He turned to face her, and in the faint glow from the keeper’s quarters porch light, she could see his expression. Frustration, like he was trying to say something, but his mouth didn’t have the right words for it. “Those weren’t photos. Those were snaps. Party pics.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Anybody with a phone could’ve done that.”
The sting was immediate and sharp. Not because he was being cruel, but because he wasn’t entirely wrong.
The festival photos had been exactly what he described. Surface-level documentation. Decorated booths captured with professional framing but absolutely no depth. She’d moved through the crowds with her camera up like a shield, taking technically competent images that said nothing about anyone or anything. The kind of work that filled a memory card and emptied a portfolio.
She opened her mouth to argue and then closed it.
He watched her for a beat. His expression shifted, like he’d expected a fight and didn’t know what to do with the silence instead. He picked up the bin and the bucket and carried them toward the maintenance shed without saying good night.
She stood alone in the courtyard. The lighthouse beam swept past in its patient arc, illuminating the garden path, the memorial bench, and the empty chairs before moving on. The light found her for a moment, bright and unrequested, then left her standing in the dark.
Anybody with a phone could’ve done that.
She picked up her camera bag from beside her chair and walked back to Captain’s Watch. She didn’t look at the lighthouse. She already knew what it looked like.
Inside, she set the bag on the floor and sat down at her desk without turning on the light. Through the window, she could see the beam still rotating, predictable and safe.
She thought about what Winnie had said. Sometimes we hide for so long we forget what we were hiding from.
The lighthouse beam passed across her window again and threw a stripe of light across the desk. It caught the edge of her laptop, the stack of architecture magazines, the granola bars she still hadn’t opened.
Then the light moved on.
Chapter 3
The sand was cool beneath her bare feet. Not cold, not in Florida, not even at this hour. But cool enough to notice.
Melissa sat cross-legged at the edge of the beach with her camera bag beside her, the zipper still closed. She’d carried it down the path from Captain’s Watch the way she always did, slung over her right shoulder. She’d brought it all the way here and then just sat down.
That had been twenty minutes ago.
The lighthouse beam swept the water in its slow, faithful rotation. Each pass painted a brief stripe of gold across the surface before darkness swallowed it again. The light was perfect. A narrow window where the beam still competed with the coming sunrise and the sky held its deep indigo for only a few more minutes. The composition practically built itself.
She didn’t reach for the bag.
Clint’s words from two nights ago kept snagging in her mind. Party pics. Anyone with a phone could do that.
A pelican dove into the shallows about ten yards out, emerging with something silver flashing in its bill. It tipped its head back and swallowed, then lifted off again with heavy wingbeats, already scanning for the next catch. No hesitation or existential crisis about whether it deserved to eat fish.
Must be nice.
The lighthouse beam faded as the horizon turned pink. Another dawn she hadn’t photographed. She should care about that. She didn’t.
“Mind some company?”
Melissa turned to find Emily picking her way down the path in flip-flops, a coffee mug in each hand. Her dark hair was loose around her shoulders, and she wore a paint-smeared T-shirt that suggested she’d either been up working or had never changed from yesterday.
“The courtyard’s nicer.” Melissa nodded back toward the cottages.
“But you’re down here.” Emily settled onto the sand beside her and held out one of the mugs. “Winnie’s dark roast. She started a pot when she saw your light on.”
Of course Winnie had noticed. Winnie noticed everything.
She took the mug. The ceramic was warm against her palms. Strong. Almost too strong. Exactly right.
“Thanks.”
They sat for a moment as the Gulf slowly brightened and small waves lapped against the beach. A crab darted sideways across the sand near Emily’s foot and disappeared into a hole.
