly and laying it on the left side of his check. "This is yours. If you want it."

"I want it. I want..." she lifted her face close to his, whispering, "every...last...piece of you."

Catching the swarthiness of his smile, she laughed.

"Yes, that part, too," she enthused. "And what's this?"

Slowly, she'd unbuttoned his shirt, flattening her palms against the muscles of his chest and weaving her fingers through the forest of hair. Something in the shirt's breast pocket brushed against her hands.

"It's, uh...from my collection." He produced a small paperback. "Keats. Longfellow. Romantic poetry. I brought it with me because I had in mind what, uh...what we're doing right now."

"Read it to me."

"Not now. I will, though." The pocket-sized edition landed with a soft thud on the nightstand. "I wanted to read it to you before we made love. To find something that would express what I feel."

Kiki paused. "And did you find it?"

"No. It makes me wonder if the poets ever experienced anything like this." He removed his shirt, his belt falling to the floor. "I'm sure they did. It just feels like I'm the only man this ever happened to."

In an instant, he'd rolled onto his back, taking her with him. She wrapped her legs around him, stopping before unzipping his jeans to fondle that hard swell of denim beneath the zipper. Before easing out of his pants, she saw him remove not one but a few, plastic wrappers from his pocket.

To her delight, the man had in mind a night filled with making love to her.

"What's happened to you?" The need to hear it in his own words pressed her. "Anything like what's happened to me? Because it feels like I'm the only woman in the world with a secret anyone would love to know."

He didn't respond. Whether he was being purposely evasive, afraid to reveal too much of himself, or so into the physical intimacy with her, didn't matter.

There was another language, the more expressive tongue spoken solely by tenderness and unbridled passion, intermittently, that he was now using to communicate with her. She could tell it took effort for him to slow down, that he was anxious to take her with the impatience of a starving man. And in a way, he was starving, relishing her body as if it were a delicious banquet.

Someone else with so much of himself to give, robbed of the opportunity to love. Once he was fully naked, she slid her hands and mouth down the course of his body, teasingly, lovingly. Her blood ran hot and fast through her veins, listening to the husky moans at the back of his throat.

They embraced and, kneeling on the bed, she guided him into her. He'd cast away all traces of reservation, moving inside her and bringing down one hand to stroke her, the other playing with her breast. She was fascinated by his eyes, which never once closed, but settled directly into line with hers as they made love. His breathing was coming faster, his lips parted and prepared for each kiss offered by her mouth.

"Like you could be the love of my life. That's what's happened to me," he explained unexpectedly between breaths. "And I want to be the love of yours."

There couldn't have been a more poignant moment in time for that declaration to be made. Just when embers of pleasure were beginning, slowly and deliberately, to flow through her body, she felt a joy that could only be generated from within the soul.

Where had that moment come from? She shivered, holding on to him tighter.

It was exactly that: one moment. Beautiful and rare and seeming to have travelled through the years of her life. The one resplendent moment that she knew would possess its own place in her memory for years to come.

His excitement accelerated with hers, their full satisfaction arriving with hurricane-like power. They collapsed together onto the mattress, each catching their breath while still entwined in the other's arms.

The moment tasted like forever.

EIGHT

Whereas before, Kiki was at a loss for fishermen's wives or girlfriends to identify with, kindred spirits now seemed to be coming out of the woodwork.

The candidate for the waitress position, a woman in her late thirties, had explained the two-year lapse in her working experience. She and her husband, a regular crewman for the commercial vessels, had agreed she would stay home with their baby daughter until she reached preschool age. The rough year of profits had changed that, sending the fisherman's wife, Zelda Meyer, back to the work force to augment the household finances.

Zelda was not the ideal interviewee. Her experience was spotty, including a four-month stint at the Atlantic Sea Breeze bar. Despite her list of waitressing jobs, she'd listed a Manhattan art school as part of her education, which won her some points, reminding Kiki of the Figueroa family artist, Leidiana.

Yet Zelda was, to put it politely, eccentric. Her hair was tinted a rock'n'roll shade of cranberry red. There was a tiny but noticeable earring through her left eyebrow, and under "hobbies" in the application, she'd scrawled out the words, "finding cool Bohemian clothes in consignment shops. Or where I can find them."

Funky! Kiki had thought. So she was a bit of an oddball. And a benign one, or so she was led to believe, watching how lovingly the applicant doted on her toddler daughter, who'd tagged along for the interview.

"My mother-in-law will be watching Hailey for me," Zelda said in her raspy voice. "She can't do it today, though. Sorry about that. Hope that doesn't count as a strike against me."

"That's okay. I understand." Kiki pacified her with a smile. "I've always liked the name Hailey."

"My husband's idea. I really wanted to name her Venus. Like, who else would have that name, right? She'd be unique. But my husband talked me into making that her middle name. So now she's Hailey Venus Meyer."

Kiki nodded, refraining from rolling her eyes. Who was she to disagree? Hadn't Hispanics spent generations naming offspring after saints, biblical prophets, and even soap opera characters?

Besides, everything was right with the world. Her spirit was light ever since that night that had become a spree of lovemaking, sprinkled with Tino reading his favorite poetry passages to her. He'd called her earlier than morning, wanting to hear her voice before starting his day.

"How about Monday, Zelda? Can you start this coming Monday?"

The cranberry-haired pseudo-gypsy dropped her lower jaw. "Monday would be great. It gives me enough time. And I promise I'll have no problems with Hailey."

"We'll see how it works out." Kiki shrugged. "I don't know if a mother can make that promise, with little ones. But this is a family business. We understand that family comes first."

"Thanks. And I'll try to do the best I can." Zelda stood, scooping her little girl into her arms. She added, seriously, "I don't know if anybody's ever told you this before, or if it's out of line to say it, but...you're an old soul. You know that, don't you?"

"No, I didn't. Is that good or bad?"

From across the room, Kiki saw Miriam, whose restraint couldn't keep her from some eye-rolling. Evidently, her sister-in-law had overheard portions of the conversation.

"It's neither. Just a fact," Zelda answered. "You have this...I don't know...ageless quality." She took one of the menus from the stack on the counter. "May I? I'd like to memorize it as best I can. I'll bring it back Monday."

"Sure. We'll see you then."

"Yeah, I'd like to get used to rattling off some of your dishes. Like..." Zelda consulted the menu. "Pas-tel-ies. And...toast-tonies. Oh, I like that, toast-tonies. Sounds like something kinky!"

Kiki couldn't repress a laugh. "I wish they were! We'd probably sell a ton more of them!"

Miriam waited until their new employee had left to suggest, "Hey, if she doesn't work out as a waitress, we can always have her read the customers' fortunes. That's kinda unique, isn't it?"

"You could've stepped in at any time," Kiki told her. "You didn't want to do the interviewing, remember?"

"It's not the interviewing that bothers me. It's hiring and then maybe having to fire them that I'm not too crazy about. But..." Miriam smiled reassuring at her, "I trust your judgment."

"Ah, thank you very much for the vote of confidence, nena!" She gave a dramatic bow of her head.

Overhearing the women's conversation, Ceci stepped out of the kitchen.

"Okay. Sounds like we hired the gypsy?" he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"We hired Zelda Meyer," Kiki corrected him. "Personally, I think she's very nice. She's different, but she's cool. And I think she'll work out very well for us."

"Sure. And you, being a wise, old soul, would know what's good for us." Ceci ducked to avoid getting hit by a kamikaze drinking straw flung at him by his sister. "I still wish we could've hired Leidi. Like you said, it's a family business."

"It's also a small business that should open at least one job to the community. La Sirena did its part there today."

"And I thought we had that all decided," his wife joined in, "during our little meeting with you, me, Debbie, everyone, that it wasn't necessary for the restaurant to interrupt Leidi's plans."

"Yeah, I know. That's what I get for being the only man in the bunch. I'm outnumbered by the ladies every time." Ceci succumbed good-naturedly to his sister's teasing.

"That's not true. We let you have your way. Sometimes. When you're right, which is usually...when you agree with us!"

Satisfied, Kiki returned to her work behind the counter, compiling a list of supplies needed. A small crowd of fishermen with a newly acquired taste for café con leche had gathered in the restaurant for breakfast that morning, but that afternoon—except for the single job interview—had been slow. Business came in spurts, either feast or famine. What mattered was that La Sirena was keeping afloat.

The prospect of Leidi postponing college for a year in order to save her earnings from working at the restaurant had been a minor bone of contention between Kiki and her brother. Only one year, that had been Ceci's argument; Leidi, who was receiving financial aid and two scholarships, would still benefit from a nest egg stashed away, for all the extras the money wouldn't cover.

But Ceci hadn't convinced Kiki. She knew he wasn't thrilled about the baby of the family living on campus at the college of her choice, miles away in North Carolina. Kiki shared some of his misgivings on the matter, having heard the horror stories about college freshmen living away from home for the first time—the partying, the drinking, the running amuck of hormones. She had to admit Ceci had a point, taking into consideration that Leidi, at eighteen, was more sheltered than many of her fellow coeds.

Strangely, Inez had sided with her on the debate. Naturally, it would be difficult and lonely at first for Leidi, but she was, and always had been, a serious-minded young woman. Inez herself had rented a car, driving her down to the campus with the strict admonition that she and Kiki were counting on her to be guided by her maturity and not to embarrass either of them in front of her overly protective brother.

Kiki hadn't spoken to Inez, learning of her words from Leidi's letter, in between the anticipated laments of, I hope I'll be able to fit in, and the optimistic announcement of, My roommate is so funny! As for those "little extras"—money for pizza to share with a study mate, clothes, cosmetics—she'd tended to those as best as possible, sending her younger sister a few dollars whenever she could.

She was surprised and touched to learn Inez had been doing the same, saving about ten or twenty dollars to send to their favorite college student. In light of her family's situation, that was even more of a sacrifice.

For once, Kiki was on the same side of the fence with Inez, when Ceci, who thought it was capricious of Leidi not opt to attend a school in Manhattan, told her that if anything happened, he'd hold her and Inez personally responsible.

What a very Ceci Figuroa thing to say! He was a prime example of a hot-blooded Latin brother, throwing out his chest and trying to make the women in the family quake in their boots. As if she or the eldest Figueroa sibling had any control over an eighteen-year-old out on her own for the first time in her life. Manhattan would have been the likely choice for the study of art, true. But it had been Leidi's decision to select a school that offered an excellent program in teaching as well, so that she could combine her double majors in an effort to have something to fall back on.

And the answer was yes—the college's location down in the southern state had been equally attractive to her. She'd be getting away from the city for a few years, meeting people from other walks of life, ensuring her independence. To Kiki, all of Leidi's reasons amounted to surefire evidence of the maturity she and Inez were banking on.

Trusting her sister to attend a school in another state and hiring a quirky and interesting person to serve—and pronounce—arroz con gandules. Interesting choices she'd been making these days, she mused to herself as she folded the shopping list into her jacket pocket and strapped her purse to her shoulder.

Tino Suarez hadn't been a conscious choice. Neither had he been anything she could have, or would have wanted to in her right mind, avoided.

She stepped into the autumn air, walking past the now-familiar shop windows on the strip toward the spot where the pickup was parked. Summer was over, stepping aside with ladylike grace for the new season, alive with its own repertoire of color and flavor. Jazzy was in school full-time now, coming to her aunt in the evenings to show off her test scores, drawings, and reports. Debbie was in the old neighborhood, spending her day off with her parents and younger brothers. Kiki looked forward to her friend's return, to the updates on how her family was doing, the family that had accepted her, after so many years, as another daughter.

Simple things. She smiled to herself as she drew her keys from her purse. The simple things possessed their own, gentle brand of excitement. They were somehow more vivid now than they'd ever been before, and understanding why was significant. Leaving home to begin anew on the Island hadn't changed that part of her, as Inez had insinuated. If she'd never spread her wings and agreed to come there with Debbie and her brother's family, she would never have met Tino.

There was a trace of the tragic in that, to never have seen him walking into her life.

A strong hand on her forearm halted her in her steps. Automatically raising her eyes, she looked directly into the face of her past.

"I thought I'd be standing here all day!" His laughter was robust.

Before she could stop him, his arms drew her toward him and he kissed her squarely on the mouth, in complete disregard to everything that had happened, to the goodbyes that had been said, to the finality.

"Xavier!" Kiki broke the kiss short and laughed shakily. "What're you doing here?"

"Is that any way to greet me? Come on, now!" He was jovial, in party-going mode. "You live so far, I had to travel to the end of the earth to get here. I waited outside the restaurant because you all looked busy. I didn't want to get in the way, but I wanted to see you, mamita!"

Inadvertently, she raised an eyebrow. We all looked so busy. You didn't dare come in because you know Ceci would get medieval all over you!

"You came all the way out here to see me?" she repeated.

"That's right. I can do that, can't I? A guy doesn't need a special pass or anything to come to Long Island, does he? And you don't seem real happy to see me."

Kiki switched gears. It wasn't seeing him that unnerved her. It was that business of him travelling almost four hours through the dreaded Long Island Expressway traffic to stand outside the restaurant. Standing there, waiting for her to come out...that reminded her too much of his often erratic behavior.

"Oh, you're not being fair. I'm...I'm just surprised." Easing herself out of his hold, she folded her hands in front of her. "It's very good to see you again. Really. How's it going?"

"Good, good. You look good, too. Good enough to eat."

Her laugh was more of a reflex. "Unfortunately, I'm not on the menu."

Xavier shook his finger at her, then pinched her cheek. "You! You were always so cute!"

Setting her weight back on her heels, she studied him. In that span of time between the divorce and moving to Suffolk County, while she was still living in Spanish Harlem, seeing Xavier had been inevitable. Their marriage had meant sharing friends and, on his side, family. Although the Figueroas had placed a wedge between Xavier and themselves, his younger sister had kept in touch with Kiki. The times she and her former husband had met, normally for no more than ten minutes in the same room, had been chilly, to say the least.

Chilly and painful. Xavier behaved wounded and forsaken. Kiki wanted nothing more than to be out of there. Earlier on was the worst, as she recalled, since his personal grooming habits had ceased altogether. He'd appeared like what he was—a man who didn't give a damn about anything anymore.

That wasn't the same man in front of her that afternoon, facing her on the strip, with strangers passing them by.

"So, you came all the way out here to see me?"

"Yes, ma'am. You said that already." The sparkle was back in his eyes. The same one she remembered seeing a long time ago, in the eyes of the boy she'd fallen in love with and stood beside at their civil wedding ceremony. "My sister told me about the whole restaurant thing, but I gotta admit it's a lot bigger and a lot more terrific than I thought it'd be."

"Hmmm. At least on the outside, huh?"

He dug his hands into his pants' pockets, his suit lightly rumpled from the long ride.

"Yeah. Inside, it must be heaven," he quipped. "Seriously, though, that's great. I'm proud of you."

Time hadn't been kind to Xavier, who was still young, three months younger than Kiki. There were lines on his face, put there by rough living; his hairline had receded; the body, though, was stronger, the bones fortified by flesh and muscle tone once lost during the worst of his illness. There was also a quiet dignity that had been missing for years.

"Thanks. That means a lot to me." She'd said the words quickly, glancing around them to see if anyone was paying attention to them. No one was. "You still haven't told me...what's new with you?"

"Oh, I'm doing good. Yep. I got a job down in Chelsea."

"I like that area."

"Yeah, me, too. Job pays pretty well. I've been with the same company for about six months. I like it."

"I'm glad."

She felt so stilted. It was hard to believe this was the same man she'd called her husband. Like any married couple, there'd been a familiarity between them, now defunct, replaced by the awkward manner of strangers.

"I have a girlfriend. We're thinking of getting married."

"Are you?"

"Yes, we are. And you are relieved!"

Tossing back her head, Kiki laughed freely. "Let's just say I'm happy for you, Xavier." She threw out her arms for emphasis. "I desire for you all the good that life can give you!"

"I figured you'd say that. You're still Kiki." He gazed at her with genuine affection. "I'm leaving now. I didn't come to see your restaurant. Not really. I'm happy for you, Kiki, but I wouldn't come all this way just for that."

"Then...why did you come?"

"To show you. Not just let you hear about it secondhand. Let you see it with your own eyes." Xavier's tone softened. "I would've thought you would want to see that I finally came in from the rain. I'm not drinking anymore. That's all in the past. I have my life together now. And, girl—what're you looking around for? What, are the cops after you or something?"

"I'm not looking around!" Kiki laughed through her embarrassment—guilty as charged. "But back to what you were saying. Thanks for coming here, letting me know. But I have—I have to go. You understand."

"Yeah, I do. Very well." He stepped up closer to her. "If you...never mind. I wish you only happiness, Kiki."

"And that's what I wish for you, too."

His goodbye kiss arrived uninvited, a noncommittal peck on the cheek. None of the former emotions surfaced. Xavier seemed to sense that, backing up a step and turning to walk away.

Without a backward glance, she proceeded to walk the last few steps to Ceci's truck. She held onto the door handle long enough for her breathing to return to normal.

If you...

What would have been the completed thought? If you would take me back, I would leave her?

She opened the door and slid in behind the steering wheel of the pickup, comforted by the beaded ornament Jazzy had made, hanging from the rearview mirror, and Ceci's coffee cup in the console holder. All those little familiar things of her present world.

That would never happen. Even if Tino hadn't been in the picture, seeing Xavier again hadn't elicited any of the former feelings. Only a deep sadness had been present; her body itself remembered that time of her life. It was a time when she'd been more of a girl than a woman, unsure of the future or even herself.

Suddenly, she laughed. Kiki adjusted the seat and mirror, turning the key in the ignition.

If you...thought this would be a romantic reunion, I spent most of it looking around, making sure no one who'd run back to tell my fisherman saw you kissing me. Because, honey, I worked real hard to earn his trust.

And it was hers now. She was going to hold onto it.

Tight.

♥

"Xavier came to see me today. We must not have seen each other for...oh, I don't know...months. Threw his arms around me, kissed me, right there on the street."

Tino's mug stopped midway to his lips. Rarely hearing the name, it came to him slowly that Kiki was talking about her ex-husband.

"Something wrong with that?" he asked, cautiously. "I didn't think you two ended on bad terms."

"We didn't. Not hatefully, not really." She hadn't yet touched her own coffee, cradled between her hands on her lap, the steam floating up from it.

"Does he still live in Spanish Harlem?"

"He didn't say. He said he had a job in Chelsea. He's been able to hold onto it. He's not drinking anymore, and he's got a girlfriend now. Sounds pretty serious, too."

Tino looked out over the railing of the Wind Voyager at the black velvet sky. "And how do you feel about that?"

"I feel like he could've said whatever he had to say over the phone. He really didn't have to travel four hours to get out here. Otherwise, I think it's wonderful."

Smiling, she shifted to face him. It was quite cool to be out on the deck at night, yet in jackets and snuggled together, their body heat shielded them from that autumn nip in the air.

"I only told you this because I wanted you to know," she clarified. "There's always so many people out on that strip, doing their shopping or whatever. I didn't want someone to see me and tell you, and then you'd get the wrong idea about what was going on."

"Oh. So do I make you feel like you have to report your every move to me?"

The sentiment was a knee-jerk reaction, and he regretted voicing it as soon as it was out of his mouth. Nevertheless, Kiki didn't seem to take offense.

"I don't think of it that way. I want to be open with you." Curiosity struck her. "Let's put it this way. If Jamila came back to see you, for any reason and she threw herself at you and kissed you, and there were people around to see it...wouldn't you be worried it would get back to your mermaid?"

"I don't know. That's a hypothetical situation, since it was Xavier who came back and not Jamila." He resisted the urge to kiss her, preferring to admire the sassy expression on her face, with her chin tucked into his shoulder. "Why? Would my mermaid have a problem with that?"

"Like you said, hypothetical situation. Probably, though...yes, I would." On a whim, she nibbled hard enough on his shoulder to get a mock scolding groan from him.

"I think he wanted something, Kiki. I can't see the man coming here when, you're right—everything he said could've been communicated over the phone."

"Well, it doesn't matter. Xavier was always unpredictable anyway. To me, that's over. It's been over. I wouldn't have gone through with the divorce if it wasn't."

Finally, she tasted her coffee, which warmed her from her throat to her belly. The taste of coffee seemed always more enhanced when it served to comfort from the cold, and as a backdrop to lighthearted conversation.

That evening, Tino was more quiet than he was chatty. Meditative. He appeared content to sit with her, as close as possible. She'd surprised him by asking him what the chances were of them giving it another go out on the water. Not miles and miles out in the open sea, to where the land disappeared from view, but far enough to obtain that other worldly atmosphere and its corresponding solitude, the one thing she had enjoyed about her first time out on a boat.

They'd dropped the anchor at a spot where they could still see the rows of homes on shore, the glow of the lights forming a silky halo where the sky met the land. There were no singing whales that time, though she could've sworn the sky was bejeweled with twice the amount of stars. Maybe because she'd gotten out of her system the initial shock of seeing the boat pulling away from the dock or because her mood was right—whatever the explanation, she loved being there.

"I appreciate that you told me. You confessed. You came clean, woman!" Unable to keep a straight face, Tino laughed with her. "But if anyone had seen you and came back to me with it, I would have asked you about it. Or waited for you to tell me. And I would believe whatever you said."

"You would trust me, then?"

Nodding more to himself, he came to the realization as he replied, "Yeah, I do. You could hurt me if you wanted to that way, but I can't live my life like that. I'd rather live it having some trust in you."

Delighted, she hugged his neck and kissed his cheek. "I still want to know, and you didn't tell me."

"About what?"

"About Jamila. If Jamila had been the one—"

Tino waved his hand in dismissal. "Ay, corazon, por favor! Jamila wouldn't come back."

Kiki persisted. "Hypothetical, remember? Humor me. If she came back and said that things didn't work out with her husband, that she came to her senses and realized what she lost when she walked out on your wedding...would you take her back?"

"No."

"No, before I came, or no, now that I'm here?"

"No, on both counts." Sighing, he stretched out his legs, which were stiff from sitting in the same position for too long. "I knew what Jamila was doing. I didn't know then, but I know it now. I know she didn't meet the man and he swept her off her feet the night before our wedding. Now I know what was going on behind my back for a while, and that he didn't 'steal' her from me. She left me to go to him because she wanted to. When I realized she deceived me, I couldn't feel the same way about her. Whether she came back and begged me or not."

After another sip of her coffee, Kiki didn't say anything but rather remained quiet, looking alternately at him and the calm water.

"Was that something that was bothering you?" He had to know. "Because Jamila and Xavier, they're two different people. Even if she came back—which I know she wouldn't—I wouldn't hurt you intentionally."

"I know. But would you stay with me for the sake of not hurting me or because I was the woman you really wanted?"

You're good at that, aren't you? Tino secretly complimented her. She was skilled at drawing him out, at approaching deeper waters than he cared to verbally explore. By nature, he wasn't given to such revelations, conversations so intimate.

Perhaps that was something Jamila had found lacking in him. He'd seen his former fiancée as a shallow villainess, yet every so often he felt his own moodiness and difficulty in revealing things may have contributed to the destruction of that relationship.

If so, he wasn't making the same mistake twice. Especially not with Kiki.

"Because you and I are the same in that area," she added, before he could speak. "I don't see a future in making a man stay with me if he doesn't want to be there. I'd prefer to set you free, let you go to her, though it would hurt so much to lose you."

"What? You wouldn't fight for me?" His eyes widened; he was showing the mischievous side of his personality. "You wouldn't give me the pleasure of seeing you dragging her off to some schoolyard to have it out with her?"

That garnered him another bite, this one on the neck.

"I wouldn't give you the satisfaction, Captain!" She made him laugh.

"Oh, no? Well, you wouldn't get off as easy as she did."

"Why's that?"

"Because I wouldn't let Xavier—or any man—have you so easily. I'd try to win you back. Because I don't consider this to be just any love affair. You would have to tell me, point-blank, that you didn't want me anymore."

The tender sincerity in his eyes brought her arms around him tighter.

"You won't be hearing that from me," she promised, licking her lips. "Because you're right. This isn't 'just any love affair.' I feel like all of my life has been going in one direction, and the destination was always you."

Without missing a beat, he admitted, "That pretty much sums up the way I feel about you, cariño. Now I talked a lot, didn't I? Do you want to go back now or...do you want to go below and we can communicate another way—the fun way?"

She relieved him of his mug, setting it down with hers on the deck.

"I want to go below with you." She dusted teasing little kisses on his mouth. "I'm not in a hurry to go back to shore. I love the sea! Don't you?"

"Oh, we're making some progress now, overcoming your fear!"

"Mmmm, hmmmm. Right now, I don't think there's anything that can make me afraid."

NINE

It was October when the Wind Voyager set out again with Tino as her captain. Instead of a romantic evening cruise, the commercial vessel was put to the use she'd been created for. For a trip that had nearly been cancelled the day before, it was proving to be productive.

Jeremy Boticelli, who'd led previous crews on Tino's boats, had called to say he wouldn't be able to keep his commitment. A sudden death in the family was sending him out of town for a few days. Likewise, Jimmy Hewitt, a crewman scheduled to join Seth Ramsey and Santiago Peña, was laid up in the hospital with a cold that had lasted for three weeks, ultimately developing into pneumonia.

That left Tino to head the crew himself, and no one on such short notice to replace Jimmy. He would go it alone with Seth, who'd been back on track since his return, and Santiago, complaining of a scratchy throat.

At the start of the trip, each man suspected it would be cut short. Yet with only three of them manning the trawls, the fish hold was already half-loaded with flounder and pollock.

Indian summer had graced those first two days out at sea. It felt more like June, the unseasonably warm temperatures causing the men to work in shorts and joke about getting a great, long-lasting suntan.

But on that third day, the weather did a dramatic turnaround. The sky was bleak and chalky, pouring occasional light showers through colder air and over choppier waters than there'd been at the beginning of their trip. It was a nuisance more than anything else, working in rain slickers that shielded them from the rain but not the cold. That cold, as luck would have it, no matter where they cast their nets, they came up with catches scarcely worthy of their efforts.

"The way you pop those," Seth was saying as he negotiated his large frame behind the table in the cabin, "you'd think they were doing something for you besides coating your throat."

The chill in his body subsiding, Santiago realized his crewmate was referring to the box of cherry Halls in his hand.

"You do your drugs, I'll do mine," he tossed back jovially. "You know, I'm just starting to get the feeling back in my hands."

"Aw, come on. It's not that cold out there." Tino filled three mugs with steaming hot coffee. "Everybody's seen a lot worse."

"Spoken like a true boss." Seth tipped his mug to him in a salute. "Hey, Santiago, be grateful it's only the common cold. Otherwise, Mr. Suarez would be sitting here saying, 'Come on, it's just a little case of pneumonia! You've been through worse, haven't you?'"

"Hey, don't laugh, that's possible!" Santiago blew his nose. "Watch. I'm gonna end up like Jimmy. That'll be my reward for being so dependable."

"Well, we appreciate your great sacrifice. But what do you mean, 'spoken like a true boss?' I'm not that much of a slave driver," Tino disputed, chuckling. "At least, I don't think I am."

He nodded at Seth, who brought out a deck of playing cards, shuffling them with the flair of an Atlantic City casino dealer.

They played a game of hearts to pass the time, nothing at all happening with the nets. It was a far cry from the last time Tino had been on the boat, making love to his favorite passenger.

Man, he missed her. Kiki was probably still at the restaurant at that time in the late afternoon. He recalled the last night they'd spent together, huddled at a table in the Atlantic Sea Breeze with her brother and sister-in-law. She'd wanted him to become better acquainted with her family, signaling to him that the relationship was becoming serious.

As was its natural course, he believed. Those compulsive feelings, that inexplicable desire to be with her, had matured into something deeper, more solid. He'd been leery about her brother, who'd seemed so protective of her those first few times Tino had been around him. Putting his best foot forward, even putting on a sharp sports jacket for the occasion, propelled by the urge to please her, he'd had a good time that night. Ceci Figueroa had accepted him as fully as the charming Miriam had.

Seth dealt the cards as Santiago hacked an admittedly graveyard cough. Gradually, with the game progressing, the rocking motion of the vessel became more pronounced. The sound of the rain and the wind picking up disturbed the tranquility in the room.

"Before calling it a night," Tino murmured, "maybe we should take her out a little further."

"'Kay. I'll keep you company." Seth, having lost that hand, tossed down his cards.

"I'm going to reel in the nets." Santiago was slurring from fatigue. "But then I'm coming back down here. I really don't feel good."

On their way back up from the galley, Tino and Seth exchanged glances, their laughter low. Undoubtedly, Santiago was under the weather. Customarily as energetic as a hyperactive kid, once a cold or other minor ailment attacked him, his behavior was more like that of a hundred-and-fifty pound baby.

"Would you consider being my best man, Seth?"

The crewman known as stood beside his captain in the wheelhouse, doing a double-take. "You getting married, Tino?"

"What? Is that so shocking?"

"Well...yeah!" Seth laughed. "Yeah, it kinda is. Didn't think you'd ever want to see another trip down a wedding aisle."

"No, neither did I." They listened together to the nets being cranked back into the boat, the anchor following suit. "One of my brothers was supposed to do the honors way back when. But when this happens—if it happens—I'd rather stand with another fisherman. A good fisherman."

"I certainly fit that bill!" Seth jabbed a thumb in his expanded chest. "I'd be honored. Who's the lucky girl? The Puerto Rican mermaid?"

Tino eyed him. His crewman answered him with a sheepish grin, "You two are sort of an item down at the Atlantic Sea Breeze. Emily's met her, too. Says she's a beautiful lady. But what's this about her being a mermaid?"

"She is a mermaid. Didn't you know that? They really exist." Tino smiled. "And I got the only one that made it all the way up here to the Sound."

In the past day, their search for fishing had taken them farther out, beyond the Long Island Sound. Tino fired up the engine, steering the vessel over the foam-covered breakers of dark water.

They hadn't ventured too far to see land several hundred feet away. Black rocks glistened in the distance, rising high out of the water. It was not a sandy shoal, but the tip of Crane Island, privately owned for decades by one of the Island's most prestigious families. The section of the property visible from the boat was better defined as wilderness.

Santiago could be heard dragging his feet up the steps to the wheelhouse.

"That's it for me, ladies." He winked at them. "Next time, I'm booking reservations on Carnival. They got better food."

Distracted, Seth ignored him, letting out a whistle. "Will you listen to that wind! What do we got comin' our way? A cyclone?"

Tino listened. "That's not the wind."

There were no words to describe the sound stealthily approaching in that early evening. It was growing in volume and intensity, above the sounds that were normal and natural to the elements. It was like thunder on the water, extending as far as the human soul.

Seth leaned out of the wheelhouse door, looking to the portside of the vessel. His hair sounded like a strangled prayer. "Oh, dear God..."

Tino's gaze searched the wheelhouse windows. His heart skipped a beat, then began pounding furiously against his chest.

In the distance was a rogue wave. His father, in a lifetime at sea, had never come face-to-face with one, acquainted exclusively through the stories of merchant seamen and fishermen. The rogue, supposedly, came out of nowhere, rising from the depths of the sea or hell or both, a freak of nature oblivious to man's mortality.

Few encountered the rogue and lived to tell the story.

"It's headed straight for us," Santiago whispered, grasping the door frame. "Can we take a wave that size?"

"We're not even gonna try it," Tino said. "We're getting out of its way."

"Too late." Seth's voice cracked. "We're going down."

Again, Tino looked out the window. A wall of water, fifty, fifty-five, perhaps even sixty feet high coursed a direct path of destruction toward them.

Nothing was of value then except the safety of his men. He forced the engine to its limits, yet to no avail. His stomach lurched with the onset of a hellish shadow looming over them, darkening the boat from bow to stern.

Santiago grappled with the radio transmitter, hoarsely shouting, "Mayday! Mayday! This is the Wind Voyager..."

His cry of distress was severed by the brutal roar of disaster coming aboard the vessel. Instinctively aware that they stood a better chance outside the wheelhouse, where they could be trapped, Tino pushed Santiago through the door. The three men stumbled like rag dolls off the steel ladder as the boat was swept into the trough of the massive wave, being turned onto its side, as if in slow motion.

Tino's mind struggled to believe it was happening. It couldn't be happening, neither to him nor his crew. It was surreal—a nightmare that had strayed into the realm of reality.

Glass and wood and steel protested miserably beneath the weight of the crashing wall of water. Lines unraveled, nets fell into the sea. Tino heard a terrified cry from Seth as he rolled across the deck, the first man overboard. Santiago, who only a few moments earlier would've been trapped below, was struck by a bucket and other debris rolling around, his form disappearing from view as the crest of the wave descended over them.

Capsized. The thought came to Tino together with the final shock of cold water engulfing him. Dazed, he realized he was under the damaged boat and would have to swim out from under it.

What about the other two?

The water was cold. Yet his mind rationalized: It could have been worse. It could've been December or January—the cold would've been unbearable then. Still, as he tore through to the surface, he shivered violently. The water was cold, the rain was cold, the night unbelievably savage.

The rogue had left a strong current in its wake, tugging at his body and threatening to pull him back under.

Where were the other two men?

Oh, please, God.

The Wind Voyager lay on its side, pitifully trying to right itself. The wheelhouse windows had been shattered, a section of the portside totally ripped off. Neither wood nor steel had been a match for nature at its deadliest.

"Tino! Tino! Help me! Help me out here! It's Seth!"

He uttered a low prayer of gratitude to be hearing Santiago's voice.

"Where are you?" he hollered at the night.

Santiago's voice was garbled, something about having lost his knife. It was coming from the other side of the boat, jutting halfway out of the surface. A cloak of sadness passed over Tino's heart.

Upon finding Santiago, he sobered instantly. Seth's upper torso, including his head, was wrapped in part of the lines from the heavy net. He thrashed about terribly in his panic, cussing loudly and incoherently.

Forcefully pushing him against the overturned hull, Tino spoke to him firmly but gently.

"Hold yourself up," he instructed. "Hold onto the side, if you can. Don't move. Just hold on." Reaching down to his side, he dug into his pocket, producing his knife.

The cutting device of choice would have been one of the larger knives used to cut the fish, but the pocketknife's blade was sharp enough, provided he pressed it against the line and sawed.

"I'll cut what I can," he said, jerking his head at Santiago. "You unravel what you can. And swallow that."

"Swallow...what?" Santiago's hand reached to the warmth on his lower lip. He stared at the blood on his fingers, comprehending.

"Swallow it, man." Seth echoed Tino's order.

No one had to say it. Hearing it aloud, that the smell of blood would attract sharks, would have poured fire over the fear already there. As it was, Santiago looked about them for telltale black fins, a thin river of blood dissolving under his tongue.

"They had to hear the call," Seth said. He tried to get a grip on the hull, forcing himself to calm down. "They'll be here soon."

Tino was silent, maintaining his focus on slicing at the line.

"I don't think we should wait," Santiago disagreed. "She's sinking. Can't hold onto her until a cutter or anything else gets here. Who else is out tonight?"

A list of fishing boat names ran through Tino's head, the exact location of each unknown to him.

"This water's cold," was all he trusted himself to say.

The men worked without speaking to free the fisherman from the line. Buckets, equipment, and supplies floated on the surface, bobbing up and down.

"How far would you say that is?" Seth asked.

Tino trailed his gaze to Crane Island in the distance. His hands shook from the cold while he sliced away at the last section of line.

"Close to a mile, that's for sure."

"Can we make it over there?"

"I don't know. That's a long hike."

"Current's moving in that direction, though. It's better than staying here. I don't wanna die out here."

The slow throb of fear became a piercing pain through Tino's chest. He bit his lower lip to keep his teeth from chattering, reaching up to steady himself against the hull.

"That's the choice, isn't it?"

To remain there while the Wind Voyager became the sea's next wreck, possibly succumbing to hypothermia, or swimming to land. Those were their only choices. Hypothermia could occur at any time of the year, even in the summer, should a freezing current blast its way toward them.

Crane Island was their only chance. Land that was deserted, except for a single home, occupied exclusively during the warmer months. But at the very least, they'd be dry and safe from drowning and sharks.

"What if another one comes?" Santiago asked. "I'm outta here. I'm not waiting for it."

"Another what?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Seth seemed to understand.

Another rogue. As huge and as murderously powerful as the last one had been.

"The island can't be that far," Tino told Seth, pushing away from the hull in the direction of land.

A nerve-racked chortle intertwined with Seth's coughing.

"Oh, no, Mr. Suarez. Might even be fun. Hell, it'll be great exercise!"

Tino was at a loss for words. They were being faced with the possibility of losing their lives, a possibility so real and unspeakable.

If they could make the distance to that rocky shore of the island, they'd be safe. Someone—the Coast Guard, another boat, anyone—must have heard their signal. They hadn't had time to give their location, and as it was, the massive wave had carried them a distance, so it could take longer.

How much longer, he didn't allow himself to dwell on. Tino threw his concentration into keeping his eye on his men, and on survival.

♥

Over the TV's volume, Kiki could hear the soft patter of rain against the windows. It hadn't quite qualified as a major storm, but the winds had been strong, beating and shrieking through the aged timber of her little home. The October rainstorm was winding down now, the quiet comforting her.

She set aside her needlepoint long enough to do some more channel-surfing. Whether the caffeine in that hot chocolate was the culprit or she simply wasn't sleepy, she'd whittled away her time by working with her hands and watching snippets of uninteresting programs.

Some bubble-headed fashion models jabbered away about clothing and makeup on a talk show. An old spaghetti western with an obligatory shootout scene was on AMC. A wiry, energetic chef on the Food Channel sautéed Chinese veggies and beef strips in a large wok. She was reminded of an old Bruce Springsteen song, about there being ninety-nine channels and not a thing to watch. At last, she decided on the remaining half-hour of a cheesy made-for-TV movie to either entertain her or invite sleep.

Everything's fine. That phrase kept repeating itself in her mind, becoming a mantra of sorts.

Beside her on the couch lay Jazzy, who'd fallen asleep an hour earlier. Her little niece spent some nights with her aunt-slash-best buddy. She'd brought over her homework and Kiki had helped her with her reading, playing a game of Parcheesi with her once the dishes were done and put away.

Lovingly, Kiki stroked the little girl's curls. She resembled an angel when she slept, doing more to divert her attention from her worry than the actor and actress on the screen, who were embroiled in a 1970s-style argument.

Everything's fine. The storm didn't even last that long.

She turned her head back to the TV. Under the battling couple, a newsflash strip rolled. She was only able to catch half of it.

...COAST GUARD IS CONDUCTING SEARCH...DETAILS AT 11:00...

The words rolled off the screen, as if they'd never been there at all. And then the actor—popular in the mid-70s, rarely heard from now—flailed his arms and slammed the door behind him before the station went to a commercial.

Kiki sat forward. What she'd expected was a weather advisory. To see the words, "Roads Hazardous" or something to that effect. Even "Small Craft Advisory" wouldn't have had as much of a ring of terror to them as what she'd just read.

How many fishing boats are out there? The whole place is filled with fishermen. It could be anyone.

That sudden spurt of selfishness stunned her with guilt. It was like that, though, wasn't it? A purely human reaction to say, Please let this be happening to someone else.

Seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven. With the TV remote aimed at the set, she clicked her way back up the stations, searching for a news broadcast. Those she did find were discussing the latest happenings in Washington and a premiere gala for the newest action film from Hollywood. A lost fishing boat and the women men aboard her constituted local news, insignificant to the rest of the world.

To give herself something to do, Kiki headed to her bedroom, returning with a spare pillow and blanket for Jazzy. Afterward, she sat back down on the end of the couch, waiting for the news to come on.

She had no choice but to sit up and wait. She'd wait to hear it was some other boat lost out there, is passengers hopefully rescued before morning.

Or she'd wait to hear her worst fears confirmed. Then morning would never come.

♥

Close to an hour has passed by the time the men reached the rocky shoreline of land. That was Tino's rough estimation, the best guess he could make. The night had wiped out the boundaries of time. An unexpected act of mercy in a night devoid of compassion.

He'd looked back only once. What was left of his boat was covered by the waves, taller than normal but nowhere near as freakish as the one that had taken down the Wind Voyager. It didn't matter anymore, anyway. What mattered, halfway to their destination, was taking turns with Seth in assisting Santiago to safety. More than once the crewman had warned them he felt consciousness slipping from him and urged them to save themselves.

There came a moment, a charred-black, hideous moment, when Tino believed none of them would make it. Like any sailor, he'd always respected the ocean and her strength. That night, for the first time in his life, he'd experienced an encompassing fear of her, between the fatigue and cold and seawater he occasionally swallowed.

It was enough to make him sick to his stomach. Cold and nauseated and tired, he continued to move his aching limbs, bearing Santiago's weight besides his own, until the water level grew shallow and his hand touched a seaweed-covered rock.

The rocks were slippery, so easy to lose their footing on. Seth was right behind him, helping him to lift their crewmate up the jagged rocks to the top. The tide was relentless, pounding beneath them threateningly.

At the top, Tino stumbled, lying face-down on a bed of cold sand. He heard Seth a few feet away, coughing and retching up the saltwater from his lungs. Lying next to him was Santiago. His eyes were closed, he'd passed out, but his chest rose and fell with his faint breath.

They were safe. But for how long?

Lifting himself as far as he could, he looked around at the barren beach of Crane Island. In the distance was a forest that stretched out to infinity, its trees wearing the golden and burnt orange of deep autumn. Not a person or car were in sight. There were no lights, with the exception of what little filtered down from the faraway stars. There was a house somewhere on the island, but at that time of year it was surely to be empty.

He turned onto his back and closed his eyes. His breathing was labored, and it seemed to be the loudest sound, heard above the breakers below and the wind. Behind his closed eyes an unwelcome scene emerged, and he could see the rogue vividly looming like a watery demon over them.

His eyes snapped back open and he trembled.

"Think about something else."

Seth unwittingly startled him, staggering across the sand to rest at Tino's left.

"Better yet, don't think of anything," he advised.

"That's easier said than done. It's not every day you see something like that."

"Yeah. Thank God. I know what you mean, though. I'll be seeing that monster in my dreams till the day I die."

"Which won't be any day soon, right?"

His crewman and friend hesitated. Turning his head, he gave him a determined smile. "Not any day soon, no."

"You know, until tonight, I didn't even believe...I didn't believe things like that existed. You hear about them happening, but you think they're exaggerated. That they're fishermen's folklore."

"Well, they exist, all right!" Seth's sense of humor was no worse for the wear, his ability to laugh admirable after such a horrific episode. "You'll never let anybody tell you they don't. But listen...mermaids are supposed to be folklore, too. You, better than anybody, know they're real."

My mermaid. Tino shuddered with the realization that it could've been worse. It could have happened with Kiki aboard, and he could only imagine how terrified she would have been, particularly already given to fear and mistrust of the sea.

There was one thing to be grateful for, that she hadn't been present at the time.

Actually, that's not true.

He shut his eyes a second time. It was a physical pleasure to do so; he was so exhausted, every inch of him rebelling at the thought of moving a muscle.

She had been on that boat with him throughout the trip. The memory of her was a sweet presence, not one to be seen but rather felt. She'd been with him when he was cast out of his boat by the elements of nature, during those first few minutes when he found himself trapped several feet below the surface. All through the arduous struggle to reach land, he'd sensed her presence. And not in some metaphysical, hocus-pocus way, but in a manner harder to pinpoint.

I feel like all of my life has been going in one direction and the destination was always you.

Ever since she'd said those words, he couldn't get them out of his mind. Nor did he want to. They'd echoed softly in his being during the whole ordeal, coaxing him not to surrender to death. She expected him to return to her; she had told him so before he'd set out with his crew. Kiki had plans to be with him, to stay with him, to hold dear what they'd shared so that it would thrive and endure.

He couldn't disappoint her or himself by never seeing her again.

Was that the voice of the mermaid he'd heard out there, that he could still hear now as a soothing backdrop to much-deserved sleep? What was more likely, it was the voice of a woman he wasn't ready to leave forever—the woman who had been the destination of his life.

The lethal rogue wave had proved itself more than a myth that night. It was a mystery to science, difficult for the mind to comprehend, even when witnessed.

Yet life held terrible things like rogue waves—and beautiful things, like mermaids and the human will to live, and pure love itself, that were not meant to be understood.

They were only meant to be believed.
TEN

The very next morning, Kiki opened the restaurant for business, the first of the partners to arrive.

What was she going to do at home? The temptation to skip work in favor of staying glued to her cell phone, waiting for a call from the U.S. Coast Guard, hadn't appealed to her. She knew herself better than that. They could contact her with any news just as well at the restaurant, where at least she could keep busy instead of making herself sick with worry.

Search and rescue. That was how the man over the phone, whose name and rank were scribbled on the pad at home, had referred to the procedure. The distress call from the Wind Voyager had come in at night, obligating the Coast Guard to take the cutter out past the Sound. No location had come across Channel 16, but they had a bearing, a general idea of where the vessel had gotten into trouble, according to their directional finder.

So far, the "search" had been conducted—but not the "rescue." It would be easier to find them during the day, the Coast Guard personnel had assured her. In the daytime, the sea wasn't obscured by the darkness of night.

Thankfully, the morning had chased away the night's rain. The sun was out, its rays travelling down onto Jefferson Place and making the rain-soaked pavement glisten. Kiki drew open the window blinds, yanking them as far up as they would go, unable to get enough of the radiance.

Today. They'll find them today.

Little by little, her partners drifted in. Ceci was first, Debbie arriving a few minutes later; Miriam was the last coming in after dropping Jazzy off at school.

Kiki worked in the kitchen with her brother, unwilling to face the customers as yet. She preferred being alone with her thoughts, the solace of slicing onions and peppers and preparing fresh recaito for the day's entrees comforting her. They all took turns in the kitchen, although Ceci rarely chose to deal with the public. He was a self-proclaimed behind-the-scenes man, and he enjoyed cooking, only taking over the counter when one of the women insisted on him taking a break from the grill.

Either he hadn't heard the news or he wasn't commenting. Customers began coming through the door, their orders for breakfast brought by Debbie and Miriam, neither of whom were saying anything, either.

For the first hour or so, Kiki left it at that. Yet not talking about it was worse.

"The Wind Voyager is lost somewhere at sea." It was the first time she'd said it out loud, something inside her resisting its reality. "That's one of Tino's boats."

Ceci, preparing another order, bore his eyes into her.

"Yeah, I know. The other one's the Costa del Sol." He looked away from her. "This is the first I hear about it being lost, though. Was he on the boat last night?"

"He and two other men. Emily's husband was one of them. Him and Santiago."

Her brother recognized the names. Seth's visits to La Sirena were too infrequent for Ceci to recall him, but both Emily and the other crewman had become regular customers.

"What happened?" She noticed he was keeping his tone light.

"Nobody's too sure at this point. They got a distress call, but they haven't found the boat or the men yet."

Ceci's reaction was cautious. "I'm sure they'll find them. How are you doing with all this?"

"I'll be better when I get a call telling me they're on their way home." She gave him a half-smile. "And that'll probably happen later on today. Maybe this afternoon."

"That's it, nena. Things like that happen. You'll see. Everything'll be fine. Let us know as soon as you hear something."

"Oh, I will."

I'll want to shout it from the rooftops, she mused.

Everything's okay. Two simple words that could put an end to the anguish she'd experienced that terrible night, one that had robbed her of sleep.

That was so silly. The man she'd spoken to over the phone had seemed so at ease. For him, this sort of thing was routine. To her, with her lifelong fear of the ocean, there was difficulty in treating a boat that was no longer transmitting messages over its radio as something commonplace.

Especially when Tino was onboard. Or had been.

She shook her head, trying to clear it of thinking about anything except getting through that day's work. Worrying her family would be anything but expedient, so she went about her business without another word on the subject.

♥

"Emily's out there. She wants to talk to you."

It was late afternoon, close to dinnertime when Debbie whisked into the kitchen to relay that message.

"Maybe I can call her later?" Kiki suggested. "Tell her we're kinda hectic right now."

"Oh, yeah? Seems to me it's slowed down some out there. Best to go before the dinnertime crowd gets here." Debbie tugged on her apron. "Let me have that for a while. You've been hiding in here all day."

"I'm not hiding." She had to work to keep the irritation from her tone. "I just felt like cooking today—"

"Yeah, well, my feet are killing me from running from the counter to the tables. Let's switch for a while."

Kiki stared at her, but Debbie wasn't accepting an argument. She also wasn't one to complain about any of the duties shared by the partners, always dipping her hands and getting them dirty with whatever had to be done.

"Unless you really don't want to see her right now. Which is fine. I can go out and tell her that for you." It was a soft challenge. Debbie's eyes aligned straight with her own. "But I think the lady really needs to see you."

"Fine. I don't have a problem with that."

It was a lie, and from Debbie's expression, she knew her friend recognized it as a lie. Kiki didn't care, wiping her hands on the apron before handing it over to her.

Maybe Emily Ramsey had information—possibly information she wasn't prepared to receive. In all likelihood she was still in the dark, as Kiki had been for almost twenty-four hours now.

Why couldn't she just get through the day without talking about it? Hiding in the kitchen was about right. If there was no hiding in her work, there was no hiding anywhere.

She painted on a smile and held up her head, marching into the dining room. Seated by herself at a table under Leidi's portrait, Emily straightened in anticipation. She dropped into the restaurant every day at the same time after leaving the office where she worked and picking up her son at daycare. In place of her usual cup of espresso, she halfheartedly nibbled on a snack of a slice of flan and a Coke.

There was no excuse not to share her break with Emily. Debbie was right; there was only one other table occupied, presently by two feisty older gentlemen who were savoring a spirited conversation about politics over an early dinner.

Kiki sat across the table from her, the way she had in better times. They opened their conversation, chatting about work and the playful antics of Emily's little boy. It amazed Kiki how they each avoided the obvious in an awkward game of you-tell-me-first.

It was a silly game, brought to its end by Kiki.

"I haven't heard anything yet, Em. Have you?"

Relieved that the ice was broken, the young woman's shoulders relaxed.

"Nothing yet." Her laugh quivered with uncertainty. "I should've stayed home today, for how many times I called and checked my messages at home. I'm even more manic with my cell phone. Today I died a little more each time I heard the computer say, 'You have no messages.'"

Kiki smiled through the guilt that confession brought her. Misery really appreciated company.

"I'm probably making too much of it. You know..." Emily perked up. "This is the first time anything like this has happened to us. Seth told me about other times when the sea was so rough, you had all these seasoned fishermen turning green."

Kiki shrugged, her manner cavalier. "Oh, I wouldn't get sick, and I'm not a seasoned fisherwoman. My stomach would be steady as a rock. But it would be helpful if someone onboard knew how to perform CPR on me."

"Me, too!" Her friend laughed sincerely, more likely for the first time that day.

"What could have gone wrong out there last night?"

"With the ocean? Anything." Sighing, Emily nudged away her plate of half-eaten flan. "But they say it's not unusual for people to be out there this long. Even longer. I think it was down in Jersey where it took a week to find a couple out on a small boat. They were just...drifting out there. For days."

"A week it took?" She couldn't control the mild high pitch in her voice. "A week is a long time."

"Especially when you're waiting for a phone to ring. But I know those three. Well, mostly Seth and Tino. They're strong. Built to last."

Kiki's smile matched hers in fondness and pride.

"They're experienced navigators." She joined Emily in praising them. "They're smart. And they're fighters."

Emily nodded. "Now, you say, you and me...we'd be in trouble out there."

"No, I don't believe that. We're strong, too. And we're both what you might call fighters."

For a moment, her eyes shifted past Emily to the restaurant's spacious picture windows. The streetlamps hadn't gone on yet, but the traffic and crowds were thickening in number, with people heading home at the close of the business day. It was autumn, when the days shortened and night made its appearance sooner, and the sun was in a hurry to set.

Zelda, whose shift that week began at three and ended at nine in the evening, passed their table to ask if Emily wanted anything else.

"Just the check, Zel. I have to pick up my big boy." She glanced at Kiki. "And I'm keeping you too long, anyway."

"I haven't taken a break all day. It was good to see you, girl."

Speedily, Zelda wrote out the check, tore it from its pad, and placed it at Emily's left. Then she lingered at the table, looking from one woman to another. She departed after giving Emily's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"Well, you're going to let me know if you hear anything?" she asked Kiki as she rose from her seat. "And I'll do the same?"

"Of course. You're the first one I'll call."

Emily paused. "You know, the part that's unfair...I mean, so unfair, is that this happened now. Things were really going good, Kiki. They haven't been for a long time, that's the truth. But these past few weeks, things have been...I don't know—right. The way it's supposed to be."

Kiki stood, drawn to a halt by the look on Emily's face. She looked on the verge of admitting how afraid she was, but in a show of defiance and courage that jaw set firm, that smile was in place, and those eyes were dry.

What could she say to her? Some stock phrase about everything being fine, that time was on their side? How superficial. To give false hope in the face of the unknown made her falter.

Yet hope was the essence of the moment, and it was always better to share than doubt.

"Just remember," Kiki said finally, "I'm waiting, too. You're not alone in this."

She didn't know who reached out first, but the embrace shared belonged to a strengthening friendship, inspired by circumstances neither woman would've chosen.

♥

Another night went by. The new day was marked by activity from its onset. For the rest of the world, life was at full throttle, healthy and functioning vigorously under a cheerfully azure sky.

Kiki drove the pickup along what Ceci called "the scenic route," which took her along the marina. A few of the slips—some that memory told her belonged to certain commercial vessels—were empty. The Wind Voyager's spot was painfully vacant, alongside a leisure craft being prepared by its sixtyish owner for a pleasant Saturday cruise. She slowed the truck to gaze at the Costa del Sol, looking both serene and lonely, dismissing the urge to park the truck and get closer to the boat.

There wasn't time for that. Jazzy's ballet class let out in another ten minutes and she had to be there to pick up her niece. Kiki had volunteered to drive through the busy weekend traffic, to Miriam's relief. Her ulterior motive was, clearly, some stolen moments of solitude.

It's so unfair. Besides Tino, Emily Ramsey had been on her mind. Those words she'd spoken made Kiki smile sadly as she turned onto the strip for the purpose of passing the Atlantic Sea Breeze.

Growing up in her family's household, she'd become famous for that phrase. It's so unfair that I have to go to school today. It's so unfair, later in life, while married to Xavier, that I can't have a baby right now because this man can't even take care of himself, much less a family.

Inez now seemed funny in her rebuttal. Bueno, nena, life is not fair! Learn that and learn it good, honey. Life doesn't owe anybody explanations, so be a big girl and stop expecting them.

The ironic thing was the validity of that advice. The truth to it didn't stop her human nature from feeling the emotions of frustration and anger and sadness thrust at her in the past two days.

And yet the world went on. A sixteen-wheeler was parked outside the bar, its driver unloading cases of beer onto a hand truck. Through the window Kiki could see the bartender, Sandy, attending to the lunchtime customers.

Across the street was the fountain. She swallowed hard, glancing at it only fleetingly, then pressed her foot against the gas pedal and accelerated to the intersection.

Emily has it harder than you do. She'd kept saying that to herself. That was the woman's husband of several years who might never come home. Awaiting her then would be the responsibility so unbelievably heartbreaking of having to tell her child the angels had spirited away his daddy, and he wouldn't be there while he grew up.

The back of her throat constricted. Not again. She'd gotten through that first night without tears. Last night, though—last night had been tough. She was sure Emily had been doing her own share of crying.

Now what was that you were telling me, Tino Suarez, about a fisherman's wife being tough as nails? If you come back, I'm making a point of setting you straight!

She steered the truck into the small lot between the diner and the dance academy. Her eyes were burning like crazy.

If he came back.

Things hadn't been going well just for Emily and Seth. She walked from the car toward the building's entrance, smiling at the mothers and fathers also picking up little ballerinas.

Deep down, she knew her situation was not much easier than her friend's. It was different, that was all.

At that stage in her life, love had walked in. Love that was passionate and vital, overflowing with promise. That love was unscarred by bitter disappointments and illness. Moreover, she'd seen it in his eyes that love was returned to her in full measure. She and Tino could have become what his favorite poets so lyrically described.

Within a few minutes, she walked back to the car with Jazzy's dainty hand in hers. Her niece's little girl-jabbering sent a smile to her.

"...and when we do the recital, we get to wear lipstick and that stuff on your eyes." Jazzy stopped to brush a fingertip across her eyelid. "Oh, and you know—this girl had pink on her nails! She was showing them to all of us."

She flared out her hand in showy display. Starting the car, Kiki pursed her lips.

"Hmmm. Pink on her fingernails. Que bonito!"

"Right?"

"Don't forget your seatbelt, mamita. And your friend with the elegant manicure is...how old?"

"Seven. But I'm more mature than her." Obediently, Jazzy fastened her seatbelt.

"That, I don't doubt. Tell you what. If Mami says it's okay, I'll do your nails for the recital."

"But that's not until January. Can you do it for me before?"

"Ask Mami first. If she's okay with that, then Titi's salon is open."

Kiki shook her head, concentrating on the road. Six years old and in such a hurry to be a grownup lady. Remembering what it was like, she couldn't fault Jazzy. There was a short lull in their conversation as she drove before her niece moved on to the next subject. Right then, hearing Jazzy's voice was like salve to her spirit.

"You're gonna hang out with me tonight?" She was cheery in changing the subject. "You should bring your Tangled DVD. That's so funny! I know how much you like it. And if you're in the mood, we'll practice some needlepoint together."

"Mmmm...no. I don't feel like sewing the canary tonight."

That long-suffering sigh told Kiki her niece's interest in finishing the pillowcase she'd started was already waning. Despite Miriam's cheerleader-style hard sell on ballet, that stood the risk of losing its novelty, too.

"But I'm hanging out with you tonight, Titi, if you feel like it. I don't want you to be by yourself. I know you're sad."

They rounded the corner onto Jefferson, where two or three parking spaces were available for the pickup. She often left the small parking lot behind the restaurant for the customers.

"That's sweet of you, baby," Kiki said, softly. She didn't question how, with all her efforts to appear like nothing was wrong, Jazzy had figured it out. She chalked it up to the unique sensitivity of a child. "But I don't want you to worry about me. You're not worrying...are you?"

"A little bit."

"Well, you don't have to, mi cielito. I'll be okay. But I appreciate that. I really do."

Pulling up in front of a sports car, she began backing up into the space, thinking hard about what she was conveying to her niece. She sent a message with her actions, whether or not she realized it, to be interpreted by a little girl's experience.

She'd wanted to convey strength—something that Jazzy would see in her and cultivate in herself as she grew older. That the world kept turning, as it always had, as if nothing had changed.

But something had changed. And things—in her small corner of the world, if nowhere else—would never be the same again.

The truck parked, she pulled the key from the ignition and faced Jazzy.

"You know about the boat? How they can't seem to find it?"

Jazzy nodded. "I heard Mami and Debbie talking about it."

"Oh, Jazzy, Jazzy!" She gave the little girl's braid an affectionate tug. "You never miss a beat! Well, all right. I'll tell you..." Taking a deep breath, she said, "He made me very happy. I guess you knew that, right?"

"Yeah." There was more than a dash of kindness in Jazzy's smile.

"Yeah. I was happy before I met him, too. But he was like...something extra. Like getting a surprise, something special that you didn't expect to get. Like somebody looked into your heart and gave you exactly what you would've asked for. And now it's like they...took the present away from me, and I don't know what's going to happen."

"But he made you happy. He gave that to you. That's yours, Titi. Nobody can take that away from you."

She was going to say more, prevented by the tightening at the back of her throat. Jazzy reached across the console to hug her neck. Her soft shoulder invited Kiki to rest her head. The tears were warm on her face, falling with the grace of pain being given the permission to be expressed.

When she'd composed herself, she released her niece. "We'd better go in. Your mom and dad are going to wonder why we're not back yet—"

"Just a minute." Kiki had dried her face with the back of her hand, but it was Jazzy who made it her business to smooth out her aunt's hair with her fingertips. "Okay. We're ready."

They walked together into the restaurant, Kiki's arm draped over Jazzy's shoulder. It was highly unusual, during a busy afternoon, to see the other partners, behind-the-scenes Ceci included, clustered together in one spot. Yet there they were: her brother, Miriam, and Debbie, standing behind the counter. The only one who seemed to be on duty was Zelda, flashing her a mysterious grin before carrying a tray of orders to one of the tables.

"What is this, a coffee break?" Kiki playfully inquired. "Why isn't everybody at their stations?"

Ceci narrowed his eyes at her. "Guess who we've been waiting and waiting for? You took the scenic route, didn't you?"

Misunderstanding, Kiki passed Jazzy a conspiratorial wink, nodding in the direction of the counter.

"I thought you could hold down the fort without me for a few min—almost an hour."

"That's not why we were waiting for you," Debbie corrected her. "You got a phone call."

She heard the announcement on her way to the kitchen. The door had just lightly smacked against her back when she pushed it open, peering out through it.

"Someone called for me?"

"Yes, ma'am, you did. Right after you left. So don't bother returning it now." Debbie's lips tugged into a broad smile.

Kiki tried to draw a breath and had to dig further down her chest to find one. Miriam's smile was the next to appear; Zelda's had deepened. Even some of the customers, regulars, were leaning sideways to gaze at her, smiling.

Then Ceci's no-nonsense expression broke.

"Out taking the scenic route!" he scolded. "No, don't bother calling 'em back now. Just get down to the marina. There's somebody waiting for you there."

Hearing that, she stepped out completely from behind the door, temporarily dazed. Jazzy—eager to be where the action was, as always—trotted from one end of the counter to stand beside her father. Ceci could no longer keep his own smile away.

"What are you waiting for, Kiki?" His head cocked sharply in the direction of the restaurant's entrance. "Go. Go!"

Jazzy had already caught on. Her eyes bright, she smiled with glowing excitement.

"Your prince came back for you, Titi," she so aptly expressed. "I bet he missed you. Hurry!"

ELEVEN

Ceci was right. There she was, cruising through the neighborhood, missing the call that proved the world had every right to keep spinning.

What if the Coast Guard cutter had already swept into the marina in her absence? Kiki quickened her pace, half-walking and half-running toward the pier. She hated the thought of him stepping off the boat after almost two days and finding no one waiting for him.

And maybe you're overestimating how much you mean to him. Maybe being a survivor is enough for him and he'll be happy to see you again, but the commitment is all on your part.

What difference did any of that make, anyway? Word of the fishermen's return had travelled fast or so she was led to believe by the crowds gathered on the grassy patched sand several feet from the marina. Consisting mostly of the curious, there were more than a handful of familiar faces, customers of the restaurant.

It made no difference whether his attachment to her was as strong as hers to him. What mattered was that she had to be there. She needed to see him again with her own eyes, and he had to see her with his. It would be an unspoken and frank way of telling him that her life had been altered by his.

Some distance away she saw Emily Ramsey, who'd made it as far as the slip. Kiki called out her name, trying to be heard above the rush of voices around her, and the sound of the Coast Guard cutter's engine, simmering down as it was eased to the pier.

If that day was lovely before, then it was perfectly heaven-sent now. The saltwater-laced air carried a tangible jubilance, every second precious in itself. There was even wonder in watching the young Coast Guard personnel, decked out in their navy blue uniforms, shouting orders and moving swiftly in securing the vessel to the pier.

She wanted more than anything to get closer, but it was a struggle. People weren't moving, standing and observing the sight, forming a haphazard maze for her to walk through.

Yet she could see Santiago, the first to step off the cutter. At the same moment, a woman cried out with joy. Instantly, he fell into the arms of an older woman; Kiki guessed it was his mother, and then a younger woman, his girlfriend. The two held onto each other for what seemed a long time, losing themselves in each other's touch.

"Hey, can't you see the lady's trying to get through?"

She whirled around to see a gangly, middle-aged man with a pock-marked face coming to her defense. He broke away from his companions to take her gently by the forearm.

"Come on, now! Don't you know who this is?" His voice carried above the others, having that certain ring of authority to it. To her amusement, people heeded him and began moving out of their way. "Make room for the Mermaid of Long Island! She's here because her ship came in, and one of those fishermen belongs to her. Now let the princess of the sea through!"

Kiki heard some of the men addressing him as Captain Hugh. He might as well have been an angel disguised as a scruffy seaman, for how magically he'd come to her aid.

He'd also brought her closer to the pier. Seth Ramsey, wearing a heavy jacket, descended next from the vessel. Kiki's heart leapt upon witnessing his reunion with his exultant wife and son.

When my ship comes in. Captain Hugh had used that American saying in reference to her. She'd always taken it in its context: When someone's ship came in, it brought their long-awaited success. Good fortune. Their dreams.

In her case, there was no placing a price on that ship's cargo, which was happiness.

"Thank you so much," she took a moment to tell Captain Hugh. "I wouldn't have made it this far without you."

Cordially, he tipped his cap at her. Those few lines he warbled from "Strangers in the Night" answered the question in her mind as to how he'd known about her humorous alter ego, and she laughed.

But then her laugh faded.

Santiago had gotten off the cutter. Seth had gotten off. So where was their captain?

She hadn't been there for the call; neither had Ceci or the others gone into detail. Could it have been they'd forgotten to mention that only two of the men had been rescued—that the search wasn't complete?

Or would something of that nature be considered too sensitive to go into over the phone, which was why her family hadn't known?

Kiki held her breath. Her heart was suddenly rebellious, resisting the notion of getting through another day of nothing but waiting.

Before the trepidation could set in, her eyes caught sight of him, one hand on the railing, the other shaking the hand of the uniformed officer. Like his companions through that ordeal, he wore a jacket emblazoned with the emblem of the U.S. Coast Guard. Also like his crewmen, his movements were slow but steady, signs of notable exhaustion. He hadn't stepped foot onto the poor before his eyes scanned the crowds of onlookers.

Then his eyes fell in direct line with hers, stopped, and he smiled. It was a smile so sweet, so joyous, that she could feel its effect in the shiver it sent through her body.

The other people around her melded in with the surroundings. She knew they were there; she could hear them, but she was only in tune with simply getting closer to him. Tino squinted from the sun, his salt-and-pepper hair in total disarray. He looked a little thinner, his face slightly sunburned, yet he was more handsome and desirable than she'd ever seen him.

She couldn't walk anymore, the mounting anticipation propelling her into running the rest of the way. And she watched him summon the strength to hurry, as well.

It was like making love. Being in his arms again, having him hold her, was like making love, with all the same heat and passion and intensity. It felt good to feel him kissing her hair, something he loved to do, a sensation she'd thought was lost forever.

Forever was more than a concept. She could see it in his eyes as he tenderly took her face in his roughened hand, getting a good, long look at her and chuckling. She wanted to hide herself in that one, delicious laugh.

"I don't know how many times I said to myself," he was the first between them to speak, "I kept saying to myself, 'We have to get out of this, we have to get out of this.' Because I wanted to get back so bad, because I didn't really get the chance..."

She smiled up at him through her tears. "The chance to what? Tell me."

Tino didn't even hesitate. "I didn't get the chance to love you like the love of your life. I had to come back, because that's what I want to mean to you."

"Oh, babe, you have no idea how close you are to reaching that goal."

The corners of his eyes crinkled with a smile. "The only thing is...I'm sorry about what you must've gone through, these last couple of days."

"That's all right. As soon as I get you home, I'm making sure you make it up to me." She giggled wickedly. "And something else. Before I forget, which I'm not likely to do, but anyway....We'll have to have a little talk about..." mimicking him, she deepened her voice, "fishermen's wives, being the salt of the earth! They're just so tough. Solid as a rock—"

"Excuse me? Did I say that?" He tilted his head, offering his most innocent gaze. "Must've been in a very foolish mood that day. You really have to excuse me. All that time at sea does that to a man."

"Hmmm. Plausible excuse. I might've known you'd blame the sea." She snuggled closer to him. "I don't know what's happened these last couple of days. I'm not sure I want to know."

"Take it from me. You don't want to know!"

"No, I didn't think so." Kiki wrinkled her nose, amusing him. "And I know you'll be going back on there, sometime. That's not just your livelihood. That's part of who you are. And I'm in love with you. There's nothing about you that I would change."

He expressed his appreciation by way of a possessive kiss. With that kiss, she wasn't going back to La Sirena. Work, for her, was over for the day, and she knew none of her partners would dispute that.

Her arm hugged his waist and his rested across her shoulders in an unhurried walk away from the pier. They'd walk to her house or his, it didn't matter to her. Kiki would leave the decision to him, showing that, wherever the location, she could create a loving, comfortable, and relaxed evening for him.

She had plans that included soft candlelight...a massage to knead the fatigue from his muscles...a good, hearty meal to restore his strength...and to spoil him with the love that had waited for him.

"You know, maybe I inherited some of my father's superstition. That's embarrassing to admit, but it might be true."

"Why is that?"

She looked up to see him smirking wryly.

"Because a couple of times out there, I thought about those dreams of yours. The ones where the sea goes crazy. I wondered if they were meant for me instead."

"Really? That crossed my mind, too. Except they stopped a long time ago."

"Hmmm. And maybe the meaning behind them is something deeper. Something in your life that was resolved, and that's why they ended."

"Well, that's easier for me to believe than what I used to think—that those dreams were pictures of the future." She wrapped her other arms around his waist, tilting back her head to smile at him. "You can waste the present, as beautiful as it is, you can throw it all away by being afraid of the future."

"That's something we can't afford to do. Although..." Tino paused to kiss her again. "I've never been more interested—or more excited—in what tomorrow will bring than I am right now. In fact, that's something else we should talk about. All afternoon, if you're up to it."

"If I'm up to it?" She laughed, knowing he was a man who expressed himself in few words. "Don't you mean we'll talk until you say, 'Okay. I've talked enough, don't you think? Let's communicate another way.'"

"Oh, don't worry. We're gonna do some talkin' in that area, too." He punctuated the promise with a squeeze of her waist. "But while I was gone, I thought of so many things I wanted to say to you. So many things I want you to feel you can share with me. We don't even have to talk about anything in particular, as long as I can listen to your voice. I missed it so much."

Kiki touched his face, which bore two days' growth. In the past, she'd always preferred a man to be clean-shaven. On Tino, it was becoming. Mysterious. Like everything else about him, wildly sexy.

And oddly, having been invited to flaunt her voice, she could think of nothing to say. Words would have distracted her from the immense joy flowing from her heart, in the simple act of walking beside him again, on a day seemingly made for lovers and heroes and seagulls, breathtaking in their flight, lazily coasting on currents of an autumn breeze.

THE END

