Page 15 of Love Takes A Tumble
"Tea?" Harrison asked as they stepped into the quiet lobby. "I think there's still some hot water in the carafe Elise set out earlier."
"That sounds perfect," Audrey nodded, looking more relaxed than he'd seen her since the boat ride.
The common room was empty, the other guests still enjoying the beach bonfire. A small lamp cast a warm glow over the comfortable seating area, and the embers in the fireplace still glowed with fading heat. Harrison busied himself preparing two mugs of tea while Audrey settled onto the small sofa, propping her ankle on a footstool.
"Thank you for your stories," she said as he handed her a steaming mug and took the seat beside her. "They'll help with my character, but..." She hesitated, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug. "It was more than research. I want you to know that."
Harrison nodded and felt something warm unfurl in his chest that had nothing to do with the tea. "Does your lighthouse keeper get a happy ending?"
Audrey considered this, her expression thoughtful in the low light. "I haven't decided yet. I thought he would remain alone, finding purpose in his solitude." Her eyes met his. "Now I'm not so sure."
"What changed?"
"Maybe I did," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Chapter Seven
Audrey's fingers flew across the keyboard, words pouring out with an ease she hadn't experienced in years. The lighthouse keeper's story was taking shape, his character deepening with each scene. No longer a flat silhouette, he'd become a man with wounds that had healed imperfectly, with a carefully constructed solitude that both protected and isolated him.
Just like someone else she was trying very hard not to think about.
She paused and read back the paragraph she'd just written:
Daniel watched the storm from the lighthouse tower, rain lashing against the glass as lightning split the sky. In his thirty years of firefighting, he'd learned that the most dangerous blazes often started with a single strike. Now, as keeper of the light, he still searched the horizon for danger. Only this time, he stood apart from it, warning others rather than rushing in himself.
With a groan, Audrey pushed away from her desk. It was happening again. Every time she tried to write her lighthouse keeper, Harrison's voice seemed to whisper in her ear, his stories coloring every scene. She'd spent three days working on thenovel, sequestered in her room except for meals, and somehow Harrison had followed her onto every page.
She paced to the window, her ankle now strong enough to bear weight for short periods. The view overlooked the garden, where morning sun filtered through oak branches. The same path she and Harrison had walked four nights ago, his hand steady beneath her elbow, his voice low as he shared stories she suspected few people had heard.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered. "You're confusing research with reality."
But was she? The memory of his fingers brushing against hers on the driftwood bench felt real enough. The way his eyes had sought hers across the quiet common room, warm with something that looked remarkably like longing.
Her phone chimed with a text message. Harrison.
Morning walk today? Ankle up to it?
Three days ago, her heart would have leapt at the invitation. Now, it sank beneath the weight of her fears. What was she doing? She was almost fifty, for heaven's sake. Too old for summer romances, too set in her ways for new beginnings. Too sensible to believe that someone like Harrison could truly be interested in someone like her, once the novelty wore off.
Rain check? Deep in writing mode today. Making good progress.
Her thumb hovered over the send button longer than it should have. Finally, she pressed it, watching the message bubble away, hating the relief that came with retreat.
By afternoon, restlessness drove her from her room. She made her way downstairs, hoping a change of scenery might clear her head.
"There you are," Miss Doris's voice startled her as she settled into the parlor window seat. The older woman stood in thedoorway, a plate of cookies in hand. "I was beginning to think you'd checked out without saying goodbye."
"I’ve been working," Audrey said, gesturing to her laptop. "The novel's coming along."
"Mmm." Miss Doris set the plate down. "And how's our firefighter?"
"My lighthouse keeper is developing nicely," Audrey replied, emphasizing the correction.
Miss Doris's knowing smile was almost unbearable. "That's not the one I meant, dear."
"I wouldn't know how Harrison is. I've been busy."
"I see." Miss Doris settled into the armchair opposite. "You know, fear is a funny thing. We think it protects us, keeps us safe from hurt. But mostly, it just keeps us from living."
