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“Harlee! Harlee, wait a second, will you?” I said as I opened the door and set the code to lock the lighthouse.
She glanced over her shoulder at me, already almost halfway down the hill. “I’m tired and hungry and ready to get into a warm house, Brax. I’m over today.”
I cursed internally. I had pushed it too far, too soon.
She pulled out her phone and punched in a number as she marched down the hill, across the large parking lot, and toward my truck. The last ferry had indeed come and gone. In the summer, nearly all the ferries ran for twenty-four hours, seven days a week, but toward the end of February, that wasn’t the case. Not enough people were visiting from the mainland to the island. Residents who happened to live on the island—and there weren’t many—knew the ferry schedule.
I unlocked the truck and started to jog after Harlee since the path was clear of any snow or ice. I got to the truck right as she slipped inside.
Lighthouse Island wasn’t very big, but there was a bed and breakfast on the opposite side of the island that Kris Jensen owned. Her family had settled here a few generations ago. There was a rich history to the island, and it played a huge part in the story of Seaside. Being a black family who was running a lighthouse in the late 1800s had come with a lot of heartache as well as triumph.
Mr. Anders was appointed lighthouse keeper in 1875. He wasn’t the first African American lighthouse keeper in America, but he’d paved the way for so many others. It didn’t take long for his sons to come up with the idea of running ferries back and forth from Seaside, and the Anders had quickly become a prominent and wealthy family in the area. To this day, they played a significant role in Seaside and on Lighthouse Island.
Not only was Mitch Anders the current lighthouse keeper, but he and his wife, Jen, ran the museum that was located down the road from their private residence. And Kris, the eldest sibling, ran the popular Lighthouse Bed and Breakfast out of the large historical home that her great-grandfather had built in the early 1900s. Although it was packed every day during the summer, winters were less busy. I was sure there was a good chance she’d have a couple of rooms. Even in winter, a lot of her weekends were booked, mostly by locals who wanted a staycation. But there were likely rooms available on Tuesday.
I climbed into my seat and started to speak, but Harlee beat me to it. “They have two rooms available, and Kris said she has lasagna she can heat up for us. I told her we were on our way over from the lighthouse.”
“Harlee.”
Turning to face me, she met my gaze. “I can’t, Brax.” She shook her head. “I can’t process all of that right now. I’m sorry.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“Can we please go to the bed and breakfast now?”
I pressed the truck’s ignition button. “Of course. I need to drop the keys to the lighthouse off to Mitch first. He gave them to me in case the code didn’t work. He said it works off and on.”
After I dropped off the keys, we spent the ten-minute drive to the bed and breakfast in silence—except for me cursing myself out in my head. I replayed everything over and over. I was pissed that I’d said the things I’d said to her. Not about how I really felt, but the timing. I mean, I was planning on telling her, just not today.
I was tired of pretending like I didn’t have feelings for Harlee. Tired of pretending it didn’t bother me every single day that I’d let her slip away. I’d hated listening to Thomas talk about being with her. Hated it to the point that it nearly made me feel sick to my stomach on several occasions. And this stupid game we played with each other. Who could insult the other first, or better. We’d been playing it for far too long, and I was tired of that too. I knew she had to be as well. It needed to stop.
Tonight, I would tell her that I knew she was Ms. Seaside. Tonight, it would all come to a head, and then I’d have to wait and see where things fell between us. I’d keep her little secret if she asked me to. The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt her again.
Once we were checked into our rooms, I went downstairs to meet Harlee for dinner. Female voices grew louder as I drew closer to the dining room. I heard Harlee laugh as she walked out of the kitchen holding a large salad bowl.
“Kris, everything smells so good!”
