Emily’s eyebrows rose. “Fifty years? That’s impressive. I didn’t realize lighthouses were still family operations.”
“Most aren’t anymore. The Coast Guard automated many of them years ago. We fought to maintain private ownership when they decommissioned it. The light still works. It’s just not the primary navigational aid it once was.”
“It must be special, having that kind of family legacy.”
“Special and sometimes heavy. Each generation of Lockharts has faced its own challenges in keeping this place alive. The cottages were my solution. We had Starfish Cottage, but I begged my father to add the others over the years.”
“Your solution?”
“Lighthouse upkeep isn’t cheap. The rent from the cottages helps with expenses. And I’m always getting offers from developers who want to buy the property, change it, and make it into something it wasn’t meant to be. The extra income helps keep them at bay.”
“Developers want to buy the lighthouse?”
“And the cottages, though I’m sure they’d tear them down and put up some big resort.” She shook her head. “But more importantly, I realized the lighthouse had always been a beacon for those needing direction. The cottages just formalized what was already happening naturally.”
“What do you mean?” Emily’s brow creased.
“People find their way here when they need something.” She brushed dirt from her gloves. “Most of them don’t know what it is yet.”
Emily tensed. “I’m just looking for some peace and quiet.”
“Of course. That’s how it starts.”
“How what starts?”
“Figuring out what you actually want.” She motioned toward the other cottages. “Take Melissa in Captain’s Watch. Professional photojournalist. Covered disasters worldwide. Now she only photographs the lighthouse at dawn. Or Clint in Driftwood Cottage—came back after twenty years in the Coast Guard because this was the only place that made sense anymore.”
Emily shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not planning to stay that long.”
“Few do, at first.”
Emily glanced back at her cottage, obviously looking for an escape. “I was thinking of heading into town to get a few things.”
“Bayview General Store has most essentials. If you want breakfast, Harbor Brew downtown makes the best coffee in three counties. Marty Fuller at Tides & Tales bookstore can recommend local history books if you’re interested in the area or if you want to pick up a good fiction read.”
“Thank you. I appreciate the information.”
She could see the walls the younger woman had built around herself, sturdy as a fortress made of stones. Whatever had happened to Emily Shaw had taught her to guard herself carefully. Winnie recognized the signs because she’d spent decades perfecting her own defenses.
“As I mentioned earlier, we have a small gathering in the courtyard most Friday evenings. Nothing fancy, just wine and conversation. You’re welcome to join us whenever you feel like company.”
Emily’s expression tightened. “I’m not really looking for social activities right now.”
“Of course. The invitation stands whenever you’re ready. No pressure at all. And privacy is respected here. Whatever brought you to Starfish Cottage is your business. You’ll find no prying questions from me.”
Something in Emily’s eyes softened slightly at that. Perhaps she’d expected Winnie to push or demand explanations or participation. So many people did, never understanding that healing couldn’t be rushed.
“I should head into town now.”
Winnie nodded and watched Emily head toward her car. There was a story there, one written in the set of the woman’s shoulders and the shadows beneath her eyes. She had developed an instinct over the years for recognizing pain in others, even when they tried to hide it.
She turned back to her gardening, pulling a stubborn weed from beside the rosemary. Emily reminded her of the lighthouse during a storm—still standing but battered by waves. That kind of determination took tremendous strength, but it also exacted a price. She knew that cost all too well.
Emily would find her way in time. The lighthouse had never failed to help lost souls rediscover their bearings. Some people needed space before they could accept connection. She’d learned that lesson through decades of watching people arrive broken and leave whole.
The drive into downtown Starlight Shores took less than five minutes. Emily followed Winnie’s directions to the historic district, parking on a tree-lined street near the harbor. The town was exactly as charming as she feared it would be. Colorful buildings lined the waterfront, their facades freshly painted in cheerful blues, yellows, and coral. Flower boxes overflowed with blooms and trailing vines. It looked like a postcard or a movie set and almost too perfect to be real.
She walked slowly along the main street, taking in the shops and restaurants. The bookstore Winnie had recommended, Tides & Tales, occupied a corner building with large windows displaying maritime histories and local authors. Close by, a seafood restaurant called The Sandpiper advertised fresh catch and sunset specials. Everything about the town radiated authenticity and history, the kind of place that had been here for generations and planned to remain for generations more.
