Free The Turning Tides (Marina's Tales) by Derrolyn Anderson Page A

reluctantly left the apartment. “How about Chinese?” I asked Ethan when we got into the elevator.
    “Any thing you want,” he said, wrapping his warm arms around me.
    We got out in the basement garage, and Paul was waiting at the elevator. He smiled at me, looking Ethan over with hooded eyes. I felt Ethan tense by my side, and I clutched his hand a little tighter. I knew he was jealous of the time Paul and I spent together training, not to mention in Germany. To his credit, he tried not to complain; after everything that had happened with Amber, I could certainly understood how irrational jealousy might make a person.
    “Do you need a driver?” Paul asked.
    “No thanks, ” I said, hooking my arm around Ethan’s.
    The sun was sinking slowly over the bay when we stepped out into the street. I hailed a taxi, deciding it was best not to hassle with trying to park on the busy Chinatown streets.
    “Take us to the Dragon Gate,” I told the driver.
    We climbed out of the cab under the green tiled roof, joining the hordes of tourists and merchants that crowded the streets. Glowing streetlamps lit the busy scene , and it smelled like food cooking. It was a brisk San Francisco night, and we walked arm in arm, taking in the sights and sounds coming from all the shops and restaurants that lined the streets.
    “I’ve never been here before,” Ethan said, looking all around with a smile.
    “I’ll give you the tour,” I told him, leading the way down the sidewalk with my fingers twined in his. Colorful paper lanterns illuminated the faces we passed, and the air was filled with the roar of city traffic, interspersed with snatches of Chinese music escaping from the doorways of the various storefronts.
    We stopped in a n herb and tea shop that Evie frequented, and the elderly proprietor recognized me, asking about “Miss Evelyn” with reverence. He pressed various samples into our hands, urging us to sniff all the different scented teas, talking about how they would bolster our “Chi”. I ended up buying a large tin of my favorite Jasmine flower tea, and a set of elaborately decorated porcelain cups to serve it in.
    “For our place,” I said, making Ethan smile.
    We looked over some of the exotic produce displa yed under the awnings of a grocery store , and Ethan point ed out and named some of the things that Lue Khang was growing on his farm. We both paused to gawk at the smoked ducks hanging by their necks in the window of a butcher shop.
    “What’s in here ?” Ethan asked, pulling me through the door to look at the live fish, crabs and turtles displayed in giant tanks that lined the walls. The smell of the animals and the bubbling of the aquariums made me lightheaded; a frog clawed at the glass of the tank in a futile attempt to escape. My breath caught in my throat, and I found myself staring, transfixed, imagining how terrified it must be.
    I stood frozen to the spot, finally snapping out of it when a worker dropped a metal tray onto the floor with a loud crash. “Let’s get out of here,” I told Ethan, backing away slowly.
    “Are you okay?” he asked , looking alarmed as I gasped for fresh air out on the street.
    “I’m just a little claustrophobic,” I said with a shudder, “That place would make Abby cry.”
    Ethan laughed and slipped his arm around my waist, “I was over at the house for dinner last night. She’s so happy right now I don’t think anything would make her cry.”
    I smiled up at him, “How’s your little sister doing?”
    Ethan told me about visiting Adria while we walked, and I wished we were both there at that moment, getting ready to tuck in to one of Dutch’s fabulous dinners. I missed being part of Abby’s family, and I missed Aptos.
    “Are you getting hungry?” I asked.
    We walked on, looking into some pagoda-roofed curio shops packed with souvenirs and garishly colored silk dresses. Rows of g inger jars lined the s idewalk , leading up to shelves stocked with fake