Clint turned to her and kissed her. His hands settled on her waist, and she leaned into him.
He pulled back slightly and looked down at her. “I just want to tell you one more thing before you leave on your trip.”
“What’s that?”
He pushed a lock of her hair away from her face. “That I’ve fallen in love with you. Totally and completely.”
She grinned and reached up to touch his face. “That’s a good thing, Clint Lockhart, because I love you too.”
He broke into a smile and pulled her close. Overhead the lighthouse beam kept turning.
Epilogue
The courtyard was quiet. Everyone had gone in hours ago. Melissa and Clint’s lights were off in Captain’s Watch and Driftwood. Emily and Grant had walked to the gallery after dinner, hand in hand, still acting like newlyweds even though they weren’t married yet. Cassidy was probably on the phone with Bryan about tomorrow’s harbor commission meeting, because those two couldn’t go twelve hours without arguing about something they both agreed on.
Winnie sat on the memorial bench with her tea going cold in her hands and the sound of the Gulf coming in low across the water.
She’d been sitting here most evenings lately. Watching the harbor. Listening to the water.
That was the lie she told herself, anyway.
Sam Copeland had been in Starlight Shores for weeks. She’d seen him at Harbor Brew. She’d passed him on Main Street near Tides & Tales. She’d watched him photograph the old fish warehouse from across the road while she pretended to read the Beacon notice board. Every encounter had been polite and careful.
She heard the footsteps on the stone path before she saw him. Unhurried. Steady. She knew the rhythm of those steps even after all this time, which was ridiculous, because people’s walks changed over forty-five years. Everything changed over forty-five years.
“Evening, Winnie.”
“Sam.”
He stood at the edge of the courtyard, hands in his jacket pockets, the lighthouse beam passing behind him and throwing his shadow long across the pavers. His hair was silver now. His shoulders still broad. He looked like himself, just older. Like a photograph she’d kept in a drawer and pulled out to find the colors had shifted but the composition was the same.
“Mind if I sit?”
She moved her tea to the other side. He sat on the far end of the bench.
For a while, neither of them spoke. A night heron called from somewhere near the seawall. The light from the full moon and the string lights illuminated the courtyard.
“I’ve been reading about the lighthouse,” Sam said. “For the book.”
“You mentioned.”
“The records I could find are fascinating.” He paused. “But there are gaps.”
Winnie kept her eyes on the water. “Both my father and grandfather kept records.”
“I know. I remember your father writing carefully in his journals. Did he write down everything?”
She finally looked at him. “No, there were gaps in the journals too. But I’m sure he had his reasons.”
“Do you think his reasons had something to do with my father?”
Winnie set her tea on the bench.
“Robert Lockhart and James Copeland,” Sam said. “They worked together here. On something important. And then they didn’t.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what happened between them?”
