Page 7 of The Lightkeeper

“You’re… studying… here?”

“For the semester.” My head bobbed. “I did speak with Jason already, and he mentioned you. He said he was going to tell you about me—about my project.”

“Researching?” There was that rumbly growl again. “That’s what you call risking your life for some sea worm?”

“Okay, first off, we’ve already determined I wasn’t risking my life. I was entirely stable until you showed up. And second,Dendronotus frondosusisn’t just some sea worm,” I declared, affronted for my little squishy friend.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me? Because it sounds like some made-up Harry Potter spell.”

“Made up—” I shook my head, but admittedly, had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop a small laugh from escaping; the Latin classification did make it sound a little fantastical. “It’s not made up at all. Maybe you’ve heard of Frond eolis?” I asked, rattling off another more common name for the snail.

“No—”

“Bushy-backed nudibranch?”

“No—” He choked. “Bushy-what now?” The stoicism of his expression broke so completely that my smile couldn’t help but coil higher.

And I couldn’t help but repeat myself.

“Bushy-backed nudibranch.” I took another step closer to him, watching the way his arms lifted just a little like he expected me to fall again. Grumpy but chivalrous. “See?” I extended my palm so he could look at the colorful creature. “Bushy-backed because of all its tree-like arms. This little guy has six. Sometimes they can have up to nine.” I tipped and tilted my hand so that the little tendrils moved and swayed. “It’s because of their little branches that it’s easy to mistake them for algae or seaweed.”

I loved biology. Ecology. I loved all the ologies that gave us a better understanding of the world around us. How everythingwas connected. How the tiniest sea snail affected the environment as expansive as the ocean.

How all of us, even down to a frilly colorful sea snail, tried to fit in.

“Miss Cross?—”

“Nudibranch is the suborder of its taxonomy,” I went on, wanting him to understand, too. Maybe then he’d understand why this little guy was so important.And maybe then he wouldn’t be scowling at me the way he was.

From a distance, the scruff of his short beard hid the details of his face, but up close, I could follow the sharp edge of his jawline and the firm bow of his lips. The bob of his Adam’s apple drew my attention down the thick column of his throat. A nice throat that led to an even nicer chest that I couldn’t help but observe because that was what I did all day, every day. I observed specimens in their natural habitats.And now, I observed him.

A lightkeeper in his lighthouse. Broad and strong but weather-worn. Steady and protective. Cautious and warning. I wondered what the pulse on his neck would feel like under my fingers. What the ridges of his chest looked like underneath his shirt.I inhaled sharply, heat oozing through my veins.Had the temperature risen out here? A heat wave in the beginning of March?

“It sounds like nude because he’s naked—I mean, without a shell like most sea snails. Or any male—snailreally.”

Oh my.My eyes went wide—probably even wider to him through my glasses. What was I thinking?Mr. Kinkade wasn’t a specimen. I couldn’t be wondering what he looked like without his shell.But how could any woman not wonder about the big, burly man with shadows in his eyes? I sank my attention back to thesnailin my palm, my eyelids fluttering like they could dust off the pink embarrassment in my cheeks.

“They’re also called the shaggy tree snail.”

“You couldn’t lead with that?” He folded his broad arms over his chest.

I shrugged. “A nudibranch by any other name would still be?—”

“Unbelievable.” He shook his head and wiped his hand over his mouth in frustration. “How long are you here for, Miss Cross?” Even though I’d already told him, he asked as though hoping this time I’d give a different answer.

“The rest of the semester—ten weeks or so,” I repeated. “Did they not tell you?”

He let out a sound of displeasure and then spun on his heel.

“Wait, Mr. Kinkade—” I huffed when he didn’t stop.Rude.Turning, I quickly replaced the tree snail back into one of the tide pools and trudged after him, waddling over the rocks as quickly as I could.

I wanted to let him know that I didn’t need a lot of space—I’d set up my stuff on a desk inside the cottage, but I could easily move it if it was in his way. Laptop. Camera. Notepad. Specimen containers. Textbooks. It was a fair amount of stuff, but I could move it to the kitchen if he needed the desk; judging by the sparse shelves and empty fridge, it didn’t seem like the kitchen got much use anyway, so maybe that would be better.

“Mr. Kinkade!” I called, watching him disappear inside the house.

We’d clearly gotten off on the wrong foot, and I wanted to remedy that. I didn’t know how much time he spent at the lighthouse each day, but the last thing I needed was to be on bad terms with the man I would be sharing a working environment with for the next ten weeks.

My rubber boots tripped me up when I reached the flat gravel path; they were made for wading, not chasing. I unhooked the clips of my waders at the entrance to the cottage and began to finagle myself out of the cumbersome attire.They were such a pain to get out of—especially in a hurry. One socked foot landed on the entryway as I grabbed the door handle, swinging it open as I hopped and swung my other leg free.

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