“I converted the space into my studio apartment,” he said.
“You live here? What happened to the cottage?”
“I rent it out to guests. It’s become popular with long-term tenants. We’ve seen a robust growth in work-from-home employees eager for a change of scenery.”
“But… it was our home. You let strangers stay there.” Her voice was flat.
I had to move on. Every part of that little corner of the former stables, lovingly referred to as the cottage, symbolized another time, a happy life he never expected to end. He’d known she’d be upset. She’d carefully chosen every item in the cottage, handcrafting many pieces and personalizing others to give the cottage a cheerful warmth that was hard to replicate. And that same joy taunted him in her absence. Without her, he needed cold and impersonal. He wanted factory standards. He didn’t want to feel. But how could he explain any of that without looking like a lovesick fool? Or that he only trusted a select handful of guests in the quarters. People he’d known for years. “I converted the rest of the building, too.”
“Is this why he added the stipulation about living onsite? Because you already do?”
He shrugged. Glad she’d moved on and offered him another answer. He’d forgotten the benefits inherent in her jumping to conclusions. She never looked too hard at reality. She never saw what he felt. “Have a good night. We’ll talk in the morning.”
She saluted him.
He turned and let himself out of the room, moving with quiet efficiency. He didn’t want to disturb the other guests. On wooden legs, he strode toward his apartment and shut the door.
Only a wall separated them. The distance was negligible to most. In his opinion, the space between them was vast. How could he be sure she was okay if he didn’t watch her?
His heartbeat thundered in his ears, and his arms hung limp and useless at his sides. He’d almost lost her forever in an accident. She was back and playing a dangerous game.
He had once again underestimated her. The only advantage he had left was the level to which she had never understood him. And the sleepless night that awaited him to figure out how to keep her safe.
Good thing he had laundry to tackle.
ChapterFour
Ashley stretched her arms overhead. Every inch of her body pressed into soft bedding. From her calves tangled up in a crisp duvet to her lower back arching against a pillow-topped mattress, she was either in a dream or in heaven. At the moment, she didn’t care which.
With a sigh, she opened her eyelids and stared at the ceiling. In the dark room, she couldn’t determine the color. But she was certain it would be the particular shade of off-white radiating with a dull yellow undertone used everywhere. She’d hated the color her whole life. The ceiling and trim in every room of the Inn used the same shade. In the hallways with chair rail molding, she couldn’t breathe. The overuse of the paint suffocated her, pushing down on her chest and collapsing her ability to make sense of depth. She had tripped through the corridors for years, racing too fast in search of blue sky and fresh air.
Now I can change it.
She smiled, shaking off the weight of childhood frustrations. A lot sucked about being an adult. But not the ability to make decisions and execute change. Or her husband’s caring nature. He’d lent her a shirt to sleep in. One of his stretched-out undershirts, paper thin from years of service, the V-neck was almost scandalously low.
Had he really done her laundry? She hoped so. After three rounds of shampoo, she hadn’t quite washed the stink of the fire out of her hair. If she wanted to leave the room without embarrassing herself and flashing too much skin, she needed her clothes.
Turning onto her side, she glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table in surprise. Seven A.M.? She didn’t voluntarily rise before eleven if she didn’t have a morning shift at the coffee shop.
She hadn’t slept so well in years. She must have actually achieved REM and enjoyed a restorative night. Which, all things considered, she probably didn’t deserve. She swung her legs out of the bed, leaving her crisp sheet cocoon and tiptoeing across the room.
At the window, she pushed back heavy drapes and wispy sheers. In the soft morning light, the sun burned off the morning dew on the grass, and steam rose from the lake. On its small island, the lighthouse was a fantastical fairytale-type setting, surrounded by a hazy fog.
From inside the Inn, she could hardly see the windows. Her great idea hadn’t been so well thought out. How on earth had he seen the lanterns and flames? Probably a miracle or…
She shivered, remembering the cold, clammy feeling on her skin. She hadn’t been entirely alone in the building. Christopher would accuse her of an overactive imagination if she told him. She would admit that had terrified herself with stories entirely devised in her imagination before. Last night was different.
The air had changed, becoming thick and still like gelatin. Ashley slowly suffocated under the awareness that she wasn’t alone. She’d only escaped when the flames snapped her out of her daze. She would have suffered serious smoke inhalation if she remained too much longer and would have frozen in the elements if the ghost hadn’t fetched help. Or had her rescue only been a fluke?
What would she have done if Christopher hadn’t come down? Anonymous call to the front desk as she walked the three miles in the dark to her car parked in the town lot near the boardwalk? Then slept in her car and shown up on the Inn’s doorstep a bedraggled, smoke-scented mess?
That would have been even worse and unavoidable. She had nowhere else to go.
From the safety of the room, the lighthouse looked the same as always. Guests would never realize last night had been so dramatic. She was sure she’d get an invoice if she’d done irreparable harm.
She might want to roll her eyes, but she couldn’t be mad. If the roles were reversed, she’d charge him for any damages incurred through unlawful habitation. On the positive side, the lighthouse remained intact and primed for renovation. It would be a perfect selfie spot, a hashtag haven. As long as the old haunts abandoned the spot…
Shutting the curtains, she retreated to the bed, pulling the duvet to her chin. She wasn’t sure her visceral response was fear. She worried her body was reacting to something she’d never quite shake.
