He liked hearing her talk like that. He was curious about the changes she would make if she stayed.
Another knock came at the door.
She answered and accepted a smaller tray.
He made room on the low coffee table and grabbed a plate, serving himself some sustenance. He’d been a fool to think a salad was enough to keep him going. He hadn’t wanted to trouble anyone by asking them to make him a meal outside of regular kitchen hours.
She looked at his plate and added a few things here and there to it.
“Maybe you should stick to your strengths,” he said. “You like food.” And he liked the glow on her skin. More than the late afternoon light, she shone from the inside out.
“It’s nothing.” She waved him off and gathered food for herself.
“It’s something. If I don’t eat in the kitchens here, I’m great at making a bowl of cereal. I don’t know how to feed myself. You have a passion for food.”
“Hardly. I just think life is too short not to enjoy every second, including meals. What’s stopping any of us? Worry about tomorrow and a few extra pounds? Who cares?”
Or fear of losing those we love. She was right. He glanced away, grabbing a skewer of olives and stuffing it in his mouth. Unintentionally, he had encouraged her into danger by not taking her ghost story as fact. She’d put herself in harm’s way because she hadn’t had his full support. At the lighthouse, she could have been seriously injured.
He probably lost a few years of his life after the stress of seeing her so fragile and tiny on the hospital bed. He had to go with her, even though she’d try to dissuade him. He wouldn’t waste the energy or the words. He’d keep tabs on her and watch her as close as he dared. “It’s something worth considering.”
She shook her head. “No, working in the food industry isn’t my future path. I’m not sure what is. But I don’t want to devote years to something I’m not passionate about.”
Coming up with off-the wall ideas. Reinvigorating these old walls. People.He had a list a mile long of her strengths. “Let’s talk about tonight,” he said. He hated to jump topics, but he didn’t want to linger on her weaknesses. She was so creative and inventive. She saw everything from a different perspective. There was a value to her eternal optimism. But he knew he’d only fluster and frustrate her if he continued the discussion. “This office has the best view of the lighthouse. I’ll order some coffee, and we can take turns keeping watch after ten. I don’t think we’ll have long to wait. If someone is going to head to the lighthouse, they’ll go early or lose their nerve.”
“Do you still think the ghost is a human hoax?”
Her flat delivery didn’t persuade him to drop his beliefs. She had no proof of a ghost. The destruction of the lighthouse left tangible pieces of evidence. He failed to understand her grip on the story she told herself.What am I missing?“I want to take every precaution we can. We can’t protect ourselves against an other-worldly being. But we can be prepared for a mortal.”
“Fair enough.” She smiled. “But, if it’s a ghost?”
The little tilt of her mouth, the self-deprecating charm, tugged his heart. He’d been tempted to chase along with her for years, following every scheme, because of that effervescent quality he couldn’t quite pinpoint.
She included him in her jokes. It was always the two of them against the world until he’d suddenly had grown-up responsibilities. She’d had no clue about the weight on him.
Slowly, one secret at a time, he chose the real world over her. He couldn’t go back, no matter how much he longed to. She had no idea what it meant to stay.
“Why do you think it’s a ghost?”
“Because why not?” She arched a playful brow.
But he’d hit her armor, missing the bullseye but piercing the protective shield all the same. Was she swamped with regret? Was that the feeling holding her down? He wouldn’t burden her on his behalf. He’d prefer a fresh start if possible. “I actually ran into Seth. He’s started a local paper of sorts. He wanted you to know he had it in production before your meeting.”
“Why is that important?”
“Because his lead headline is about Soupy in his current, awe-inspiring murder spree self. But inside he found space for something you’d be interested in. Zach wrote an article about your ghost.”
Her breath caught. “Oh. He did?”
Christopher turned to study her then. She looked unsteady and unsure. “He brought up the old treasure rumor and alluded to a conspiracy on the part of the Inn.”
“Of course, he did.” She shook his head. “I don’t want to be used in a game between the two of you.”
I’m not using you. But he wasn’t sure that was entirely true. At the start, when he knew she was back, he wanted to manipulate the situation to his best advantage. He was still trying to work every angle. Zach was doing the same, albeit from a different side. If it was a game, though, Christopher would admit one thing. He played for keeps.
* * *
Maybe it’s my dad sending me a message.If Ashley told him why she needed, more than anything, to believe the ghost was real, would she be brave or pathetic? Putting her heart on the line with him never really got her to where she wanted or expected to be.
