Between the Land and the Sea - By Derrolyn Anderson Page 0,15

a few years earlier. Sitting in the back of the stand behind a much younger man was the lone fisherman from the pier. He looked up at me and smiled with recognition.

“Oh,” I said, startled, “How’s the fishing going?”

“Not so good,” he said, shaking his head, “You should come back.”

“Why?” I asked suspiciously.

“You bring her... and she brings the fish,” he said with a wink.

“Marina, over here,” called Abby. I turned towards her.

“Welcome home,” the fisherman called after me. I smiled back nervously and turned to leave. Strange, I thought, and considered telling Abby what he had said. I joined her at a display of flower seedlings and potted herbs.

Abby called out to the vendor, “Hey Ethan,” and when he turned around I saw with a shock that it was him. He looked over at Abby and then his eyes landed on me. This time he kept his composure but my face flushed.

“I believe you met my niece, Marina,” Abby gestured towards me. I reflexively held out my hand. His hand was warm and calloused, and he gripped mine firmly as he shook it. His eyes looked at me with curiosity now, and he seemed almost amused. He was even better looking than I remembered.

“Yeah, we met,” he said with a rueful smile, and I knew he was remembering his awkward stumble and fall.

“Marina will be living with us for the year,” Abby said. “She’s going to school with Cruz, and she’ll be a senior this year.”

She turned towards me, “Ethan will be a senior too,” she added.

He smiled at me, his friendly dark blue eyes boring into mine, “Welcome to Aptos.” I stood there clutching my flowers while Abby chatted to him about the garden. She bent down to write him a check for his work as I busied myself pretending to look at the plants. I brushed my hand over a pot of rosemary and the scent triggered a vivid image of him falling over into our hedge.

“Ethan,” I thought, I liked the sound of that name. Every time I glanced over in their direction I met his eyes. No one had ever made me feel so self-conscious, and even as we walked away I could still feel his gaze burning hot on my back.

Abby smiled over at me slyly, “He sure couldn’t take his eyes off of you,” she teased.

“He must think I’m some kind of freak,” I said, mortified. Why did I have to shake his hand like I was in some old Victorian novel?

“Oh, I very much doubt that’s what he was thinking,” Abby laughed. Even after we loaded up into the car I still couldn’t shake the image of his blue eyes from my mind.

We got home and unpacked our bags, filling the small counter with colorful produce. Abby arranged the flowers in a vase, humming to herself. I slipped off my sandals and went down the hall towards my bedroom. As I passed Cruz’s room I could see through the open door that he had company.

“Marina–” Cruz called out.

I ducked my head in the doorway, “Yes?”

“Come and meet my friend Megan,” said Cruz. I went in and looked around. His room was a little bigger than mine but most of the space was dominated by a large armoire covered with decals and stickers from various bands. There was a work table piled high with bolts of mostly black fabric and an old but solid looking sewing machine. A dress form draped with tape measures stood in the corner, along with great leaning stacks of fashion magazines. Cruz was perched on a stool by the table, and sitting on his bed was a girl with the brightest curly red hair I’d ever seen.

“Hi Megan,” I said with a smile. She looked up shyly. Her eyes were light golden brown and her pale skin was peppered with freckles.

“Hi,” she said in a high nervous voice.

“Come in and have a seat,” said Cruz. I settled on the bed next to Megan. She was a heavy set girl, dressed in a large loose sweatshirt and faded jeans. Her extraordinary curls flopped down to hide her face and her shoulders hunched over as though she wanted to shrink into the bed and disappear.

“Wow, that’s a cool dress,” said Cruz, turning to Megan, “You should see her clothes!” Cruz had enthusiastically helped me to organize my cases and gushed over every designer piece he came across. He spent a long time ogling my wardrobe, inspecting every seam like a