Irish Mist
Excited didn’t really cover what Caelum was feeling as he stepped out of the Irish sea and walked the short path up along the rocky beach to the little cottage his family had owned for generations. He stopped at the door and turned back to look over the grass hillside that lay around his little patch of the world. He’d signed the deed to the house only just the night before, claiming the house for himself. And the two people he loved.
He expected them to come in today and wondered what they’d think of his home, a place they’d never seen, but that he’d been trying to show them for the past five years. Loving people he’d barely spent a few days with in person might not have been conventional, and loving two people like that was definitely odd for most, but he knew in his heart that they could make it work. They were his and he was theirs. End of story.
The tea kettle sang and he went in to pour himself a cup. And he should probably think about getting dressed at some point, too. Living alone, he rarely thought about clothing, but he supposed that might have to change today. At least for a little while. He wouldn’t rush Hannah and Ippy into a physical relationship. He didn’t have much experience with dating people that he could actually touch, but he knew that pushing was bad.
Caelum poured himself a cup of ginger tea and let it steep while he went through the open bedroom door to the hand carved dresser his grandfather had made for one of his wives. It was his now, along with everything else in the house, as his family made their way down the coast to warmer waters. He wasn’t worried, as he was sure they’d let him know where they were tonight in his dreams. Selkies were good at that. He tugged out a pair of shorts and slipped them on before going back to his drink.
He could hear the sea from anywhere in his house, a constant comforting sound for someone like him that needed to experience it at least once a week. Daily was better and over the past few years he’d spent far more time as the dark, spotted seal he could turn into at will than as the man that hid inside. Looking around the cottage, he was glad he’d spent some time the day before to clean the place up. He was naturally tidy, a skill only reinforced during his captivity, but there’d been a few things to pick up and wipe down before Hannah and Ippy arrived. He’d made up both of the extra bedrooms and moved his studio into the living room.
He hadn’t told them about painting, though he didn’t know why. Maybe at first it had been out of shyness. But now, five years later, he wasn’t so sure. He didn’t fancy himself an artist, but he had sold a few pieces over the years and his family seemed to enjoy his work. Though he was fairly certain that’s what family was supposed to do, so he didn’t know how much faith he could really put into their compliments.
Sitting down in front of the easel, he put the tea onto a little plant stand he’d commandeered for his tea and put a new piece of canvas up. He didn’t have a plan because they were often trampled by so many other possibilities. And so he went with it and let the paint and the brush go where they wanted to as he watched the sea crash over the beach just down the hill in front of him.
An hour later he was pulled out of his painting as a car rolled up in front of the cottage. In a rush he got up from the stool, took his now cold tea to the sink and washed his hands as quickly as he could before swinging open the front door to greet his visitors.
Hannah ran into his arms first and he was quick to hug her close. Her long brown hair, full of waves and wild like the sea from their plane ride over from the states, tickled his face and hands as he squeezed her to him. “My selkie,” he heard her whisper against his shoulder.
That term of endearment, so common between them in their dreams, was one that he hadn’t heard from her lips in years. He’d missed
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