Chapter Twenty Five
Stifling a particularly loud yawn, I slump over my desk, trying to concentrate on the schedule before me. Monday mornings are a struggle for everyone, but today, I feel as though someone’s microwaved my brain and shoved it into my skull backwards.
Having Jerry drop into my life unannounced has messed me up more than I imagined it could. I didn’t even tell Mia about his visit, she was glowing pink and pretty after her getaway with James and I didn’t want to spoil her vibe. Nor did I mention it to Kat, or God forbid, my parents. I haven’t told anyone, I’ve just been stewing in the stress of it all by myself, wondering how the bloody heck I’m supposed to deal with this.
No one gives you a handbook on marriage, and they sure as hell don’t give you one on divorce. Add a small child into the mix, and you’ve got a recipe for disaster.
There’s not much going on today at the office, Cassandra is out at some event and I’m basically just catching up on admin so I can be ahead of the week. Erin is in the design studio, working on patterns for the upcoming autumn collection, so I don’t see much of her until the clock finally strikes twelve for lunch.
As Erin sashays toward the break room, she glances over her shoulder. ‘Coming?’
I shake my head. ‘I didn’t have time to pack a lunch today so I’m just going to pick up something from town. Plus I could do with grabbing a few bits from the shop.’
It’s a bit of an excuse, to be honest. Normally, I enjoy our lunchtime chats, but today, I fancy some solitude. Besides, if I stay with Erin, I’ll only end up telling her what transpired between Jerry and I, and I feel like I’ve already overshared way too much lately.
The Spicy Bean is perhaps one of the cosiest little haunts of Sunny Shore Bay, with its aged leather sofas and shelves stuffed with books, it’s a joy to hang out there, and that’s where I wander to. The irresistible scent of freshly ground coffee and pastries beckons me in, and I head straight to the counter to order a cappuccino and a pain au chocolate. As I carry my tray over to a quiet corner, I stop short before the table. Sitting in my usual spot by the bookshelves is none other than Noah.
Like a manifestation of my most daring daydreams, he looks gorgeous - dressed in a checked blue suit, suggesting he’s just popped in from work, his head is bowed over his drink as his fingers rake through his dark hair. He doesn’t notice me at first and as I draw nearer, I spy the sadness etched across his brow.
‘Noah?’ I hover beside his table, my initial shyness giving way to concern. ‘Is something the matter?’
‘Claire.’ He gestures for me to sit, and lifts his head from his hands with a crestfallen sigh. ‘You know that benefactor I took out for dinner? Well, we’ve just heard back from her people, she’s not able to donate any money for the lighthouse’s restoration.’
‘Oh no.’ I take my seat and gingerly rest a hand on his elbow. ‘I’m sorry, Noah.’
‘I mean, the lighthouse has been in disrepair for decades now, it’s time it got a little attention.’ Noah fiddles with the handle of his coffee mug listlessly. ‘Even if we could afford to do just a little work on it, that would be something.’
My eyebrows knitted, I chew my lip as I try to conjure up some sort of plan. I don’t know much about restoring historical buildings, but to my eyes, the lighthouse isn’t in terrible nick. Sure, the exterior facade is crumbling away and there’s parts of the floorboards that have rotted, but really, what it needs is a bit of TLC. A good clean up.
‘You know, I don’t like to brag, but I do know my way around a mop.’ I raise an eyebrow. ‘You might say I’m a domestic goddess of sorts.’
Not catching on, Noah’s mouth twists to betray his puzzlement. ‘Right?’
‘So what if I helped you clean up the lighthouse? We could give the chamber a good dusting, a vacuum, a lick of fresh paint, it would brighten the place up no end. And you could put on tours to raise money for a proper restoration, you’d just have to fence off the areas of the floors and walls that aren’t restored or repaired yet.’
Something flickers in his blue-green eyes, something like excitement mixed with pure hope. ‘You really think people would be interested in the lighthouse?’
‘Of course they would! You already have all the research on Henry Gills, you could do talks there at night, by candlelight. Add in some creepy stories about the Siren of Sunny Shore Bay, and you’ve got a bona fide tourist attraction!’
I can hear the cogs turning in his brain as he mulls over the idea.
‘That might just work, Claire.’ A smile begins to grow and spread across his lips. ‘That might just work.’