by Lena Maye
I wiggle a finger at him, and he laughs. So easily.
“What?” Sebastian asks, and Dean shakes his head.
“The Windmere Lighthouse,” Renee says ominously. She dances her fingers over the bar and flutters them up to the lights. “It’s supposed to be haunted by chain-rattling ghosts.”
“There aren’t any ghosts.” I tuck my arms around my chest. Going to the lighthouse in daylight is one thing. Going at night is another. “It’s just an old, mysterious lighthouse.”
“You okay?” Dean steps forward, and his fingers brush my shoulder.
When I nod, he steps back with his brother again. He was watching me that closely? I’m not even sure what bothered me. I’ve always loved the lighthouse. It stands at the edge of the Harborwalk, looking down on everything. Protecting everything, maybe.
“I bet there are ghosts.” Dev grins. “I believe in evil spirits.”
Renee wrinkles her nose. “No, you don’t. You aren’t the kind to believe in ghosts. I can sense it.” She turns to me and mouths knife. I’ll have to tell her my rolling pin theory later.
Dev’s gaze never leaves Renee. “Your sense is wrong. I wholeheartedly believe in ghosts.”
“Then prove it.” Renee tips her chin up. I know that look—she’s never going to back down now.
“Prove it?” Dev seems to contemplate this. He knocks on the bar with a huge fist. “How do you prove belief in ghosts?”
Renee scrunches her nose and drinks her beer—perhaps to give her a little time to come up with an answer.
“I would admit defeat on this one, Dev,” Dean says. “You’re in over your head.”
Dev points a finger at Dean. “I will not accept defeat. Even though I suspect you’re right.” He turns to Renee. “Tell me how to prove I believe in ghosts.”
“Um…” Renee glances at me and shrugs her shoulders.
“You’re scared of them,” I say. All eyes shift to me. “If you believe in ghosts, then you’re scared of them. At least a little.”
“My sister has a point.” Renee tosses her hair. “Anyone who really believes in ghosts—especially chain-rattling ghosts—has to be a little scared of them. And I can smell fear.”
Dev chuckles. “I’m man enough to be scared. Bring me to the ghosts.”
Oh, I know where this is heading.
“I vote we go.” Renee throws a hand up like she’s in elementary school.
Dev raises two fingers. “Dean? Sebastian?”
“I’m in.” Dean shrugs. “How can I pass up an evening being chained up by ghosts?”
“Ella?” Renee asks.
I nod and slip off my stool. Mitch keeps turning the music up, and it’ll be easier to ask Dean about his father if I can actually hear what he’s saying. That, and I want to experience this. Normalcy. Even if it’s fleeting.
20
Dean
“This isn’t going very well,” Dev says in a low tone as we step out onto the street. He nods toward Renee and Ella, who walk ahead of us. Sebastian strolls with them—telling them something about Colorado. It’s interesting that he’s avoided the subject almost entirely with me, but seems so at ease talking to them about it.
“I completely disagree.” I take in a deep breath of air, glad to be out of the cramped bar. The line of streetlights along the Harborwalk are just clicking on, making little clouds of light hang in the graying evening. Below, the water is calm, the slips silent. The only movement is a small flock of seagulls crouched on the far end of the dock, ruffing their feathers and squawking sporadically.
Then my gaze flicks to the beautiful curve of Ella’s hips, rounding out from her waist, and I pretty much forget to think for a long moment as I stare at her tight jeans. And, fuck, all parts of me respond. I thicken against my zipper, my thoughts immediately jumping to her in the ticket hut earlier today. The way she touched me. The way she became so alive.
Shit. I need to stop thinking about it. Or start wearing jeans whenever I’m around her. Chinos and board shorts don’t hide anything.
Dev shoves me in the shoulder, and I stumble a little. “Dude. You gonna answer the question?”
That helps my control, and I manage to take my attention off Ella.
“What question?” I ask him.
“Do you think Renee’s into me?” He slows his steps, maybe so they don’t overhear.
I shrug. “How should I know?” I hadn’t really been paying attention to anything except for Ella. Even when we were talking about my brother, I don’t think I looked at him once.
Dev barks out a laugh. “Yeah, you’re like a dog who can’t look away from his new ball.”
“Fuck, man.” I shake my head at him. “Can you not compare her to a dog toy?”
“It was just a joke. Ease up.” His forehead wrinkles. “But her sister’s an issue. Maybe I should flex more.”
“Dev—”
“I’m just kidding. You know I’m always full of it.”
I shove my hands in my pockets. “I don’t believe that at all. First chance you get, you’re going to start preening.”
He grins. “Hey, it’s not my fault that I’m the perfect male specimen. I’m telling you, it’s a burden sometimes.”
“Like if you can’t strut around flexing, you’ll implode?”
“You’re finally understanding me.”
Ahead of us, Sebastian starts up the staircase that leads up the hill toward the lighthouse, still talking easily with Ella and her sister. A cool breeze comes off the water, and the ends of Ella’s hair dance. With her hair pulled back, I can see the soft curve of her neck, and now I’m not sure which I like better—hair up or down. Both. All. Everything.
The sun hangs above the hills, spilling lower and casting a red glow over the white stones of the lighthouse. It’s something I’ve wanted to visit since moving back, but I hadn’t found the time yet. Historical stuff like this is endlessly fascinating to me. How people used to live back when the world was wood instead of metal. On those tall ships that set out toward things unknown.
It’s not like I would want to be one of those sailors. I have an affinity for showers and fresh water and women. But sometimes I wish that I could straddle both worlds. Or maybe just live in one where the sound of the wind is louder than the sound of a ringtone.
I follow them up the old stone staircase, noting the dark storm panes around the top of the lighthouse. I wonder how long it’s been since it was used. Maybe it could be renovated again. I pause, staring up at it. I’ve never worked on renovating anything like a lighthouse before. I probably don’t know the first thing about it, but damn, that would be cool.
Everyone else is halfway up the steps, and I hurry to catch up. They walk to the edge of the hill and look down to the water and where the sun reflects off the surface below.
I turn toward the lighthouse, pulled toward it by curiosity. There’s a gate around it, and a sign that says to keep out. But the gate is low. It wouldn’t require much to climb over it. The lower door is only a half door, and dark steps wind up behind it. Not exactly high security.
“I’ve always wondered what’s up there.” Ella stands next to me, her face shadowed with the dropping sun to our backs. Her voice is so musical, and I want to hear one of those little melodies she hums when she thinks no one is listening. But I can’t think of a non-awkward way to ask her to hum a song for me.
I nod toward the gate. “Let’s go.”
“It’s boarded up.”
“Not very well. If they really wanted to board it up, then they would. It’s almost like they want us to jump the fence.”
She bites her bottom lip, running it through her teeth. “Your logic doesn’t make any sense.” Her eyes narrow. “Unless that’s your evil coming out?”
“Maybe.” I break into a grin. She’s teasing me. And I fucking love it.
Her forehead wrinkles as she stares at the door. “What if it’s dangerous?”
“We’ll take it slow.”
&
nbsp; Those narrowed eyes widen on me at that. I’m not sure why, but it’s cute as hell.
“Okay,” she says slowly. “But you’ll have to help me over the first fence.”
I don’t waste any time. I cross to the fence and wait for Ella before she changes her mind, cradling my hands for her foot. Behind us, the others are staring down at the water, which means I might get a few minutes alone with her.
Ella steps into my palms, and I hoist her up, making sure she’s safely over the top and on the other side before I pull myself up and hop over. Once inside the gate, the door is easier, and she shimmies over without help.
The stairway winds up into darkness. Lit only by the last of the sunlight that’s coming through the door. I brush a foot over the wood floor. Carved names cover the stairs. Some deep and some shallow and worn with age.
“Apparently we aren’t the first to hop the fence.” My voice echoes up the small, twisting space.
Ella leans in and looks up to the top, and I’m about to do something entirely evil. I don’t even feel bad about it.
I gesture toward the stairs. “Ladies first.”
She smiles back at me and takes the first few steps, and I’m rewarded for my evil plan as those hips of hers sway when she starts to climb the steep steps. Damn, she’s stunning. And now that I’m looking, I can’t stop. It only gets worse when the steps deepen and she reaches forward to grab the railing, her jeans slipping down a little, revealing the top edge of a bluish-gray thong.
Low-rise jeans are made for a woman like this.
I follow her, musing about the exact color of her thong. My feet press into carved names. The record of people who have passed here before us. So much history trapped in one small space.
One of the steps creaks a rusty, aching sound, and Ella stops. My hands dart out, worried that she might fall. The step might crack. Something.
But the step holds, and she smiles. “A haunted lighthouse creak.”
She continues up, and now I’m glad I’m behind her for a different reason as well.
My weight on the creaky step makes an even louder sound. “We should be scared of the ghost hearing us.”
She glances back at me but keeps climbing. “Don’t tell me you believe in ghosts?”
“Always.” I follow behind her. Maybe the thong’s a green-blue. Aqua or something. “The sea is full of them. Spirits, hauntings, legends. Ghost ships.”
She keeps climbing, up the even narrower part of the nautilus, where the steps start to overlap each other.
“My favorite is the Mary Celeste.” I climb slowly behind her, watching to make sure she doesn’t slip. “She left New York in 1872 and one month later was discovered in the Atlantic under partial sail with her crew gone. And in 150 years, no one has ever figured out how they disappeared.”
“There has to be an explanation.” She pauses ahead of me.
“Why does there have to be an explanation?”
She turns and looks down at me, her face shadowed in the dark. “There’s always an explanation.”
My lips twitch into a smile. “Perhaps the explanation is that there isn’t one.”
She considers this a moment before turning and resuming the climb. “Tell me another.”
“There’s a ghost who screams.” My voice echoes against the stone walls, and I lower it so I don’t hurt her ears. “Just off Copenhagen. Screams that echo off the cliffs. Records of it go back a hundred years.”
“Have you ever heard it?”
“Not yet.” The swirl of stairs levels out to a walkway around the lantern. A fence wraps the small walkway. Ella stops in front of the black metal, looking down at the water. The sun has mostly set now, but the others still stand below us. The rhythm of their voices carries up to us. In the harbor, the masts of the Heroine extend up like a beacon. But my eyes don’t focus on it. I scan farther out to the quiet water.
“Not yet?” She turns toward me. A strand of hair escapes from her ponytail and blows across her cheek. “I thought sailors are well traveled.”
“That’s the plan.” My fingers curl around the cool metal. “Although Copenhagen wasn’t on my circumnavigation plan.”
“You have a plan?” Both her eyebrows rise.
“I did,” I admit and smooth a foot over the wood floor. Still covered in names, but they are much fainter here, probably worn by time and weather. Maybe we should carve our names here with everyone else’s. Although I’m not sure Ella and I are ready for the part where we put our names together in a heart.
Are we?
Fuck, maybe I am. Let’s face it. I want to know everything about her. One thought of her touching me, and my dick’s straining against my zipper. Again. I went into an underground bar without complaint, which is just about the most claustrophobic place I can imagine. I haven’t stopped thinking about her since she came down to the dock that first morning I met her. Or re-met her. It’s like she wasn’t the only one who came alive in that ticket hut. I liked her before, but things are shifting now. Moving past curiosity and onto something stronger.
Her forehead wrinkles. Shit, I’ve been silent too long.
“I, um.” What were we talking about? “I was figuring out the route when I heard that I’d need to run the charter for the season.”
“Oh.” She considers this. I’m not sure if she hears the weight to my words. But I suddenly want her to hear it. I want to tell her about it, I guess.
“I had a small yacht.” I wrap my knuckles against the metal railing, and the sound seems too loud compared to our quiet voices. “Good for solo sailing. I was going to take her around.”
“Around?” She shakes her head. Her fingers move to the railing only a few inches from mine. It’s not like I’m tracking the distance exactly, but I slide my hand closer. Because that couldn’t hurt. And in the dim light, she looks fucking amazing. Her eyes are even darker than usual in the last shadows of dusk. Her full lips are slightly parted. I’m loving these few moments alone with her. Where she doesn’t look like she wants to run at all. And she’s asking questions about me.
I can’t explain how good that feels. I didn’t even realize how long it had been since I really talked to a woman. Usually it’s more me asking them a few questions, buying a drink or two, and then, well, that’s usually the end of the talking.
But Ella just keeps looking up at me, waiting for me to answer the question. Like she’s actually listening to what I’m saying.
“Around the world,” I explain. “The southern route. No Copenhagen.”
She nods back toward the harbor. “Is the little yacht down there?”
“No.” I glance there too and the place where the Neverland would have been. “I sold her.”
Her bottom lip pushes out. “And then you took over the Heroine from your father?”
Tension rushes across my shoulders before I can stop it. But I try to push it aside to focus on her. I just want to stay here, in this moment. Get back on the topic of circumnavigating and find out something about her.
“Yes,” I say. “Maybe in another few seasons, I’ll buy a second boat.”
“You can’t take the Heroine around?”
I shake my head. “I never saw myself doing it with a crew. Not just because of the money, but...” I shrug. “I guess I always pictured myself doing it alone.”
“Oh.” She glances down at the railing.
Is that disappointment?
“You live on the Heroine right now?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“With Sebastian?”
I nod.
She takes a sharp breath. “And your father? He stays somewhere else?”
Fuck. I don’t want to be back to this conversation. Why’d she bring him up again? “He’s in that facility over on Becham Road. Listen, I’m sorry. Can we talk about something else?”
Her gaze flicks over my face. And there’s about a million questions in it, but I don’t want to answer a single one right now. Not when I’m lucky enough
to be standing alone with her. I don’t want to talk about my asshole of a father.
And then her face hardens like she’s made a decision. “Can I see it?”
I blink. “See what?”
“You sailing.”
Oh, hell, yes. I have to stop myself from climbing back down the stairs and arranging that right fucking now. But I’m definitely not about to end this moment up here either. Especially as another cool wind blows around us and she steps closer to me.
“Charter’s booked this whole week,” I admit. The rush of tourists starting, and even though it comes with a bit of dread, I couldn’t be happier about booking out for the week so quickly.
“Oh, okay.” That bottom lip pushes out again. Can I admit that I love she’s disappointed? Maybe all the running… I don’t know. Maybe we can step past whatever that was.
“Sebastian’s got some friends coming in from out of town next week.” I inch forward, wondering if she notices. “Not sure when exactly, but we’re planning to take her out for the day. No tourists. You could come?”
She bites her lip. “I’d have to go into the bakery first.”
“Yeah, that’s fine. I doubt we’d be up early anyway.” And, well, we’ll wait all day until she’s ready to go. “Renee’s invited too, of course.”
“Okay.” She lets out a breath, like she’s been holding it. “I’ll ask her.”
I’ve got the biggest, fattest grin on my face. I’m pretty sure the thing might permanently deform my jaw if I let it go on much longer. But I really don’t care. The only thing that could erase this is…
And now I’m staring at her lips. I really should have worn those jeans.
She glances down. At my shoes thankfully. She’s always looking at my shoes. I planned for that, actually, and found some Converse low tops in the back of my closet. With all the running I have to keep doing after her, I figured that laces were a better option than my usual dock shoes or flip-flops.
“What can you tell me about this lighthouse ghost?” I ask.
She shrugs, still looking down. “It’s not a ghost so much as a story.”
The toe of her shoe traces the names and disconnected letters under our feet. Some are carved deeper than others, as if fighting to be remembered.