Page 89 of Your Last First Kiss
I don’t have a response to that, so I follow him into the lighthouse, and up the spiral stairs, wondering again how Remy gets up and down these every day.
If he hadn’t left the TAC early, I would have come with him. One of these days, I need to see if he’s in any danger climbing these stairs multiple times a day.
“Rem? We’re here,” Miller calls out as we reach the top.
Remy is at the window with binoculars pressed to his face. This seems to be the only place he sits.
Curiosity gets the best of me. “What do you watch up here?”
The old man doesn’t turn to us, but he answers in a voice gruff with age and wisdom. “It’s huntin’ season. I’m making sure those damn Brandt assholes don’t try killin’ my wildlife again. This is a protected area. Protected by me for over fifty years. And now it’ll be protected by you. It’s all in the paperwork.”
For the second time, I try to imagine myself sitting up here, watching for hunters, and almost laugh. I think I can fall back on my security company training for this one and install cameras and sensors throughout the property.
He finally spins on his stool to face me. His face is wrinkled with age, but he’s spry for as old as he is, and his eyes tell of more stories than I can fathom. He’s also still wearing the jeans with duct tape, and I wonder if I should buy him some new ones until the cash transfer hits his account.
Remy misses nothing, though. “See that pile over there?” He points to a shelf overflowing with denim.
“Yeah,” I reply.
Miller laughs. “Those are all the clothes we’ve bought him over the years for birthdays, Christmas, Father’s Day, you name it. They all have tags on them still.”
Tilting my head, I wait for an explanation.
“There isn’t anything wrong with these, champ. You youngsters are wasteful, but in my day, you wore things until there was nothing left.”
I cross my arms over my chest, and a smile slides across my face as I wait for him to continue. It’s been a long time since I’ve been called “champ.” Or young. Yet he does it every time he sees me.
“Arrogant too,” Remy mutters, and I widen my eyes in surprise. He holds nothing back. “Why would I wear a new pair every day when some folks come through here with nothing but the shirt on their backs? The whole world needs to think of others a little more than they think of themselves. Imagine the difference it would make.”
I nod, and he turns his attention to Miller. “Did you agree?”
“To what?” he asks. His eyes roam between Remy and me.
“I didn’t have a chance to tell him yet,” I say.
“Well, get to it then. I don’t have all day. I don’t want to end up on the wrong side of the grass before we get you squared away.”
Miller and I chuckle because he literally does have all day, and the more I get to know him, the more I realize he’s stubborn enough to outlive us all.
Remy taps the window behind him with his binoculars and gives the universal sign to wrap it up with his finger.
Miller laughs even harder when he sees my expression. But as soon as I take a deep breath, the laughter dies on his lips, like the last leaf on a maple tree.
“I need your help,” I admit. It was harder to say those words than I care to admit. Growing up, I had Ashton’s brothers and the rest of their family. As an adult, I learned to watch my own back.
I’m not used to needing anyone.
“So I gathered.” Miller sighs and flops down onto the sofa. Remy perches like a bird, watching closely for his turn to step in.
“What are you asking of me?” Miller looks around the room nervously.
“You know the town, the people,” Remy answers before I can. “You gotta help him get the votes.”
“More than that,” I say. “I need you full-time. It seems Ashton is willing to put money in but can’t commit his time. I can put the money in, and I have the time, but I can’t do this on my own. Not the scope of work we all have in mind.”
Miller drags a hand through his hair. “You know I love this place, but I have Izzy. I can’t leave the school gig. I need the insurance.”
“Done,” I say and widen my stance. With my arms still crossed over my chest, the first beads of nervous perspiration cause my shirt to cling to me. I really can’t do this without him. Miller stands to face me and adopts a similar pose. “What else?”
