The chairs were angled to face the windows.
Outside, the sky was a rich, dark velvet studded with diamonds. The moon shone bright as a spotlight. The world was resting.
His deep snores threatened the quiet peace. She smiled. For a long time, she’d been unable to sleep through an entire night alone. It wasn’t missing a warm body next to her. She produced enough heat to sleep without covers through winter.
She’d missed the snoring. She could fall asleep but couldn’t stay asleep without the white-noise machine effect of his breathing. She wouldn’t rouse him to stop. The noise was reassuring and comforting.
If he knew he snored, he’d do everything he could to stop. He hated to be an inconvenience to anyone. She’d miss the imperfection.
She narrowed her gaze back toward the windows. The lights in the office were turned off. She was sitting in the dark, but her vision had long ago adjusted to the night. She scanned the lighthouse, now covered in caution tape and scaffolding.
The spiral staircase remained but the rest of the building was a pile of debris. He’d need to knock the whole thing down before going further. The metal risers held no historic significance. Starting fresh made the most sense. And not just about the building.
She was becoming her own worst enemy with a self-fulfilling prophecy that she couldn’t do anything without help. She’d grown up with every need and most wants fulfilled. On her own, she still had someone else to rely on. She’d come back and done nothing but cause trouble.
What if she really tried? Could she go somewhere and start over and find success? Did she want to?
Stay. The force of the word reverberated from deep in her chest, shaking her. Maybe believing in the power of a fresh start was part of the problem. Why would she want to reinvent herself? In Loon Lake, she was the sum total of her actions from birth. It was, at times, painful and embarrassing. Any acquaintance—no matter how casual—could recall some of her worst moments in a few seconds or an off-hand phrase. She still didn’t laugh about the time she got stuck to a totem pole, the thick tar nearly taking off a layer of the skin on her palms as Lonnie Treacle had to help Zach Jenkins’ dad peel her off.
But she also knew she could count on anyone for help. Even if she did something ridiculously, epically ill-advised. Like pretending to be a ghost and setting fire to a town landmark.
She wouldn’t accept ownership of that accident. She’d replayed the situation hundreds of times in her head and couldn’t work out how it could be anythingbuta ghost. Batteries could combust. But how would a tiny votive cause such a spark? The community wouldn’t believe her but neither would anyone think poorly of her for her conviction.
With people who knew her, she had family. They had lived a shared history and still could have many struggles and triumphs to celebrate and endure together. Giving up and moving on wasn’t in the cards. She’d tried. She’d never found happiness with any relocation. Belonging was far more valuable than a first impression.
Movement caught in the corner of her eye.
She untucked her legs, leaving the blanket in the chair and tiptoeing to the window. Her muscles ached from too long in a pretzel-like twist. Her ankle cracked. She froze and turned.
Back on his chair, Christopher shifted but continued to snore.
At the window, she squinted and looked at the lighthouse. She couldn’t see anything or anyone. She didn’t have the skin-crawling sensation that preceded every encounter with the ghost. Honestly, she wasn’t sure what to think about the entity. While the ghost had started the fire, the spirit had saved her from the building collapse. The fire secured her a nice warm bed. Maybe the ghost cared about her.Why?
Looking at the lighthouse again, she still saw nothing unusual. The water’s dark surface was smooth as glass under the bright moon. She didn’t see any shadows and heard nothing. Reason stood that all remained as it should. But she couldn’t shake her certainty either.
She crossed to his chair and grabbed his shoulder, gently shaking him. “Christopher. Christopher,” she murmured.
He opened his eyes and yawned. “Hmm?” A lazy smile spread over his face. “Come back to bed.” He reached for her.
Fool that she was, she almost swayed into his touch. She longed to be held, safe and secure. But they wouldn’t find peace until they got to the bottom of the treachery at the lighthouse.
She stepped back. “We’re not in bed.” Her voice cracked. She coughed. “Wake up. I think someone is at the lighthouse.”
He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Ashley? What time is it?” His voice was low and gravelly, and he blinked several times, twisting his neck from side to side.
“Not very late. Maybe eleven fifteen?” She glanced at the clock on her phone and snorted, showing him the screen.
“Eleven forty? How long have I been asleep?”
“I don’t know. An hour? Come on.” She grabbed the blanket off his lap and tossed it onto her chair. “We have to go.”
He got to his feet and brushed past her, his shoulder rubbing hers in a whisper of a touch.
She sucked in a breath, achingly aware of his nearness. Her skin electrified from the accidental contact, zinging down to her toes. She had never wanted anyone in such a maddening, all-consuming, fiery way as she wanted her husband. From the first hint of puberty, she couldn’t seem to shake her addiction.
“Let’s take the flashlights.” He strode to the desk and grabbed them, tossing one to her.
She caught it and followed him to the door in the front corner of the room. With a shake, she tamped down her hormones.
