“Morning.” He shifted his grip on the toolbox. “The new lock on your studio window holding up okay?”
“It works perfectly. Thank you for fixing it so quickly. I know it wasn’t an emergency.”
“It was on the list. I fix what’s on the list.”
She took a sip of her coffee. Her eyes studied him for a second too long. “You do a lot more than just check off a list. You take good care of us here.”
“Just doing my job,” he muttered.
“Well, we appreciate it.” She turned to look toward the towering white structure of the Lockhart Lighthouse. “I sleep better here than I have in years. Just so you know.”
He gave her a short nod and kept walking.
He made his way to the keeper’s quarters. The familiar wraparound porch creaked slightly under his boots. He would need to replace that board soon. He opened the screen door and stepped into the kitchen.
The room smelled of cinnamon and rich coffee. Vintage photographs of his ancestors covered the walls. Winnie sat at the large wooden table. His aunt looked up from a leather-bound logbook and smiled.
“You’re up early again,” Winnie said.
“Always am.” He set his toolbox by the door and walked to the counter. He poured himself a mug of black coffee from the pot. “Got the railing at Compass Rose done. And the loose shingle on Heron Cottage.”
“You work too hard, Clint.”
He took a slow sip of the coffee. “Someone has to keep this place from falling apart.”
Winnie closed her logbook. Deep laugh lines framed her expressive green eyes. But she was not laughing now. She was watching him with that perceptive gaze she saved for special occasions.
“The property is fine. The buildings are standing strong. I’m more concerned about the people in them.”
“Emily said the window lock is working. She seems happy with Grant. Cassidy and Bryan are doing fine.”
“I’m not talking about Emily or Cassidy.” Winnie tilted her head. “I’m talking about Melissa. She stays on the fringes. Most Fridays at the gathering, she takes a few photographs of the architecture, and then she retreats to Captain’s Watch. She is hiding, Clint.”
“A lot of people hide.”
“Yes.” Winnie let the silence stretch out. “They certainly do.”
He knew exactly what his aunt was doing. She was drawing a line straight from Melissa’s cottage to his.
“I can’t force her to socialize. What she does with her time is her business.”
“She’s a brilliant photographer. She used to capture the most beautiful, raw human moments. Now she only photographs brick and empty spaces.”
“Maybe she likes buildings better than people.”
“No.” Winnie shook her head slowly. “No one can capture so much emotion in a photo and not like people, understand them.”
Clint gripped his mug tighter. “I have to go check the generator.” He set his mug down on the counter with a loud clack. “Supposed to rain later this week.”
“Clint.”
He pushed the screen door open. “I’ll check on you later, Aunt Winnie.”
He walked back to Driftwood Cottage. His cottage was the largest on the property and the closest to the lighthouse. It was filled with memorabilia and old family photographs, but it always felt empty when he walked inside.
He sat down at his small wooden desk and opened his laptop. The message from Sean sat right at the top of his inbox. He’d read it four times last night. He clicked it and read it again.
Hey man. Just wanted to share some good news. Laura and I got engaged this weekend. Also, I got that promotion at the logistics firm. Life is crazy right now, but good crazy. Hope you’re doing well down in Florida. Let’s catch up soon.
