Eamon

“Blossom!” I hurry over to her side.

Her eyes widen a little to see me smiling, and she gets a funny, shy sort of look when the edge of my finger covers hers where she grips the boat.

“Eamon,” she repeats my name softly.

“I was so afraid you wouldn’t come!”

“I was farther out than usual. The sound of your voice was really faint so it took me a while to locate you. I’m glad you didn’t stop singing.”

“Me too.”

Blossom seems a bit flustered and quickly looks away.

“Is this your new boat? I like it so much!” she says, evidently already distracted form whatever her thoughts were just a moment ago. “It doesn’t have a name,” she says, swimming around to the front. “Don’t sailors put their boats’ names up on the front?”

“I… couldn’t think of a good name,” I lie. In truth, I’d played with the idea of calling it Blossom. But somehow, that seemed just a bit…

“Really?” Blossom is pouting as she hangs off of the bowsprit, pulling the boat up and down as she bounces playfully in the waves. “You aren’t going to name it after me?”

I stammer, feeling my face go very red at her suggestion. “W-well, I guess I could…”

“You should,” she decides for me. “It’s a very pretty boat. Like me,” she adds, tapping her dimpled cheek with a playful finger and winking at me before diving suddenly beneath the boat and popping up right in front of me.

This girl, with her vibrancy and her energy and her otherworldly beauty, everything about her appeals to every part of me. Each little thing she does takes my breath away and leaves me looking after her even more, bursting with curiosity and the strangest kind of hunger to see what she’ll do next.

“Come on,” she says eagerly, putting up a hand. “Help me up.”

She doesn’t have to ask me twice. She’s a lot heavier than my mother with her long tail, but she’s not heavier than some of the nets I’ve hauled in. With a little maneuvering I have her onboard in no time, and she stretches herself languidly on the deck, sighing with satisfaction. Then she sits up on her elbows suddenly. 

“Cheese pastries!”

Ah. She saw the bag.

Without asking she tears right into it, then gives me a suspicious look. “What’s this?”

I catch myself snickering at her response, thinking how well I’d predicted it.

“They were out of cheese pastries so I bought one of everything else. Tell me which ones you like so I can get them next time.”

“Hm,” she says, intrigued, and begins rooting through the bag.

She goes through the pastries quickly, taking just a bite out of some and tossing them aside, and devouring others in two or three hungry bites. Making my lunch on her discards, I determine she prefers the pastries with filling, while the plain bread does not appeal to her. Her tastes, I note, are the opposite of mine.

“I like the lemon filled ones, lemon’s my favorite,” she says later as she lies back, her belly sticking out a little from all the bread she’s eaten. “Except for cheese, I love cheese the best.”

“Noted,” I say with a chuckle. “The little mermaid prefers cheese pastries.”

“That’s right,” she says with a glare. “So make sure to get in early tomorrow before they’re all bought up.”

“I’ll do my best.”

I spend the afternoon singing to Blossom. I thought for sure she’d grow tired of me by now, but it seems she’s got nothing better to do than to laze around and listen to me sing all day. Not that I mind.

I’ll have to ask Mother to teach me some new songs, I think as the day draws on into evening. I think I’ve very nearly exhausted my repertoire. 

“Ah,” the thought occurs to me suddenly. “I spent the whole afternoon fooling around with you and I haven’t fished once.”

“Are you going to let your net down?” she asks, eying it warily.

“Does it make you nervous?”

“I don’t like nets. I was caught in one before. Fortunately I had my knife, but—” she doesn’t finish the thought and shudders faintly.

“If it bothers you, I won’t put it out.”

“No, it’s alright. I know that’s how fishermen earn their living.”

“Letting it down for an hour at the end of the day isn’t going to do much, anyway. I’ve got rotten luck when it comes to fishing. I never pick the right spots.”

“What, you want a couple of fish to take home?” Blossom smiles mischievously and pulls herself over the side of the boat. “Put your net down!” she says before disappearing beneath the waves.

I’m uneasy. I don’t like even the thought of her being entangled in my net, but I do as she says and wait with bated breath. 

A couple of minutes later she resurfaces on the opposite side of the boat.

“Pull it up!”

I do as she says, my eyes widening with the size of the catch. With her help pushing up from beneath, I haul the fish into the boat, a small mountain of writhing, flopping bream, mackerel, red mullet and even a rare bluefin tuna.

“If you want to let it down again I can chase in another haul,” Blossom says with a grin. Once again I catch myself grinning back at her, and her eyes widen slightly at the sight. Is that the last rays of the crimson sunset, or did I see just the faintest hint of pink creep into her cheeks just now? Somehow, it’s made her even prettier.

“Are you kidding?” I say, looking back to the fish before I get caught staring. “This is more fish than I’ve seen in the last month!”

“That’s good then. I want to spend more time with you, but I’d hate to be responsible for you not earning any money. If you like we can do this once or twice a day so you don’t go home empty handed.”

I can’t understand what she’s saying. This beautiful girl wants to spend her days with me and help me meet a daily fishing quota? Whoever said I was unlucky? I’m the luckiest idiot on the island, I think as I catch myself staring at her again. And it’s all thanks to her.

“I should get going,” she says, and I realize she’s blushing again. “It’s dangerous after dark; I can’t see the human’s nets.”

“Where will you go?”

“To my island. I have a safe place there, humans will never find me.”

That’s a relief.

“Before you go,” I say, “let’s find a landmark that makes it easier for us to meet. Do you know the island that looks like a shark fin?”

“I do!”

“Look for me around there. I promise to come every day, unless my mother is sick.”

“Every day,” she repeats, and she gets a thoughtful look. She’s looking past me, I realize, and I turn to see the thinnest crescent moon on the twilight horizon.

“New moon tomorrow,” I observe.

“Yes…”

Blossom seems sad. Is it my imagination?

“Goodnight, Eamon. I’ll meet you tomorrow, at Shark Fin Island.”

“I’ll bring cheese pastries,” I say, and her eyes soften with the faintest smile. 

“And the lyre.”

“Whatever you like.”

She lingers another moment, searching my eyes, still wearing that thoughtful, sad look. Then at last she pushes away from the boat. “Until tomorrow, then.”

“Until tomorrow, Blossom. Sweet dreams.”