It reminded me of Willowbrook in some ways. It had that small-town feel where everyone seemed to know everyone. But different too. Saltier air. Brighter colors. The constant sound of seagulls and waves.
“That’s my studio,” Leigh said, pointing to a storefront. “Pierce Photography.”
I saw the sign, the professional-looking window display with framed photos. This wasn’t some small operation. This was a real business.
“We’ll come back tomorrow,” she said. “I want to show you inside properly. But first, the lighthouse.”
She directed me through a few turns, and then we pulled up to a white lighthouse that had clearly been converted.
“Wren lives here,” Leigh explained as we got out. “We used to spend so much time on this beach when we were kids and Wren always loved this lighthouse. It was almost inevitable that she would live here. I moved in after she finished fixing it up.”
“Why?”
She grabbed her bag from the back seat. “Because she needed someone. I’d noticed that she was leaving less and less, and I wanted to make sure she was okay.”
We climbed the steps to the door of the lighthouse, and I could hear music playing from inside. Something indie and melancholy. The view from here was incredible. I’m not sure I’d want to leave if I lived here either.
Leigh knocked on the door as she opened it. “Wren! I’m here!”
The music turned off, and a woman appeared.
Wren was exactly what I’d expected. Late twenties, with curly brown hair pulled into a messy bun, wearing paint-stained jeans and an oversized sweater. She had the kind of face that looked like it smiled a lot, but right now, there was something sad in her eyes.
“You’re here!” She pulled Leigh into a hug, then turned to me. “And you must be the famous Dex.”
“That’s me.”
“Come in, come in.” She stepped back, ushering us inside.
The lighthouse was stunning. Circular, with windows all around providing panoramic ocean views. The walls were covered in art—paintings, photographs, sketches. Books were stacked everywhere. And weaving between the furniture were two cats.
“That’s Pixel,” Wren said, pointing to a black and white cat. “And that’s Aperture.” An orange tabby.
“Photography-themed cats?” I said.
“Obviously.” Leigh crouched down, and both cats immediately ran to her, purring and rubbing against her legs. “Hey, babies. Did you miss me?”
“They’ve been moping,” Wren said. “They know something’s up.”
I watched Leigh with the cats, the easy affection, the way they clearly adored her. She’d been living here. This was her space too.
“So,” Wren said, studying me. “What do you think of Blue Point Bay so far? Good enough to move here?”
“That’s the plan.”
“And you fix cars?”
“I do.”
“We could use a good mechanic in town. The current guy is sixty-five and keeps threatening to retire.” She paused. “But that’s not why you’re here, is it?”
“No. I’m here for Leigh.”
“Good answer.” She smiled, and for a moment, the sadness lifted. “I like you. You can stay.”
“I didn’t realize I needed your approval.”
“You absolutely do. I’m the best friend. My approval is mandatory.”
