“Yes. That is for sure gonna happen.” I push my chair back and reach for our plates. It’s my turn to do the dishes.
“So we’re going?” she prompts.
Truth is even if I didn’t want to go, I still would. It’s impossible for me to say no to her. One smile from this girl, and I’ll give her the parka off my back in the middle of the tundra.
So I shrug and say, “Of course.”
“How much farther?” Blake asks a couple hours later, huffing with exertion.
I check my phone, shocked to find I’m still getting enough service to load a map. I dropped to one bar almost the second we stepped foot on the island.
“Maybe ten, fifteen more minutes.”
She sighs. I don’t blame her. The climb was steeper than I expected, and my legs are burning from the effort. I heard the view is worth it, though. Yes,I’mhere for the view and not the ghost, because I don’t believe in ghosts, and there is absolutely nothing otherworldly about a lighthouse on an island in Lake Tahoe. Come on now.
We power forward on the trail. I took my shirt off about half a mile ago, and it’s tucked through one of the straps of my pack. Blake keeps checking out my chest, and I keep smirking each time she does it, but she’s unrepentant. That’s fine. I like having her eyes on me.
Tall pine trees line either side of the narrow trail, their needles slick with moisture. It must’ve rained up here this morning. I suspect it will again, judging by the cooling, damp-smelling air.
“Why isn’t it busier up here?” she wonders. “Big Spencer said this spot is popular on the weekends.”
“Maybe we got lucky?”
As if to voice its disagreement, the universe unleashes a low rumble that rolls across the sky.
We exchange a wary look.
“Did you check the weather before deciding we were going to scale a cliff?” I ask her.
“Nope,” she says cheerfully. “Did you?”
“Sure didn’t.”
The wind shifts suddenly, and the branches all around us begin to move, pine needles floating down to the ground. I lift my gaze to the dark clouds gathering above the lake.
“Shit,” I say just as the sky rumbles again. It sounds closer now.
Seconds later, the raindrops begin to fall, hitting my chest and sliding over my pecs. The trees sway harder.
Blake purses her lips. “We’re closer to the lighthouse than the boat, right?”
I calculate the distance on my phone. “Yes.”
“Then let’s keep going.”
We can’t run because the trail is too steep, and now it’s wet too. The rain soaks us within minutes. It turns the dirt beneath our feet to mud, making it harder to navigate, and when the lightning cracks, Ifeel the first flicker of concern that we’re going to get fried to a crisp. Fortunately, it isn’t long before I see the silhouette of the lighthouse in the flashes of light. By the time we reach the base of the old structure, the wind is howling, and the rain is deafening.
I shove the heavy wooden door with my shoulder. It stays stubbornly closed, creaking from my effort, before finally pushing open. Inside, the air is musty, but the small space is blessedly dry, which is more than I can say for us. We stumble inside, dripping and breathless.
“Holy shit, that was intense.” Blake shakes water from her sleeves and turns in a slow circle, taking in the spiral staircase and iron railing, her features softened by the dim light filtering through the broken shutters. Then she sits on an overturned crate and starts wringing her hair out.
I pull off my backpack and fish through it. All it contains is two granola bars, one bottle of water, and the hoodie I thought I might need.
“Do you have reception?” I ask, and we both consult our phones.
“No bars,” she says. “Useless.”
“Same.”
