CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

We play in the waves until the sun starts to go down. It’s cooling off, and we probably shouldn’t be on a private beach after dark, so we make our way back into the shallows, climbing out onto the sand. Nash shakes himself off vigorously, and I laugh.

Back in human form, we lay on the sand for a while, watching as the sunset paints the horizon in dazzling oranges and pinks. Sure enough, there are actual dolphins visible out in the water, their dark shapes jumping and twirling in the dusky light.

“I suppose we ought to find you a place to stay,” Nash says, helping me up with one strong hand.

“I actually saw a cute little cottage on our way to the restaurant,” I said, “with a sign in the window saying that it was for rent.”

“Let’s go check it out, then,” Nash says.

Back on his motorcycle, leaning against his back, I can see a tiny tuft of fur from the rabbit pelt peeking out from under his helmet. It’s pure white, with no stain or anything, even though he wears it in his