But he couldn’t make himself stop. “I saw you on the beach this morning. You sat there for an hour with the camera in your lap. The light was perfect. You never took a single shot.”
She gripped the camera tightly. “I was waiting for the right moment.”
“You’re not waiting for anything.” He stepped closer. “You take pictures of empty gazebos and old bricks because they can’t look back at you. They can’t blame you for anything.”
She stared at him.
“What are you actually doing here, Melissa?”
She slowly lowered the camera, and her expression closed up completely. A wall dropped between them.
“I’m just taking pictures, Clint,” she said. Her voice was perfectly flat.
She turned and walked away. She hurried along the stone path toward Captain’s Watch cottage and did not look back.
He stood alone by the lighthouse foundation. The sound of the waves filled the silence.
He’d seen the look in her eyes. Hurt. It was cruel and unnecessary.
But he was right.
He was right, wasn’t he?
He kicked at the dirt near the drainage pipe. He was no better than her. Terrified of making real decisions, so he picked fights about photography instead.
He reached down and touched the rough texture of the old brick. It was solid and permanent. It did exactly what it was supposed to do.
He stood up and walked back toward his cottage. The weekly sunset gathering was tonight. He knew Melissa wouldn’t come. Not after this. He’d chased her back into her safe little box.
He should apologize. He should find a way to fix this. But human beings were not like broken porch steps or loose shingles.
He leaned against the kitchen counter and took a long drink of water. His thoughts drifted back to Sean and then to the family on that sinking boat three years ago. The terror in the mother’s eyes when Clint pulled her over the rail. She had trusted him to save her. Four people alive because he pushed his crew to launch the rescue in a brutal storm. The official report said he made the right decision.
He still couldn’t believe it.
He set the water bottle down. He would apologize tomorrow, then he would keep his distance. He would go back to fixing the physical things on the property and let the emotional things stay broken.
Tomorrow, he would fix the roof on Heron Cottage. He would clear the brush near the gazebo and check the oil in the generator. He’d just do his job.
Chapter 6
The brass bell above the door at Bayview General Store gave its familiar two-note chime as Winnie stepped inside. Sally had been meaning to replace that bell for fifteen years. Winnie hoped she never would.
The store smelled the way it always did. Coffee grounds, cedar, and the faint salt that crept into everything within three blocks of the harbor. Sally had rearranged the front display again, swapping out the sunscreen and bug spray for a tower of mason jars filled with local honey. A hand-lettered sign read “Starlight Shores Wildflower—$12” in Sally’s careful cursive.
“You’re late.” Sally stood behind the register with two cups already waiting.
“I walked.” Winnie set her bag on the counter and eased onto the stool Sally kept there for her. Her left knee had been complaining all morning, a low ache that promised rain by evening.
“You always walk.”
“Then I’m always late.”
Sally poured tea from the pot she kept on the shelf behind the register. “So.” Sally set a cup in front of Winnie and leaned her elbows on the counter. “Tell me everything.”
“About what?”
“The cottages. Your people. I missed the sunset gathering last week, and I’m getting all my news secondhand from Jan at Harbor Brew.”
