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The cashier stopped, studying my face momentarily, her expression growing serious. “You overheard Bethany and Carol just now, didn’t you?”
I blinked in surprise. So those were their names. And my eavesdropping hadn’t been very subtle.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, feeling my cheeks flush. “I didn’t mean to...”
The cashier waved her hand. “Don’t you worry about it? Those two have been coming in here for years, gossiping and putting other artists down.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “They’re just jealous. Neither of them has an ounce of real talent. Bethany can barely manage stick figures.”
That drew a small, surprised laugh from me. The cashier grinned and continued ringing up my supplies.
“I’ve seen your work, Avery. You know I help out Marco, the gallery owner? That painting you submitted for the exhibition? It’s breathtaking. Those ladies wouldn’t know art if it slapped them upside down. Don’t you let their nonsense get to you?”
Her sincere words lifted my spirits like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds. I stood straighter; the doubts beginning to recede.
“Thank you,” I said earnestly. “I needed to hear that today.”
The cashier patted my hand. “You just keep doing what you’re doing, dear. Your work has real heart and vision. That matters most, not the shallow opinions of bitter wannabes.”
I left the art store with my supplies and a bolstered spirit, the cashier’s encouragement still echoing in my mind. She was right - I couldn’t let the careless critiques of others unravel my confidence. My passion was all that mattered. I hurried back to my studio with renewed energy, eager to dive into my latest artistic vision.
***
The ringing of my phone shattered the peaceful quiet of my walk home. I glanced down to see Dylan’s name flash across the screen and quickly answered, “Hey there, fake fiancé, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
His voice was tight and serious when he responded. “Aves, there’s a fire at the lighthouse. We just got called in and are on our way now. I...I just wanted to hear your voice before heading over.”
My heart skipped a beat at his words. He wanted to hear me, to connect, before driving into danger. I felt a swell of emotion in my chest.
“Everything’s going to be okay, but I need you to stay away from the area, alright? It could get dangerous,” he continued, hisvoice laced with concern. In the background, I could hear the wail of sirens drawing nearer.
“Of course, be safe, Dylan,” I managed to respond, my voice shaking slightly.
“I’ll call you soon. Gotta go,” he said hurriedly before the line went dead.
I stood frozen for a moment, phone still pressed to my ear as my mind raced. In the distance, I could see the flashing lights of fire trucks speeding down Ocean View Road toward the lighthouse. My heart pounded as worry flooded my thoughts.
This was more than just another rescue for Dylan and his team; this was the lighthouse—an iconic beacon that had been standing watch over Pebble Point for over a century. It was a place woven into the fabric of the community, etched into collective memories and stories.
I knew how much it would mean to Dylan to save it. He carried his father’s legacy on his shoulders every time he climbed into that gleaming red truck.
My feet were moving before I even realized it, carrying me toward the billowing smoke that now marred the horizon. Dylan’s request echoed in my mind, but I couldn’t just idly stand by when something so important hung in the balance.
As I drew closer, details came into focus through the haze—fire trucks parked haphazardly on the gravel road leading to the lighthouse, their lights still flashing an urgent rhythm. Firefighters swarmed the base of the lighthouse, unrolling hoses and shouting directions. The acrid smell of smoke filled the air.
My eyes frantically scanned the organized chaos for Dylan. Where was he? Was he safe?
Finally, I spotted him consulting with the fire chief, gesturing emphatically toward the lighthouse door.
I watched with bated breath as Dylan and two others suited up and prepared to enter the burning building. My fingerstightened around the art supplies still clutched in my hands. I said a silent prayer for their safety.
My breath caught in my throat as I stared up in horror at the lantern room at the top of the lighthouse. I could see a shadowy figure trapped inside, frantically waving his arms, desperate for rescue as thick plumes of smoke obscured him from view. The fire chief grabbed Dylan’s arm, stopping him from rushing into the burning lighthouse ground-level entrance. He pointed urgently up toward the imperiled man. Dylan’s gaze followed the chief’s outstretched hand, his jaw clenching when he spotted the crisis unfolding far overhead.
In an instant, the piercing shriek of sirens split the air as one of the fire trucks maneuvered its long extendable ladder toward the top of the lighthouse. My heart pounded wildly in my chest as Dylan hurtled himself onto the ladder, immediately disappearing into the choking black smoke. I stood frozen, hands clasped over my mouth in breathless terror. I could barely make out Dylan’s form as he climbed steadily upward, mere feet from the raging flames.
A searing flash of light burst through the smoke, momentarily blinding me. The resounding shatter of exploding glass followed immediately after. I cried out in shock, shielding my eyes against the flare. My heart seized with terror—where was Dylan?
As my vision cleared, I frantically scanned the top of the lighthouse, desperate for any sign of him. The firefighters below shouted and scrambled for cover as jagged shards of glass rained down around them. Billowing smoke once again obscured the lantern room above.
My heart pounded as I stared helplessly up at the lighthouse’s lantern room, engulfed in roiling smoke. Flames licked through the broken glass, hungry and unrelenting. The firefighters below shouted and scrambled, directing jets of water at the base of theraging fire. But my eyes remained fixed overhead, desperate for any sign of Dylan amidst the choking haze.
