Page 36 of The Lightkeeper

“They really are amazing,” I chimed in softly. The memory ofhis drawings still hooked fast in my brain. The care he’d taken with them as though they were portraits.

“You’ve seen them?” Frankie asked.

My lips parted for a second. Was I not supposed to? No, probably not. They’d been behind the closed door of the bedroom.

“A few,” I mumbled, my heart picking up its pace. The last thing I wanted was his family to think it was a big deal—or for Kit to think I mentioned it on purpose.

“I want to see.”

“Here, I took photos because I’m deciding how to display them.” Lou took out her phone, opened to a photo, and handed it to her twin.

“Christ,” Kit grumbled, shaking his head and stabbing the food on his plate with a fork, clearly resigned to the conversation turning onto him.

“Oh my god, Kit.” Frankie gaped. “These are so cool.”

And then her phone made its way around the table.

I didn’t need to look. The artwork Kit had done of my specimens was fresh in my mind. Maybe it was because of the fever, but the more and more I thought about them, the more I was convinced it was because of him. Because I’d been so shocked that the coarse and callous man who continued to push me away had taken the time and care to capture something that was so important to me.

And now, I sat back and watched his whole family react to those images. Their wide eyes, gasps, and praise. The way they admired him and his talent was as bright as the beacon in the lighthouse. And Kit… the expression on his face was one of pure pain as though every compliment or look of pride was another twist of a knife.

I didn’t understand why, but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that I wanted to.

“I think the starfish is my favorite,” Frankie said while Jamie and his wife looked at the photos.

I pulled my lips between my teeth, determined not to say a word because it really wasn’t a big deal?—

“They aren’t fish.” A low voice that was distinctly not my own sounded from across the table.

My eyes snapped to Kit, and air barreled to the base of my lungs.

“What?” Frankie blinked.

My throat tightened.Oh no.

“Sea stars aren’t technically fish,” Kit explained with a low, tense voice, realizing he couldn’t take back what he’d said now. “They don’t have gills or fins, so scientifically they’re not fish, so they’re called sea stars, not starfish.”

It was irrational—illogical—no, it was most likely insane to be so affected by a simple fact. Except it wasn’t just a fact coming from Kit. It was proof that he’d not only listened to me blabbering on about something I cared about, but he cared enough to remember;he cared enough to now make it a point.

“But you call them whatever you want,” he muttered under his breath and dug back into his food as though he hoped everyone would just forget he’d said anything.

But they didn’t. Six sets of eyes moved in slow motion to me, staring as though I’d done something more to Kit than simply feed him facts.

“He’s right,” I said weakly. “Sea stars is the preferred name.”

There was a second or two of complete silence, and I had a sneak suspicion that it was a very rare occurrence in this family.

“And what about the other one with all the…” Frankie trailed off, using her fingers to mimic all the extensions of the nudibranch.

“That’s a sea snail,” Lou answered.

I nodded. “A bushy-backed nudibranch.”

A ripple of laughter went around the table, the tension of the last few minutes broken as I explained the name, what it meant, and why the little snail was so interesting.

“I wish I could have this info by the drawings somehow,” Lou mused out loud. “I think people would be so fascinated to learn a little about the subject of the drawing.”

“You could do a little card or something,” Frankie suggested. “Like underneath the frame.”

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