Page 56 of One Last Gift

How will I know where to meet you?

I’ll find you.

I’ll find you. The words echoed around his head, like they meant something more. Like maybe he was always supposed to find her.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Cassie paced around the bedroom on the phone, rolling her eyes at Hazel, who was perched on one of the single twin beds, as she filled Robert in on how the brunch event had gone. The cream carpet was soft underfoot—the kind of carpet you wanted to walk around barefoot on, just to feel it.

“They seemed really happy,” she finished. She would have liked to do something more exciting than a brunch, but it had turned out to be so fun—the couple celebrating their engagement were in their sixties and had wanted something to bring together friends and family, but not a fancy evening event. It had been classy, with plenty to think about in terms of the set-up of the room, and the couple had been effusive in praise. Plus, it meant she had the rest of the day to enjoy the manor house—she had a second night’s stay on the house. She’d been allowed to bring someone along for the weekend, if they shared her room, and Hazel had obviously jumped at the chance.

“All right. Well, I’ll talk to the manager there later today,” Robert said, a little gruffly. She knew that he was regretting not coming himself. It almost sounded like he wanted to find some problem here, something that made it seem like she couldn’t do it on her own.

“OK,” she said. “I’ll see you on Tuesday. Thanks so much again for the opportunity, it’s been great.”

She threw her phone down on the bed next to Hazel, who grinned at her, raised her arms. “You’re free! Now we’ve just got time to kill until your mystery man finds you.” Hazel wiggled her eyebrows in a way that made Cassie laugh.

“We don’t know if he’s a man.”

“He writes like a man,” Hazel said, which made Cassie snort. Honestly, the whole thing was ridiculous. She didn’t have the first clue who she was looking for—and what, she was supposed to wait around to be approached so she could…what? Thank him? Ask him whether it was ridiculous, from a financial point of view, to think about starting a business in the current climate?

She stopped in between the twin beds, her gaze lingering on a picture hanging above the headboard. It was a landscape painting of the sea, the waves looking a little stormy, the rocky coastline just visible at the bottom of the painting, a lighthouse stood seemingly on its own in the center of the page, a little lonely-looking. There was something so escapist, so soothing, about the sea, Cassie thought, even photos of it. But right now, something not so soothing was stirring in the back of her mind: a recognition of sorts, her mind trying to tell her something.

She stared at the white speck in the middle of the ocean. The lighthouse. Tom’s clue. How could she not have seen it before!

Light a torch for the boats if you dare. That had got to be a lighthouse—how thick could she have been not to figure that out beforehand?

“Hazel!” Her voice was loud enough to startle Hazel into sitting bolt upright. “A lighthouse!”

“What?” She stared at Cassie with slightly wide eyes, as if she thought she might have gone a little mad. Cassie gestured toward the painting and Hazel twisted to look at it, then turned back to look at Cassie. “Yes…” she said slowly, “I see it.”

“Tom’s clue!” Cassie’s voice was high-pitched, unable to contain her excitement. She stepped toward the foot of Hazel’s bed, getting a closer view of the painting. She hadn’t even noticed the lighthouse last night, too caught up in the beauty of the rest of the hotel. “The torch for the boats,” she explained. “It’s a lighthouse.” She pushed her hair impatiently out of her face.

Slowly, Hazel’s face spread into a grin. “Yes!” She jumped to her feet, came around to stand next to Cassie. She put her hands on her hips as she studied the painting. “You’re so right, it’s got to be. God, I feel like a total idiot now.”

“Me too.”

“So, which one?”

“Huh?”

“Which lighthouse?”

Cassie felt the lurch of excitement sink into something else in her stomach. “I have absolutely no idea.” And there must be hundreds of lighthouses around the UK, right? How could Tom have expected her to know which one? And why the hell was he sending her to a bloody lighthouse in the first place?

“Well, you’re still one step closer, right?” Hazel said, clearly trying to make her tone bolstering. “Stay positive.” She gave Cassie’s arm a squeeze and Cassie nodded, glancing at the lighthouse one more time before she headed to the bathroom to change for her mystery meet.

—

Cassie followed Hazel through the small, wood-paneled reception area, taking a moment to admire the little details. Twin lamps hung on the wall across from where they walked, and there were leather notebooks on the reception desk. An ornate-looking chair sat next to what looked like an old wooden writing desk, a bunch of yellow flowers sitting on top of it. It wasn’t “old fashioned,” not really, but you could still feel the history of the place, like they’d kept the essence of what had made the manor beautiful in the first place and gone with it. It was the type of thing she’d love to do, to take somewhere with history and bring it to life again.

Despite her appreciation for the surroundings, Cassie couldn’t help but feel totally ridiculous and overdressed as they stepped into the gardens at the back of the manor. Hazel had insisted she wear makeup, but the brown eyeliner and peach lipstick felt like too much, like she was trying too hard, as did the curls Hazel had insisted on putting in her hair. She was in a floaty dress, and she was sincerely regretting that it was mainly white, though the blue and purple flowers helped to offset it.

“Stop fidgeting,” Hazel hissed.

Cassie resisted the urge to scowl up at Hazel, who was wearing a green playsuit that matched her eyes and looked stunning in a casual way. They were walking along a little paved concert path through one section of the gardens, where pink roses poked their heads above the green on both sides and little blue flowers buzzed with the sound of bees. The sun was warm on Cassie’s bare shoulders, which were still pale because of all the time she’d spent inside, at the reception desk. She let out a slow breath, allowing herself a moment to take in the ivy creeping up the stone walls of the hotel, the sight of woods up ahead.

She glanced up at the sky—blue with those little wispy clouds. Stupid, really, to look up. Tom wasn’t in the sky. She was starting to pull herself together, she thought, to adjust to life without him and find a way to carry on, day by day. But the sense of loss was still there. It still felt like a vital part of her was missing, carved out. Then there were moments, tiny moments like just now, when she felt happy or content, when she laughed, or smiled. And once those moments had passed, she always felt guilty—because how could she feel like that? How could she forget, even for a fraction of a second?