Page 13 of Love Takes A Tumble
Harrison took a long pull from his beer, neither confirming nor denying the observation. What could he say? That he couldn't stop thinking about the way Audrey's eyes had reflected the moonbeam on their return from the lighthouse? That he'd lain awake half the night replaying that moment when she'd pulled away, wondering what he'd done wrong?
"Not sure what 'it' is," he said finally. "Or if it even matters. I'm leaving soon anyway."
"Are you?" Jacob's question was gentle but direct. "Because it seems to me you keep finding reasons to stay."
Before Harrison could formulate a response, a murmur of greetings drew his attention back to the path. Audrey stood at the edge of the firelight, her crutches abandoned in favor of a simple walking cane. She wore a light sweater over loose linen pants, her hair pulled back in a soft knot at the nape of her neck. Simple, practical. Yet something about the way the firelight caught the curves of her face made his breath catch.
Elise immediately went to greet her, guiding her to an empty chair that was conveniently located directly across the fire from Harrison. He resisted the urge to immediately go to her, to help her settle, to make sure she was comfortable. Instead, he raised his bottle in a silent greeting when her eyes found his.
She nodded in acknowledgment, but quickly turned her attention to Miss Doris, who was offering her a plate of something that looked delicious. The distance between them felt wider than the circle of sand and fire that separated them physically.
"Give her time," Jacob murmured, clapping him on the shoulder before moving away to help Elise distribute drinks.
The evening progressed with the easy rhythm of casual gathering. Conversations ebbed and flowed. Laughter punctuated the sound of waves. But Harrison remained acutely aware of Audrey across the flames, of how she participated in thegroup's discussion but avoided direct engagement with him. Her walls were up, higher than before.
"Marshmallows!" Elise announced, producing a bag and several long roasting sticks. "No bonfire is complete without them."
As the treats were passed around, Harrison found himself caught in an unwelcome memory of his ex-wife and his daughter at a similar beach fire years ago. Before everything had fallen apart. Before the job had consumed him. And before the missed birthdays and canceled anniversaries had built a wall between them that even he, with all his rescue training, couldn't breach.
"Penny for your thoughts," Miss Doris said, settling into the chair beside him with a grace that belied her years. "You look like a man solving the problems of the universe."
"Just remembering," he replied.
"Ah." She nodded as if he'd said much more. "The past has its place, but it makes a terrible compass, dear. You can't navigate forward while staring back."
Harrison smiled despite himself. "You never run out of metaphors, do you?"
"Life provides an endless supply." Her shrewd eyes moved to Audrey, then back to him. "She's scared, you know. Not of you. Of what you represent."
"And what's that?"
"The possibility of a future different from the one she's planned." Miss Doris patted his arm before rising. "Much like someone else I know."
As she moved away, Harrison's gaze drifted back to Audrey. The firelight softened her features, made her look younger, more vulnerable. As if sensing his attention, she glanced up, meeting his eyes across the flames. For a brief moment, the wariness in her expression gave way to something softer, more uncertain.
Then Jacob began strumming a guitar, breaking the moment as conversation shifted to requests for songs. Harrison found himself drawn into the music despite his preoccupation, joining in on a chorus he hadn't realized he remembered. Across the fire, Audrey remained quiet, watching, but there was a wistfulness in her expression that hadn't been there before.
When the song ended, she rose carefully, using her cane for support. "I think I'll head back," she announced to no one in particular. "My ankle's had enough excitement for one evening."
"I'll walk you," Elise offered immediately.
"No need," Audrey said with a smile. "I'm getting quite proficient with this." She waggled her cane. "Besides, I wouldn't want to pull you away from your hosting duties."
Before Harrison could offer, Jacob caught his eye and gave a subtle shake of his head. The message was clear: Let her go. Let her come to you.
It went against every instinct Harrison possessed to watch her make her way back toward the inn alone, her solitary figure silhouetted against the moonlit path. But he remained where he was, nursing his beer, joining halfheartedly in another song. Watched her pause and turn around.
"Harrison?" she called, her voice carrying just enough to reach him over the music. "Could I ask you something? About firefighting?"
The conversation around the fire continued, but Harrison set his beer down immediately. "Of course," he said, rising from his seat.
Jacob gave him an encouraging nod as he made his way around the circle toward Audrey. The sand shifted beneath his feet as he approached her, standing at the edge of the firelight.
"Everything okay?" he asked, stopping beside her.
"I've hit a wall with my novel," she admitted, her voice carrying a note of frustration. "My lighthouse keeper was afirefighter in his earlier life, before taking the solitary post. But I've never—" She gestured vaguely. "I don't know how to write it authentically. What it feels like to run toward danger while everyone else runs away."
"Want to walk while we talk?" he offered, gesturing toward the shoreline where moonlight danced across gentle waves.
