“We might as well wait it out here, right?”
“I think so.”
As the rain beats against the dirty windows, we make ourselves comfortable and spend the next several minutes listening to the storm and feeling the wind shake the old bones of the lighthouse. I sit on the dusty floor and stretch my legs in front of me, propping my hands behind my head while Blake wanders toward a window to watch the storm roll across the lake.
I sweep my gaze over her wet hair, her cheeks pink from the wind. She’s gorgeous. Windswept and wild. I tuck the line away, wishing I’dbrought my songbook with me.
The wind hissing in the cracks of the wooden facade sounds almost human, a ghostly wail. “Uh-oh,” I joke. “Do you think Darlie’s here?”
“Maybe.” Blake turns to face me. “You know what? What if we’re wrong? Maybe whatactuallyhappened is Darlie killed her sister.”
I lift a brow. “Ooh. Go on.”
“She found out that Raymond was meeting Dolly at the lighthouse and followed them here one night. Then she killed them both and drowned herself in the lake.”
“You still haven’t found any records showing whether Raymond and Dolly are dead or alive?”
“Ugh, no. I finally confirmed that Darlie is dead, but not the other two. These information requests take forever. Honestly, if I had one wish in life, it would be to cut through all the red tape of the bureaucracy.”
“Really,onewish, and that’s what you would do? We don’t want world peace? Not interested in curing hunger?”
“Oh, shoot, yeah, those are probably better options,” she says, and I snort out a laugh.
She sits down again and kicks off her wet sneakers and socks, leaving her feet bare. The rain settles into a steady rhythm. It’s not as violent as before but still persistent.
“This is kind of romantic,” she remarks. “Trapped in a lighthouse during a storm, dramatic lightning strikes, near-death hike. It’s very…” She mulls it over. “Jane Austen meetsNational Geographic.”
I snicker. “What a combo.”
“Hey, don’t laugh. I bet you’re already writing a love song about this.”
She’s not off base. Lyrics are dancing through my mind likedust motes.
“Maybe,” I say vaguely.
“No maybe about it, songboy. I can practically see you composing.”
“Hey, you said so yourself. It’s romantic. The song practically writes itself.” I begin strumming invisible chords on my thigh. “The ocean’s wild, but her eyes are calm. Guiding me home like a beacon in the storm. Falling…we’re falling…into the crash of the tide, our hearts open wide…” I trail off, smiling sheepishly.
Her jaw drops. “Did you seriously just make that up on the spot?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow. It was kind of perfect.” She gasps. “Wait, you saidfalling. Is that your way of saying you’re falling in love with me?”
Mischief twinkles in her expression, indicating she’s just teasing, but the question, joking or not, throws me off-kilter.
“No,” I say quickly. “Of course not.”
“Uh-huh.” She looks back to the window, but not before I glimpse a hint of a smile.
Thankfully, she doesn’t push it. Doesn’t force me to defend the denial. If I opened my mouth again, I’m not sure what would come out. Because I see how easily it could happen. Falling for her. When I let myself go there, it happens fast and fierce.
But it also doesn’t last. Love is too messy, and I’m bad at it. I get bored and move on. I leave broken hearts in my wake. And I refuse to break Blake.
Yet I also can’t stop myself from getting deeper and deeper with her. It’s like a hand reaching out from the water, pulling me under. But not in a horror movie kind of way. Iwantto go deeper. I want that warm water to engulf me whole.
I don’t understand it. All I know is that when we’re together, Icrack open my soul to her, and I think she does the same with me.
