For a long moment they just stood there. When Daniel reached for her, she didn’t resist. He held her, not too tight, and let her decide whether to cry or scream.
She did neither. Instead, she tucked her head into the hollow of his shoulder and let her lungs fill with the clean, damp smell of him, the hint of dryer sheet and the ghost of his aftershave. He stroked her hair, slow and careful. For a while, Daniel said nothing, just held her hand and let the news settle in the air. When he finally spoke, it was with gentleness.
“If you’re worried, we can go to urgent care, or the drugstore, get a real test. We can make an appointment. We can wait and see. Whatever you need.”
She swallowed. “What if I’m too old?”
Daniel looked at her, and his mouth worked like he was chewing on his next words. “You’re not too old,” he said. “You’re… advanced maternal age, maybe.” The joke landed, and the tension splintered a little.
Emily managed a breathy laugh. “That’s what the OB called me last time. Like a yellowed library book.”
He grinned. “I’d check you out.”
She rolled her eyes, but the tightness in her chest faded a notch.
He sobered, thumb tracing the inside of her wrist. “It’s a shock, but it’s not a bad thing. We know the drill. We’ve done this before.”
Emily bristled, then softened. “We barely survived last time.”
“But wedid,” he countered. “And we’re better now. The girls are older. The inn runs itself most days.” He squeezed her hand.
She stared at the floor, the swirl of the rug’s pattern suddenly dizzying. “It’s not just me. There’s Roy, and the lighthouse, recovering from the hurricane, and all the other crap we just barely got under control. We have to go tomorrow to see the lighthouse!”
Daniel turned and opened the door, leading her to the couch. He pulled her into his lap, his hands warm on her back. “That’s the thing about you,” he said. “You always have room. Even when you’re sure you don’t.”
Emily let herself lean into him, this man who made everything seem possible even when it was transparently, laughably impossible. For a long time, she just breathed.
Then, she stood, wiped her face with the back of her hand. “I need to call my dad and check on the girls.”
Daniel nodded, let her go.
Emily eased out of the family suite and into the hall, her phone in her hand. She pressed her other hand to her stomach, in awe. She wondered what it would be like to start over, to be the mother of someone new when she’d only just learned how to mother the ones she already had. And who knew if she was doingthatright? Emily closed her eyes and waited for the fear to pass.
It didn’t.
But hope did edge in, as bright and thin as a harbor sunrise through a bedroom curtain. They had so much room for more, love for more—Emily just had to stop letting her fear tell her otherwise.
CHAPTER SIX
The Bluefin Point lighthouse looked very sad, if she was being honest. Emily took in its white-brick main column, weathered to a powdery gray. The iron balustrades were streaked with vertical runners of rust. Emily squinted up at the tower from the base of the lighthouse, one hand shading her eyes against the cloudless morning. Unlike when she’d visited with Daniel, delighted to find out that the lighthouse in Roy’s paintings was real, there wasnothingromantic about it now.
Definitely not up close: old bird droppings flecked the lip of the catwalk, the windows looked like they'd been vandalized by both salt spray and some adolescent boredom, and the chain-link fence out front was mangled enough, half-buried in sand, to make a joke of any idea of security.
Daniel was already at the base beside her, consulting a folder thick with printouts, his lips moving silently as he read. Jamie Marsh ambled over, a ring of keys swinging from his belt.
"Looks pretty solid for something the Feds haven’t touched in ten years," he said, rapping the lighthouse’s base with his knuckles. "You want me to walk you up, or do you prefer the self-guided tour?"
Daniel looked at Emily, eyebrow raised. She forced a smile, trying to project energy, even though the drive out had left her a little carsick.
"We’ll take it slow ourselves," she said. "But if you hear a crash, send a rescue party."
Jamie grinned, handing Daniel a key fob shaped like a miniature buoy. "I’ll be at the bottom, in case you need me. Watch for loose steps near the top—they get dicey after the first landing."
Emily waited for the man to vanish behind the battered City of Sunset Harbor pickup before turning to Daniel. "I’m not going to be the one to break my leg, just so we’re clear."
He set the folder under his arm and offered her a hand up the concrete lip of the entryway. "Statistically speaking, I’d go first. But then you’d have to drag and-or carry me down the stairs, and neither of us wants that."
Inside, the spiral staircase started right at the door, coiling upward in a tight, vertigo-inducing helix. The treads were narrow, the risers uneven, and with every step, the metal flexed just enough to squeal. There was a smell—deep, corrosive, and almost alive. The mix of mildew and rust and something acrid she couldn’t quite place. Emily trailed her fingers along the inner rail, feeling the texture of old paint, then bare iron, then another layer of paint over it, as if the place had been repeatedly patched over and over by the lowest bidder.
