Page 95 of The Lightkeeper

“I love you, sea star,” he murmured, trailing kisses over my cheek and onto my neck.

“I love you, too.” I sighed, perfectly willing to admit that the best thing to come out of my education wasn’t this degree but him. “I have to tell my dad,” I said as soon as the thought hit me.

“Let’s tell him and my family together,” he suggested.

I smiled. “That’s a great idea.”

“You know what’s really great about it?” He slid his arms around my waist, his hands drifting lower to grip my ass.

I hummed, letting him pull me hard to him as he kissed up my neck. “What?”

“That dinner time isn’t for another three hours, so we have plenty of time to celebrateprivatelybefore I have to share.”

We celebrated there—in his studio. Then again in the truck. And finally, once more, back at the lighthouse, surrounded by light and color and laughter and love.

Epilogue

Kit

One year later…

“We can always stay,” I murmured, coming up behind my wife and clasping her shoulders. I pressed a kiss to the top of her head as she stared out the windows of the lantern room, the sunset like a toppled paint can of burnt reds and oranges.

For a decade, I’d been in… hibernation, or so I liked to think of it. Sleeping through life in the dark. In solitude. Until Aurora’s sunshine woke me up. And I’d lived the last year making up for the time I was gone.

There was still darkness and panic and fear—but there always would be.That was the point. There was no hiding or escaping or sheltering from darkness. The only way to eradicate it was through understanding.Through light. So, I brought as much light into my world as I could.

I proposed to Aurora a month after Lou caught us in thegallery that day, and we were married three weeks later at the lighthouse in front of our family and friends. I wore my uniform, and Aurora had seashells in her hair, and I swore to love her until the day the sun stopped rising.

And tonight… tonight was our last night in the lighthouse. Tomorrow, we moved into our new home—an old farmhouse attached to a barn that was both close to town and close to Mom’s yet far enough away for us to enjoy our quiet moments like we did here.

“I think about it sometimes,” she murmured as she turned, her stomach protruding between us. “Staying here.”

My hands slid down the swell. “We can’t raise a baby at a lighthouse.”

Her full lips quirked. “It could be an experiment.”

I laughed low.This woman. My woman.“I think we have plenty of those going right now,” I murmured and pressed a kiss to her lips.

In four months, we would be parents. Between now and then, we’d move into a new home, and the lighthouse would be turned into an environmental education center with Aurora and her father at its helm.

“We do.” She sighed and angled her head for another kiss, which I happily obliged. “I love you.”

My chest swelled. “I love you too, my light.” And then I kissed her again. Deeper this time. Unable to stop myself from wanting her—wanting to lose myself in her again.

Sometimes, I still pulled out that label and stared at Gigi’s handwriting. I’d thought the day Aurora came back to Friendship for me was the day I’d finally caught her. But every day since, I realized I was wrong.

Chasing Dawn.

I was always chasing her. Chasing her smiles. Chasing her laughter. Chasing her thoughts. Chasing her light. Love wasn’tabout finding what you were looking for, it was about fighting for it. So every day, I fought for her. For my family. For us.

I would forever be the chaser of her light.

“Where are you going?” she asked when I tried to lead her to the stairwell.

“Downstairs,” I said, even as I caught the way her eyes darkened as she stepped closer and lowered her other hand to the front of my pants. I groaned. “You’re playing with fire, sea star.” I cupped her face and lowered my head. “Let me take you to bed and worship you where you’ll be comfy.”

Her response was only to stroke my dick more firmly. “I don’t want comfy, Kit. I want your cock.”

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