Marcus looked down at Atlas, at the proud set of his head, the alert ears, the constant watchfulness. He thought of Rowan saying Atlas had once gone into chaos and stayed focused. He thought of the dog sitting through Veronica’s story while tourists laughed and torches flashed around him.
‘He’s still trying,’ Marcus said.
Rowan’s gaze snapped to his.
Marcus held it, though his heart had started beating too hard. ‘Not to be what he was. I don’t mean that. I just mean... he’s still trying to trust the world again.’
Rowan swallowed.
For a long moment, Marcus thought he might pull away. Close down. Turn brisk and practical and pretend he had not just handed Marcus something raw.
Instead, Rowan looked at Atlas.
‘And I don’t know how to ask that of him.’
‘Maybe you don’t ask,’ Marcus said. ‘Maybe you just stand beside him while he chooses it.’
Rowan’s eyes lifted back to his.
Behind them, the sea moved against the harbour wall with a low, steady hush. Ahead, Veronica’s group had paused, their torches gathered like fireflies in the dark.
Rowan’s expression shifted, almost imperceptibly.
‘You make things sound simple.’
Marcus gave a small smile. ‘That’s because I’m very wise.’
‘That’s not the word I would have chosen.’
‘Charming?’
‘Persistent.’
Marcus laughed softly. ‘I’ll take it.’
Atlas nudged Rowan’s hand, impatient now, as if reminding them that standing in the middle of the lane discussing emotional devastation was not technically part of the tour.
Rowan looked down at him, and something tender crossed his face.
‘Come on, then,’ he murmured. ‘Let’s finish it.’
They started after the group, not rushing, not quite touching, but close enough that Marcus could feel the warmth of Rowan beside him.
At the harbour wall, Veronica’s torch flared again, and the tourists turned towards her, hungry for the next ghost, the next shiver, the next tragic story wrapped safely in legend.
Marcus looked at Rowan instead.
He had the unsettling feeling that the most haunting thing he would hear that night had nothing to do with lighthouse keepers, lost letters, or lanterns burning in upstairs windows.
It was the quiet grief of a man who still blamed himself for being trusted.
And the loyal dog walking beside him, brave enough to try again.
Chapter ten
Marcus was walking along the seafront whistling. He stopped and looked around. He was almost at work. How had he got from home to there without even realising it? But the smile that he couldn’t hide, which had been a permanent fixture on his face since last night, was the only tell for his inner happiness. He felt as though he was lighter than air, which was a miracle considering the weight of what was still left to do on the countdown for the dog competition, still on his shoulders.
But, the worries of the competition were pushed to the back of his mind for now, because all the way here, something—or rather,someone—had been on the forefront.
