Duke Charming | Craig

Eleven

I've never been fond of water. Yes, I liked to bathe and shower every day, but swimming has never been my forte. In fact, I despised it. Kicking and paddling for my life felt unnatural, and to be blunt, I just didn't like the feeling of being dripping wet without an immediate towel at my disposal.

So, when Craig told me we'd be taking a ferry across the Loch to a little island in the middle, I nearly hissed in displeasure. It took every ounce of willpower to maintain the smile on my face and follow him down to the lake's shore where the Balfours were boarding the vessel.

It didn't look too sturdy – I double-checked. In fact, it was rather spacious and grand as it should have been. A bunch of nobles wouldn't have settled for anything less.

"Here ye go, lass," Craig said as he helped me from the pier to the ferry. I tried to keep my shaking and wobbliness to a minimum.

Rheon and his younger brother, whose name I learned was Victor, helped with the three large picnic baskets that had to come with, one filled with savory snacks and sandwiches, the second filled with pastries and fresh fruit, and the third with juice, tea flasks, coffee flasks, and some cups and glasses.

They hauled the baskets over the side effortlessly as werewolves should and boarded the ferry themselves.

Once everyone was onboard, we could depart.

To say it was awkward was an understatement. I felt like a stray cat that wandered into a kennel of German shepherds, mere seconds away from being chased up a tree. It felt unnatural, and I blamed it on the fact that they all knew about me knowing about them, and now they were wondering how to approach me about it.

Or worse, they were wondering how I felt about being Craig's mate.

I could tell he was wondering about it, judging by the subtle looks he stole of me, quickly looking away when I caught him staring. But my awkwardness quickly ended when the ferry hit a little wave, causing it to hop and plunge back to the surface.

The movement sent jolts through my legs, and I leapt away from the side, having every intent to get as far away from the water as possible.

"Ye a'right there, lass?"

I felt Craig's presence before he spoke next to me. Shaking my head, I whispered so soft, he would've missed it if not for his werewolf hearing, "I don't like the water."

"Th' water?" Looking from the murky grey water of the Loch to me, his expression dropped. "I'm terribly sorry, I should've told ya we were taking th' boat. Should I tell 'em to turn 'round?"

"No." I shook my head too quickly. There was no way I was spoiling their picnic for them. "It's fine, I just need to calm down."

"I can help with tha'," he offered hopefully. "What's yer favorite food? Since yer French, I'm willing to bet it's baguettes, eh?"

How stereotypical, but I'm smiling, nonetheless. "You'd be losing your money, then. My favorite food is soup. Any soup as long as it's creamy and comes with freshly baked, still steaming, crispy bread."

"Tha' even got m'mouth waterin'," Craig said, humming. "Mine would be pie."

Interesting. At least I knew what food he'd like if I ever get the chance to cook for him. "Wait, like actual pie, or pizza pie?

"Oh, no, I don't lik' pizza tha' much."

My jaw dropped before I could stop it, and I gaped at him in bewilderment. "You don't like pizza?"

"No' so much, no."

"What kind of person doesn't like pizza?" I was honestly flabbergasted. Leave it to me to find a mate in the only person in this world who probably didn't like pizza. Now this certainly wouldn't do. "No, you just don't like pizza because you haven't tried mine yet."