He grunted in agreement, then disappeared into the closet. When he returned, he’d pulled on sweats and a battered blue hoodie, and he carried the top sheet in a loose twist in his arms.
He gestured to the bed with his chin. “You want help?”
Emily nodded and moved to the other side. The bed was a king, far too large for the room, but it had been their splurge after Charlotte was born—the idea being they’d need the extra space for kids crawling in at all hours, or for themselves to stake a big, wide claim to territory in a house that always felt just on the verge of too public. She’d never regretted it, but the morning ritual of re-making the bed was a task that required two, or at least was easier that way.
Daniel flicked the sheet out, catching the far corner with a practiced wrist. Emily met him at the edge, smoothing her side, tugging the fabric taut.
“I had an idea last night,” she said, eyes on the hem of the sheet. Though they hadn’t officially made up from the fight, she knew he’d let his frustration about it go. But that didn’t mean that he had come around to her view on buying the lighthouse. “What if we did the lighthouse project, but differently? Not a huge all-at-once thing.” She tucked the top sheet in, then lifted her gaze to his. “We buy it with Mom’s help. She offered. But we start small and use it as an event space for the inn, sure, but also—” she paused, searching for the right phrase, “as a community arts place. For everyone. Not just us.”
Daniel’s brow furrowed. “A community arts place?”
She nodded. "A place where local kids, or even adults, could take classes. Or just use it. We could invite artists to teach workshops or do short residencies. Music, painting, writing. We host concerts or recitals in the lantern room. We could even partner with the schools.”
He considered, hands pausing mid-smoothing. “You’re talking about, like, a year-round program?”
"No," Emily said, quickly. "Not at first. Just a series. Maybe a few weeks every season, or one-off events. Whatever we can manage. We keep running the inn, but the lighthouse becomes its own draw. It's not a full-time job, it's… It's something over the top of it."
He finished tucking the sheet, then sat heavily on the end of the bed. “And you’re thinking that’d work for Chantelle?”
Emily’s fingers tightened on the comforter. “It was she who gave me the idea. She's been posting her songs online, getting good feedback. If we buy the lighthouse, she wants to stay in Sunset Harbor and host her own even. We could bring the teachers here. Roman would probably help. He also knowsothers. I bet Sarah would, too. And the kids that Chantelle knows from the online musician’s community. I don’t care if we have to pay them, or bribe them with lobster. She gets the exposure, the mentorship, but she keeps her support system. Us.”
Daniel looked at her, the old skepticism in his gaze, but also less resistance than she’d expected.
“And the money?” he asked. She was grateful that he didn’t remind her that taking on the lighthouse wasn’trestful—against doctor’s orders.
Emily bit her lip, then nodded. “I already ran the numbers. If we do it in phases, we can float the downpayment with what we have, plus what Mom’s offering. For the rest, we apply for grants—arts council, historical preservation funds. If we can prove community impact, they’ll listen. I can write the proposals. I want to do this, Daniel. But I want to do it in a way that doesn’t affectus.”
He studied her for a moment. “You really think this is what’s best? For the family?”
She sat down beside him, folding her hands in her lap. “I think if we pass on the lighthouse, someone else will buy it, and it’ll either become something touristy or be bulldozed to build condos for out-of-towners who don’t care. This gives back to Sunset Harbor, preserves it, and it gives Chantelle what she needs, too.”
Daniel asked the next question—the ER trip elephant in the room. “What about your health? The baby?”
Emily looked down. “I know I have to take it easy. I will. But if I can work from the office, delegate, or even just plan from here, I’ll be fine. And I promise, if things get at all dicey, I’ll stop.” She placed her hand over his. “I swear.”
He eyed her, looking dubious.
“You know what? You can side-eye me, but it’s awful waiting for the other shoe to drop. Every time I sit down, I start thinkingabout what could go wrong. About the baby, or Roy, or our businesses. It’s better to be busy. At least then I don’t spiral.”
“You have to try to take it easy,” he said. “For the baby. For you. I can’t watch you burn out.”
She felt a tightness behind her eyes, the kind that presaged tears, but she blinked them back. “Okay,” she said, after a long moment. “I’ll delegate. You have topromiseyou’ll tell me if things start to slide.”
Relief was plain on Daniel’s face. “Deal.”
Daniel nodded, the movement almost imperceptible. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do it. Your way.”
Emily felt the tension break, her body sagging in relief.“Really?”
“If you’re going to build an empire, you may as well have a lighthouse. Seems on-brand for you.” He shrugged, lips quirking.
She laughed. “You’re such a dork.”
He leaned forward and tweaked her nose. “That’s why you married me.”
They finished making the bed together. The window glowed with the first real light of morning, the bay beyond flat and silver. Emily glanced at the clock—still a full hour before the kids would start their day. She sat on the edge of the bed, watching Daniel as he straightened the pillows, stacking them two by two. He tossed the last pillow in place, then crossed to where she sat. She reached for him, and he pulled her close, their bodies slotting together in the easy, familiar way. They rested like that for a while, her head against his chest, his hand stroking slow patterns down her spine.
***
