Fisher's Light(54)

Fifteen minutes later, we’re climbing up some rocks at the opposite end of town. The view from the top is breathtaking, just like it always is.

“Welcome to Fisher’s Lighthouse,” I announce, holding my arms out from my body and spinning in a circle. “It’s overindulgent and disgusting that I have to share a name with almost everything in this f*cking town, but this is the one place I don’t mind sharing it with.”

Shielding my eyes from the sun, I stare up at the huge red and white striped structure that overlooks the ocean and Lucy does the same while I give her a little history lesson.

“There used to be a lighthouse keeper who lived inside and manned the light for the fishing boats back in the day when oil lamps and clockwork mechanisms were used. Could you imagine that? Living all alone in this lighthouse, day after day, year after year, with no one judging you, telling you what to do or getting into your business? Your only job was to make sure the boats stayed safe and got home to their families,” I say wistfully as I slide my hands into the front pockets of my jeans and stare off into the distance, watching the waves crest a few miles from shore.

“Now, computers run it all and no one ever really has a need to come out here unless something breaks. So that means it’s just me or my grandfather who get to walk around inside this beauty and stare out at the ocean, pretending like we’re the only two people in the world. It’s the best at night, when it’s pitch black and it looks like you’re standing on the edge of the world. You feel like if you take one step off the rocks, you’ll just drop down into nothing and disappear forever. Sometimes, disappearing sounds like the best idea in the world.”

I stare out at the endless ocean, wondering why I don’t feel embarrassed that I just said more to Lucy about how I feel than I’ve ever said to anyone else. The sun shines on my face and I feel at peace. Being at this spot, with Lucy by my side, makes that possible. She doesn’t ask a thousand questions or feel the need to fill the silence with useless talk. She’s content to listen to me and enjoy the quiet moment. I know what she sees when she looks at me – a cocky, popular guy that everyone wants to be around because of my money and not because of who I am. Around town, I’m the son of the richest man on the island and I have to hold myself with a little more poise and polish, but out here, on the corner of the island where no one can see me, I can just be myself. With Lucy, I can be myself – a small-town boy who really, truly loves the place he lives, but dreams of bigger and better things.

I hear her step across the gravel on top of the rocks and suddenly, her small, warm hand is sliding into my own. She entwines her fingers with mine and squeezes my hand while we both stare silently out at the water.

I’m realizing, right in this moment, that meeting Lucy is my bigger and better thing.





Chapter 22




Lucy

Present Day


It’s been a week since I went to Trip’s house and Fisher kissed me in the basement. Okay, fine, I was an equal participant in that kiss, but I’m trying to block that part out of my mind, especially since Stanford and I have had a really great week together. I even managed to convince him to avoid downtown and stay here at the inn, not wanting to chance running into Fisher. The plan was to put some distance between us and get him out of my mind so I could concentrate on Stanford.

Too bad it’s not working.

Absence is not only making the heart grow fonder, it’s forcing the libido into overdrive and the guilt is driving me insane. Sticking my tongue down my ex-husband’s throat one day and kissing the man I’m dating the very next makes me feel like the trashy whore Fisher’s father accused me of being. I’m kissing Stanford when I still have the taste of another man on my lips, one who gets my blood pumping and makes me crazy, in more ways than one.

“What’s bothering you?”

On my hands and knees in one of the guest bathrooms, I glance over my shoulder to see Ellie leaning against the doorway.

“Nothing’s bothering me,” I lie, going back to what I was doing.

“You only scrub toilets when you’re pissed off or upset about something, so spill the beans, sugar plum.”

I continue scrubbing, putting a little more elbow grease into it and blowing a strand of hair out of my eyes that has fallen out of my ponytail.

“Nothing to spill. These toilets were disgusting and since the guests are all down at the beach, I figured I’d get a head start on the cleaning so you wouldn’t have to do it when you were done making lunch.”