Page 19 of Love Takes A Tumble
She remembered the night on the beach after the bonfire, the way Harrison had spoken about his career ending, about losing his sense of purpose. She'd recognized herself in his words. The struggle to redefine yourself when everything that had shaped your identity was suddenly gone.
And then there was the boat tour, the moment when he'd brushed that strand of hair from her face, his touch so gentle it had nearly brought tears to her eyes. She'd pulled away not because she didn't want his touch, but because she wanted it too much.
"I'm afraid," she whispered, the admission finally breaking free. "I've spent my whole adult life being needed by someone who could never truly see me. What if I'm confusing kindness for something deeper? What if I'm clinging to the first person who's paid attention to me in years?"
"Is that what you truly believe?" Miss Doris asked. "That his feelings—and yours—are that shallow?"
Audrey remembered the look in Harrison's eyes when he'd confronted her yesterday. The hurt, yes, but also the certainty. The rawness of his admission.
"No," she admitted. "But I'm still afraid."
"Of course you are." Miss Doris's hand came to rest on her shoulder. "Love is terrifying at any age. Especially when we've spent years building walls to protect ourselves."
"What if it doesn't work? What if he does leave eventually?"
"What if he doesn't?" Miss Doris countered. "What if this is the beginning of something wonderful? Are you really willing to sacrifice that possibility because you're afraid of the pain that might come with it?"
Audrey looked up at the older woman, at the wisdom in her eyes that spoke of experiences both bitter and sweet. "He's already gone."
"Charleston isn't the moon, dear. It's a two-hour drive." Miss Doris moved toward the door. "The question is, what are you going to do about it?"
After she left, Audrey sat motionless, Miss Doris's words echoing in her mind. The walls she'd built around her heart hadn't protected her from pain. They'd only kept her from experiencing anything fully, good or bad. She'd come to Palmar Island to find herself, but perhaps finding herself meant discovering she didn't want to be alone anymore.
Her gaze fell on a piece of driftwood she'd brought back from the beach, now sitting on her windowsill. The thing that had caused her fall. The thing that had brought Harrison into her life.
Slowly, she turned back to her laptop, to the scene she'd been struggling with for days. The moment when her lighthouse keeper had to decide whether to remain in his solitary tower or risk venturing back into the world he'd left behind.
Her fingers began to move across the keys, words flowing as the scene unfolded. Not the ending she'd originally planned, but the one she now realized was inevitable.
Daniel stood at the railing, watching the ship approach. For years, he'd been content to guide others from a distance, to be the light that showed the way without ever joining the journey. But as he watched her ship draw nearer, he realized with sudden clarity that some journeys couldn't be made alone. That sometimes, the bravest thing wasn't staying at your post, but daring to leave it behind for something uncertain but infinitely more real.
She continued typing, scene unfolding into scene as her lighthouse keeper left his tower, choosing connection over isolation, possibility over fear. When she finally typed the last sentence, she sat back, a strange sense of lightness filling her chest.
The realization came with perfect clarity. She'd been so focused on finding herself after a lifetime of caring for others that she'd forgotten one essential truth. Finding yourself sometimes meant finding your way to someone else.
Her lighthouse keeper had found his courage. It was time she found hers.
With sudden determination, she reached for her phone, scrolling through her brief list of contacts until she found Harrison's number. Her thumb hovered over it for a moment, then moved to text instead. Some things were better said in person.
Where are you staying in Charleston?she typed, then backspaced. Too demanding.
I need to talk to you.She deleted that too. Too vague.
Finally, she settled on the truth:
I was wrong. I'm scared, but I don't want you to go. Can we talk?
She pressed send before she could change her mind, her heart pounding as she watched the message delivered. One minute passed. Two. No response.
Maybe he'd turned off his phone. Maybe he didn't want to hear from her. Maybe it was already too late.
Chapter Ten
Harrison drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, the familiar curve of the Pelican Inn's driveway coming into view. Two hours of driving toward Charleston—and another two hours back—had given him plenty of time to think, but little clarity. One thing he knew for certain. Leaving without a proper goodbye had been a mistake. Whether or not Audrey wanted more between them, they deserved a better ending than angry words and a hasty retreat.
The afternoon sun filtered through the oak branches as he parked and cut the engine. For a moment, he just sat there, trying to gather his thoughts. What would he say to her? What could he say that he hadn't already said?
With a deep breath, he stepped out of the truck and made his way toward the inn. The wraparound porch welcomed him like an old friend as he climbed the steps, the wood creaking familiarly beneath his feet. He'd just reached the top step when the screen door swung open.
