Page 6 of The Lightkeeper

“The what?”

I ignored him and carefully peeled open my fingers. The peach-colored mollusk curled in my palm, its tendrils a little squished but otherwise no worse for the wear. Slowly, I watched its condensed form unfurl, awed as the speckled maroon edge transitioned to the soft pink.

“You’re okay, little guy,” I breathed, my fear allayed.

“Are you fuc—are you kidding me?” The low demand claimed my attention as it finished with a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl.

My head tilted, and I blinked. I’d never heard a man growl before. The sound was deep. Rough.Powerful.Like salt water rushing over large, craggy rocks. I wouldn’t have thought the idea of it appealing, but the goose bumps that ran over my skin and the heat that charged low in my stomach told a different story. All because of a growl.Interesting.

“You almost died for a damned sea slug?” the giant grunted.

“I didn’t almost die.” I waved off his concern. “I just lost my balance a little, that’s all.”

“A little?” he gaped. “I just had to save you from falling into the damned ocean.”

Goodness, he was grumpy.I huffed and pushed my glasses higher on my nose, though his displeasure was already crystal clear. “Well, I wouldn’t have needed saving if you hadn’t startled me.”

“Me?” His head cranked to the side, the muscles in his jaw tensing and releasing in a way that reminded me of how the waves crashed and retreated on the shore. An endless cycle of power. “You shouldn’t be out here alone—you shouldn’t be out here.”

I waved my free hand in front of me. “I absolutely should be out here. I can’t do my job anywhere else but out here?—”

“Your job?” he croaked. “Who are you?”

I tipped my head and did a more thorough assessment of thegrumpy piece of granite interrogating me. Worn, dark jeans rose from his weathered work boots and molded to his thighs with the same precise adaptation as green algae on the surface of ocean rocks. His sweater, I would venture to say fit the same, but it was hard to tell with the large brown jacket he had on. All I knew for certain was that his chest was as broad as the jacket hinted, and that was only because I had first-hand experience pressed against it. Very broad. And warm.

I shivered. Why was I shivering? Why was I hot?

Why was I shivering and hot?

“Who are you?” I returned, noting the tendrils of dark brown hair that peeked out from the brim of his cap and pressed to his neck.

There were muscles there, too. Ones that pulsed every time his jaw flexed—which was quite frequently.Fascinating. I’d never seen such an active muscle on a man before. Then again, I couldn’t recall ever meeting a man who seemed to have as many muscles as this one did.

To be fair, I spent the majority of my time either in a textbook or in the lab. Though some might argue men were spineless, they weren’t technically in any of the taxonomic phyla of invertebrates and therefore distinctly outside my educational purview.

“I’m the lighthouse keeper.”

My mouth formed a small “o,” seeing him in a whole new light. I was told about a keeper—a Mr. Kinkade, but I’d never imagined he’d be…this. He wasn’t what I envisioned, yet… my head tipped in the other direction. He fit perfectly into the persona. He stood just as mighty and weathered and… solitary as the tower that rose next to us. It made me wonder what storms he’d faced to make him so.

Not your business, Aurora.

“I’m Aurora Cross.” I extended my free hand and offered him mybiggest smile.

He looked down at my outstretched fingers and then back up, his expression blank as he rumbled, “What are you doing traipsing around my lighthouse, Miss Cross?”

My brow creased.Did he really not know?Maybe they just hadn’t given him my name; that had to be it.“I’m not traipsing. I’m researching.”

Still no sign of recognition.

“I’m here to study coastal invertebrates for the semester to complete my master’s in marine biology.”

I was used to being stared at. It was a common occurrence for the majority of my twenty-three years of life. I was short and happily plump—I got that from Mom—and I spoke my mind without worrying what other people thought—and that was from Dad. On top of that, from the time I was young, I wore big, round glasses because contacts irritated my eyes, and I was the only girl in my class who loved snails and slugs and all things slimy.

I used to wonder sometimes if my parents encouraged my love of science too much. They were both scientists and nature enthusiasts themselves, so we were always studying one creature or another. Sometimes, I thought maybe they’d nurtured a part of me that wastoo much, but then they reminded me of the alternative, and that seemed far more horrifying. So, I’d grown accustomed to the stares—like any of my hundreds of specimens under the microscope; people looked because they didn’t understand me, and that was okay.What was the purpose of life if not to learn more about the things we didn’t understand?

But the way Mr. Kinkade stared was unlike any other stare I’d gotten before. It made my skin prickle and my heart quiver. It made me feel different, not because he looked to understand who I was but because he saw me and already knew.

Impossible. I blinked rapidly.

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