I'll be your mermaid caught on your rod.

Coming for your aid.

Isn't it odd?

Isn't it silly now that you know?

Someone this slippery can't let you go.

- "Mermaid" by Skott

Zuko

I have to admit, it's a gorgeous drive. The highway weaves along the coastline and around Nehalem Bay, cutting through the thick forest of Douglas firs and evergreens. It's peaceful.

I turn the radio up and drive.

The GPS on my phone guides me into Tillamook and to the hardware store. It's hard to ignore the smell of cow manure, even with the windows rolled up. I know Tillamook is renowned for its dairy products, but the farm smell is cloying and pungent.

I go into the hardware store and pull Uncle's list out of my pocket. He's written everything down, even the brand names, so I don't mess anything up. It's almost insulting, but I know it's just because he's pedantic. It's what makes him good at business.

I grab a cart and head for the aisle marked for paint. He's already called the hardware store and had the paint mixed up so I just need to pick it up. It hadn't exactly been fun pulling up the website on my laptop and working with my uncle to find the correct shades and put the order in, but we managed it. I still have to grab brushes and rollers and tarps, though.

I have to admit, having the brand names makes it easier, and soon enough my cart is weighed down with our supplies.

I'm thinking about Katara again. I hadn't been expecting her to volunteer her help when I told her about my project, but I'm not displeased by this development. In fact, I'm quite happy about it. I haven't been able to get her out of my head, and now an opportunity to spend more time with her has conveniently fallen into my lap.

Closed doors and open windows, I think as I add a drip pan to my cart.

I wonder what motivated Katara to offer her help. Is that just the kind of person she is? Is she a kind soul who volunteers her time to strangers? Or did she see something in me, in my eyes, like a wounded animal, like someone thrown overboard struggling to keep his head above water? Maybe it's something else entirely. Maybe she's as intrigued by me as I am by her.

Her blue eyes flash through my mind again. I think that I wouldn't mind drowning in them.

Katara and I have our work cut out for us. Uncle wants the entire downstairs painted, and he thinks it'll take me a week or so. Maybe with Katara's help, it'll take a little less time. But I don't know if she's going to stick around and see the project finished, or if she's only coming around tonight.

I don't know what her schedule looks like. If she's my sister's age like I think she is, she might have a job to go to, or she might be in college. Spring break is still a week away, so she might only be able to help me tonight. I want to make the most of it.

It occurs to me then that I don't even know her age.

For all I know she's a high school kid, and I squirm uncomfortably where I stand in the aisle with the paint brushes. I decide I'm going to find out her age tonight, and if she's underage, I'm going to politely pull back. I'm not a creep. I don't need a friend who's still in high school, and I'm definitely not going to be romantically interested in one. I'm twenty-one. I'm not a damn cradle robber.

Finally, I've got everything I came for but the paint. I head over to the counter, where the paint samples are. The counter is empty, but there's a bell with a small sign that reads, ring for service. I ring it, and while I wait I look at the different paint samples, the right side of my face turned to the counter.

"Hi there, did you need something?"

I turn my face slightly toward the counter. There's a young woman there, maybe a few years older than me, with dyed-red hair and a stud in her nose. I see her eyes comb over me appreciatively and for a moment, it feels nice. But I know when I turn to face her the rest of the way, when she sees my scar, and her green eyes dance over to it she'll have that look, one of shock and maybe a little repulsion.

I hate my scar.

"Hi. I'm picking up an order for Iroh Szeto."

I turn toward her then, and her eyes flicker to my scar. I see the change in her face. The smile falls away and she stares at it for a beat too long. When she smiles again, it's that polite, customer service smile. I pretend that I don't notice the way her response to me has changed. I've gotten good at that over the last five years since I got the scar.

"Alright, I'll be right back with that."

She disappears, grabbing another cart to load the paint. Uncle bought something like twelve gallons, six of them in a green-apple color and four in a golden-yellow, like candlelight, for the main room, and two in cream for the kitchen.

The woman comes back with the cart loaded with the gallons of paint. I paid for it over the Internet with Uncle's credit card, so she just rings up the rest of my purchases. Then she puts them into the cart with the paint for me.

The conversation is stilted, awkward. I can tell she's tiptoeing around me, around my scar, like I'm made of glass and if she drops me I'll shatter.

I fucking hate my scar.

When we're done, I go out to the parking lot. I open the trunk and load the paint gallons and supplies. Then I'm back in my car driving down the scenic highway and I've got the radio up so loud that I hope I can drown out the cashier's stare.

Katara

My phone buzzes. I check the time. It's been almost three hours since Zuko left. I've occupied my time with some reading I've been neglecting. Dad and Sokka bought me the complete collection of Sherlock Holmes for Christmas, and I'm slowly making my way through it. I set the book aside and check my phone. It's a message from Zuko.

Z I'm back in town

Before I can type out a reply, a second text message comes through.

Z I can come pick you up if you want

Followed shortly by a third.

Z If you need a ride

I smile down at my phone. His awkwardness translates to texting as well, it seems, and I find it endearing and sweet. Something warm pools in my stomach, something that is tantalizing and addicting, but a little dangerous too, because if I give into it I might do something I'll regret later. It's like sweet wine.

I text him back.

K I wouldn't mind a ride

I don't tell him that I have my own car. It's sitting in the back yard where Dad left it after the last time he changed my oil, so Zuko didn't see it when he dropped me off the other day.

I don't drive much. There's no reason to. Everything in town is within walking distance, so I only drive when I go out of town, which isn't often. The car is more of a decorative lawn ornament rather than a means of transportation at this point.

Another text comes in.

Z I'll be there in a few

An involuntary smile crosses my face at the prospect of seeing him again, and I hurry into the bathroom to change into my painter's clothes. I don't want to risk my long braid falling into a pan of paint, so I unravel it quickly and throw my hair up into a messy bun on the top of my head. I grab my bag and throw my keys, phone, and wallet into it before I leave the house, locking the door behind me.

I wait for Zuko on the steps that lead up to the sanctuary. He pulls up in his red Camry a few minutes later, and I make my way over to the car. He reaches across the seat to pop the door open for me again, and then I sit down, dropping my bag to the floorboard between my feet.

This time, his car doesn't smell like bread. It smells like he did that day when I ran into him, like bamboo and teak wood.

"Hi," he says, the timid smile curving his lips. "Thanks again for helping me."

"I don't mind." I buckle in. "I didn't have anything else to do, and I don't mind helping out when I can." I look up at him and smile. He's watching me, still with that shy smile. I crack a grin. "And who doesn't love unpaid labor?"

Zuko chuckles. The sound is low and throaty and attractive, and I wonder if he knows that. He shifts the car into reverse and looks back over his shoulder, giving me a nice view of his face. He's handsome, even with the scar, perhaps in spite of it. I can't deny it.

But I have a boyfriend, and I don't know who this guy is, and even if it feels like there is a chasm growing between Jet and I in the spaces between the texts and the calls, I'm loyal. So Zuko can be handsome all he likes, but that doesn't mean I have to fall for him.

"Did you find the hardware store okay?" I ask to fill the silence.

Zuko's gaze flickers to me for a moment before his eyes are back on the road. "Yeah, I did." A pause. I see his nostrils flare, just slightly, and I wonder what that means. "The drive is nice."

"It is. It's beautiful." It's been a while since I've been to Tillamook, but I've ridden that stretch of highway my whole life. I know it like the back of my hand. "Tillamook is a nice little town too. Even if it smells like cow dung."

Zuko snorts out a laugh and he looks back over at me, his eyes crinkling in amusement. It's a strange sight to see that scar tissue fold and shift across his face. His eye becomes a narrow slit, until all I can see is a sliver of gold peeking out of the pink flesh.

"Yeah, it really does." Zuko's lips curl up into a smile. "It could be worse though, I guess. It could smell like the city."

It's my turn to snort out a laugh. "Yeah, no kidding." I'm a small-town girl. The city always smells like pollution and I hate it. I glance over at him. "Are you from Portland?"

"Ah, no. Seattle." His eyes flicker over to me.

"Oh. I didn't mean to assume."

"It's fine." He offers me a smile again. This one is a little tighter, and it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

I wonder why he moved here, of all places.

"Do you like it here so far?" I ask. "It must be pretty different from the city."

"Oh, for sure." He snorts out another laugh. But then he peeks back over at me, and there's a crooked smile on his lips. "But it's not so bad."

A blush rises in my cheeks. It sounds like he's flirting with me, maybe just a little bit. "Well, good. I'm glad you like it here so far."

And I am glad. I find myself wanting Zuko to like it here so much that he never wants to leave. And I realize that I most definitely should not want to feel like that.

Zuko drives past the Jasmine Dragon and turns down the narrow alley that cuts behind the building. Most of the town is built similarly. "Flood channels" are their official names—it provides a path for the water in the event of a flood or a tsunami. We've never had a tsunami, not in the town's written history, but we've had a few floods, and those channels have spared a lot of buildings from being damaged.

Zuko parks the Camry behind a considerably newer Corolla. But I don't judge his car—mine is easily twice as old as his.

"The uh, paint stuff is in the trunk," Zuko says after he cuts the engine. His eyes dart over to me and a pink flush rises in his cheeks. "I...stopped, when I came into town, but then I thought you might like a ride…"

He's floundering, trying to explain himself, and it's so awkward to watch that if it were anyone else I might be experiencing secondhand embarrassment, but with Zuko, it's just so charming that I can't help but smile.

I smile kindly at him. "I can help you carry it in." He looks a little relieved.

We step out of the car and I meet him at the trunk. He unlocks it with the keys, and I'm presented with gallons of paint and a few bags of brushes, rollers, pans, and tarps.

"Looks like you've got everything," I remark.

Zuko grabs two cans of paint. "My uncle's list was very thorough." I chuckle as I reach for a can. "Hey, if you want, you can um, just kind of stack some in my arms. That way we don't have to take as many trips."

I look up at him. He's nestled the two cans he's already grabbed into the crook of one arm. He ditched his hoodie somewhere between the beach and my house, and I can see the muscles of his forearm pulled taut against his creamy skin beneath the sleeve of his white t-shirt.

I drag my eyes back to his face. "Okay."

He manages five cans before he starts for the back door. I grab the bags and follow him, scurrying past to open it for him. Then I follow him inside.

I haven't been into this secondhand store since long before it closed, and I've never been in this back room, but I surmise that the stainless steel appliances are new. I can see the coffee makers and tea kettles, the boxes of delicate porcelain that have yet to be unpacked perched on the counter, and the cleaning supplies they've been using. It's a little cluttered in here, but not so much that Zuko can't set his load down on a stretch of open counter space.

"Here, let me help you." I move forward and set my bags down on the floor before I reach for the cans in his arms.

The back of my hand brushes his chest and I can tell, even though the touch is quick and he's wearing a shirt, that his chest is firm and muscled. A shiver runs down my arm and I busy myself with setting the paint cans down quickly, hoping he doesn't see the color in my cheeks.

"Thanks." His voice is a little rough, and I wonder if he felt it too.

I peek up at him from beneath my eyelashes. "You're welcome."

Before we can go back to get the rest of it from the trunk, an older man—the one I saw through the window the other day—shuffles into the kitchen. His golden eyes, identical to Zuko's, take me in before jumping over to him. This must be Zuko's uncle, I realize.

"I didn't expect you back so soon, Zuko," the older man says. He turns to me with a friendly smile. "And who is this?"

"This is...Katara," Zuko says, his voice muted. The older man's eyes flicker between the two of us again. "She's going to help us with some of the painting."

The older man's bushy eyebrows rise toward his hairline. "Oh, I see." He gives me his friendly smile again. "We appreciate that very much, Miss Katara. I'm Iroh, Zuko's uncle." He comes forward and offers me his hand. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

I shake his hand. "Likewise." I cast my eyes around the kitchen. "So, a tea shop? I think the townspeople are going to love it. And the tourists, too."

"That's what we're hoping for." He chuckles. The sound is warm, and it reminds me of Santa Claus. He reminds me of Santa Claus, with his kind smile and rosy cheeks. Just with gray hair instead of white. He gives his nephew a pointed look. "Zuko is supposed to be starting a Facebook page for the business, but he hasn't gotten around to it yet."

"I haven't had the time," Zuko growls, a touch irritated. "You've had me so busy getting everything set up."

"I can help you with that, too, if you need it," I volunteer quickly. Zuko looks at me, surprised. I smile. "I sort of run my dad's business page for his boat repair shop. He has no idea how to use technology."

"Neither do I." Iroh chuckles again. "I'm sure Zuko would appreciate the help."

We both look at Zuko. Color has risen in his cheeks again, and he fidgets nervously with the cans of paint. Zuko looks at me.

"Yeah," he says quietly. "That would be nice." He gestures to the door. "We should probably get the rest of the paint."

"Right."

Iroh steps back toward the main room. "I'll be waiting in here. I think we can start painting in the main room, since it's a little more organized than the kitchen. What do you think, nephew?"

"Yeah, probably," Zuko says. "Since I'm the one who set it all up out there."

Iroh's laugh carries as he disappears. Zuko opens the back door for me, and when we're back at the trunk I load him up with more cans of paint. I grab the last two cans and follow him back inside. Once I've set them down on the counter, I help unload the ones he's carried in. I'm careful not to touch his chest again.

"Sorry about my uncle," Zuko murmurs. "You don't have to help me with the business page. I know how to set one up."

I arch my brow at him. "I was serious about my offer, Zuko." His bright eyes flicker to me and my breath catches in my throat. I push on. "I don't mind helping. If you want."

He swallows hard, the knot in his throat bobbing. "Yeah, sure. I...wouldn't mind." He exhales and turns back to the cans of paint. "So, the green apple and the golden dawn are for the main room. The crema is for the kitchen."

"Maybe we should have just carried them all in there," I chuckle.

Zuko offers me his timid smile. "Yeah, maybe we should have. Too late now."

"Just makes more work for us." I scan the cans for the right colors.

"There should be eight that we need to take in there," Zuko tells me. He starts checking the cans too.

We get the right colors into the right room. Iroh is sitting at a table drinking tea. He stands up when we come in.

"We'll have to get the furniture moved over here." He gestures to the center of the room. Iroh looks at Zuko. "You picked up the tarps, correct?"

"Of course, Uncle," Zuko bites out. "You gave me a list."

Iroh holds up his hands peaceably. "It never hurts to double check, nephew."

I look between the two of them. There seems to be tension there, and I wonder what it's from.

Zuko huffs out a breath and moves to one side of the room. Unsure of what else to do, I follow him and grab the end of the table he's holding. Together we start to move the furniture without saying much. Iroh brings in the bags with the supplies and starts opening the tarps.

By the time Zuko and I have moved the furniture from one side of the room to the middle, sweat is dripping down my back. I can see perspiration gathered on Zuko's temples, making his dark hair stick to his skin. He rests his hands on his lean waist and I plant mine on my hips in a mirror image at the same time. We exchange a smile.

"I guess we better get the tarps laid down," Zuko says.

We do that next. Then Iroh tosses him a roll of blue painters' tape, and we work to line the electrical sockets and baseboards with it. After that, it's finally time to start painting.

But first, Iroh makes a big deal of his aching back, rubbing it ruefully and moaning and groaning.

"Oh, I don't know how much help I'll be," he moans. "My arthritis is acting up today."

Zuko clearly sees through the show. He rolls his eyes, but his lips are quirked up into a smile. "Fine, get out of here then. I think Katara and I can handle it. We wouldn't want you to over do it." He looks over at me, the corner of his lips pulling up higher. "Would we, Katara?"

I catch his drift. "Oh no, not at all." I fight to keep my smile from turning into a grin. "Why don't you leave it to us?"

Iroh gives us a grateful smile. "Oh, thank you. You're both too kind to this old man." He picks his way toward the door. "I'll be up in the loft if you need me for anything."

The bell above the door chimes as he leaves, and then it's just Zuko and I standing in the silence of the empty tea shop.

Zuko seems to sense the silence too. He looks down at me and then gestures to a set of speakers on a shelf above the register. "I can play some music, if you want."

"That would be nice." I smile at him.

He gets the music going while I pour paint into the pans and ready our rollers. A few moments later the music starts to play. I recognize Vance Joy's voice. I look up at Zuko as he crosses the floor back to me.

He must see something in my face, because he pulls up short, his brow creasing. He jerks his thumb over his shoulder at the speakers. "Is this okay? I can change it if you don't like it."

I smile at him. "This is fine. I love Vance Joy."

A pleased smile crosses his face. Then he picks up a roller, hefting it experimentally in his hand. His eyes seem to smolder like embers when he looks at me again.

"Are you ready?" Zuko asks me.

I grab my own roller. "Let's do this."