Page 11 of Written with Love

Max is stubborn as hell.

Chickpea pasta has magical healing properties. (I mean, that’s the only explanation for how he went from half-comatose to leading me up a million stairs like some kind of lighthouse tour guide.)

Let’s rewind.

I found Max on the floor of his house today, looking like he’d lost a fight with gravity. Turns out, he hit his head and just… decided to exist in that state until I showed up. Because obviously, seeking medical attention is for other people. After much eye-rolling (mine) and some minor medical intervention (thank you, Dr. Stevens and your miracle glue), I got him home, fed him, and somehow—somehow—he convinced me he was well enough to take me on a “short tour.”

Which, apparently, meant climbing the thousands of stairs to the top of the lighthouse. No complaints from me.

Did I think this was a good idea? No. I was worried about the golf-ball-sized knot growing out of his forehead. Did I let him do it anyway? Well, I asked him if he was sure, because I wasn’t, but did he listen? Not even a little bit. So there I was, practically spotting him like a toddler learning to walk as we made our way up what felt like one thousand steps while he told me this heartbreaking love story about Karnia, the woman who spent a year waiting for her husband to come home from war. She never saw him again. And, oh yeah, there was a legendary missing diamond involved.

(Which, let’s be honest, is the kind of thing you hear and immediately go: Yep, totally cursed.)

This, mind you, is the same diamond Nate and I used to sneak up to the property and look for.

I never knew it had a name before—the diamond, not the lighthouse.

The Ocean’s Heart.

Sounds even more romantic than I used to dream of.

By the time we reached the top of the lighthouse, I was out of breath, and he was miraculously still standing. And the view? Absolutely worth it. The lights from Pride sparkled like stars, and for a second, I totally forgot that I’d spent the evening playing babysitter to a concussed man-child.

Would I do it again?

Sigh. Yeah. Probably.

But next time, I’m bringing a helmet and getting a proper kiss at the end.

–Juliette