Page 85 of Fall Love

I arch a brow. “And now I’m extra curious what exactly you read,” I tease him. I’m not much of a reader, but I’ve watched endless movies, so I know exactly what he’s talking about, only . . .

“Our meet-cute wasn’t here.” It was at Fisk’s party. Or was it our reunion at Rusty’s Wrecks?

Tate chuckles. “Well, I did run into you here. Seems serendipitous.”

What a word, and yet it does feel like serendipity has played a role in our relationship.

“And I promise not to let go of your hand this time,” I say, keeping my gaze on him, reminding us both of our misunderstanding back then.

He reaches for my hand and lifts it to his lips, lingering against my knuckles. “Thank you, baby. I love it here.”

I chuckle. “This isn’t exactly the surprise.” I press open my door and Tate does the same, only with my size and struggles, he’s around to my side of the SUV before I can exit on my own, helping me out of the high vehicle.

He holds my hand while I reach for the bag containing our lunch, but I also need the plaid blanket I tossed in his trunk.

Tate tosses the blanket over his shoulder and takes the bag from me, then lets me lead him toward the lighthouse. Into the lighthouse.

While the Cape Cod-like home houses the historical society, the lighthouse is open on the main floor with additional Lovewell Landing lore. Climbing the tower isn’t allowed anymore, nor is the light steadily functioning, which means you need special permission to climb to the landing.

Thankfully, I know a gal.

Miss Charma smiles as we enter the main floor of the lighthouse, her breath hitching like it seems to do every time she sees Tate and me together. The circular base of the structure has a slightly damp smell to it, despite years of regular cleanups. The space almost whispers with stories of fog and shipwrecks and lonely hearts.

With a simple nod, Miss Charma leads us over to the tower staircase, roped off with a simple chain and metal sign that reads: No Entry.

She unclicks the chain with a pinch of her fingers. “Have fun. Be careful,” she warns, pointedly looking at me.

“We’re going up?” Tate glances from his aunt to me.

“We’re going up,” I say, enthusiastically.

“You shouldn’t be climbing this winding old staircase,” Tate warns.

“But I know you’ll keep me safe when I do,” I tease, causing his expression to soften. “Please.”

Please, let me do this for you.

Tate lets me lead, keeping one hand on my lower back while the other holds the paper sack.

“I promise to go slow,” I say, holding the railing and sticking to my word. I don’t need vertigo to hit me as I spiral around and around the inner space of this lighthouse. And despite a small wave of dizziness as we near the top, the climb was worth it.

The view is breathtaking.

In this last week of September, the trees blossomed into new colors. Vibrant golds and bright orange. Distinct red and beautiful brown. It’s a rainbow of a different sort, and it’s so alive, even though the colors represent the end of the foliage’s life cycle.

“Wow,” Tate breathes out, staring through the windows before slowly turning three hundred and sixty degrees. He inhales like he’s breathing in the sight.

“It’s so beautiful,” he says almost reverently.

“I was hoping you’d like it,” I admit. “And I was hoping it would remind you of how much you love Lovewell Landing.”

Tate glances at me.

“You talk so fondly about your summers here. I don’t know how much time you spent here in the fall, if ever, so I thought I’d share a taste with you.”

He glances back at the spectacular firework-like display of autumn leaves. The sun peeks out behind the occasional cloud, brightening the effect. Causing the colors to almost glisten like gold, bronze, and copper.

“Sometimes we’d come here for Thanksgiving, but by then, the leaves were gone.” He looks back at me. “I haven’t been up here since I was a kid. When I wasn’t supposed to be.”