2. Olive
2
OLIVE
I cringed at the squealing bike brakes as I approached my house. I’d found this bike in a small shed on the property when I moved in a month ago, but it wasn’t in the best shape. I needed to figure out how to fix it so the chain stopped popping off and the brakes stopped sounding like a siren. Still, I wouldn’t complain. It made transporting groceries back home much easier.
I parked by the front door, pausing for a moment to breathe in the salty sea air and listen to the crashing waves. A meow alerted me to the presence of Sir Cat, the fluffy orange, white, and brown stray who had been sitting by my front door the day I moved in. He’d walked right inside, making himself at home as I’d hauled in my sparse possessions consisting of a suitcase and a couple of boxes.
“Hello, Sir,” I said, bending down to scratch his head. He didn’t have a collar, so I had no idea what his real name was. I’d tried out several, but he had fixed me with a deeply disapproving expression, so I just stuck with “Sir Cat.” He was regal enough to warrant the name, anyway.
When I interviewed for the lighthouse keeper position, I’d been told the house came furnished. I’d arrived with a rental car packed with my limited possessions and opened the door to an almost empty house. There were some dishes in the cabinets. A small wooden table in the kitchen. Some books on lighthouse-keeping on the built-in bookcases. I’d purchased an air mattress to sleep on and a few other small things at a thrift store, but that was it. I was so close to paying off my credit card debt and needed to save every dollar. My new job came with free housing, but the salary wasn’t much.
I’d been relieved to have Sir Cat with me that first night. A small storm had blown through, howling and rattling the windows. He’d kept me company in the lighthouse watch room, purring the night away on my lap as I acquainted myself with the lighthouse manual and storm protocols.
We’d quickly fallen into a quiet routine. He rarely left my side, trailing me through the cottage and lighthouse like a fluffy shadow. I’d found a basket for twenty-five cents at the thrift store and put one of my own blankets in there for him. He certainly couldn’t keep sleeping on the floor.
“That alpha was at the market again today,” I said, my voice almost a whisper as if we would be overheard.
Easton .
The golden-skinned, curly-haired alpha with thick forearms, a broad chest, and stubble on his jaw. We kept running into each other, but he hadn’t asked me out again after I’d absolutely panicked the first two times he’d tried. He’d obviously come to his senses and given up, which was for the best. I’d moved to Starlight Grove to be alone. I couldn’t think of many jobs more solitary than lighthouse keeper.
So then… why did it feel like my heart was breaking at the thought of Easton giving up on me?
I moved inside, holding the door open for Sir Cat, and unloaded my groceries. One day, I’d learn how to cook. Pasta with jarred sauce was about as advanced as I got, and that’s what I was planning for dinner. Although, the only thing I was craving right now was croissants filled with Nutella and thick slabs of chocolate cake. I sniffed my sweater, unsure if I could actually catch a hint of the alpha’s rich, chocolate hazelnut scent or if it was just wishful thinking. My inner omega let out a forlorn whine, but I drowned her out with the kitchen radio, turning the knob until the static faded and music filled the room. My heart ached as I recognized the song. It was by one of me and my mom’s favorite artists—a semi-local singer we’d seen play at a bar before he blew up. Mom and I had played this album on repeat on the boat until my dad banned it.
Until the next day, at least. He could never refuse us anything.
I swallowed the lump in my throat as I drained the pasta. What would it be like to have a love like they’d had?
“What kind of music do you like?” I asked Sir Cat. He cocked his head. “Something sophisticated, right?”
Meow .
I grinned. “Do you want some pasta?” I held a noodle out for him and he took it neatly from my hand.
After I dished up my dinner, I headed to the door that connected my cottage to the inside of the lighthouse. I trudged up the winding metal stairs to the very top, emerging onto the balcony. I loved sitting up here, even as the wind turned cold with the start of fall. It made me feel more alive.
I sat down, and Sir Cat immediately settled on my lap. I shoveled down my pasta before the wind could turn it stone-cold and then set my bowl aside so I could focus on scratching Sir Cat and enjoying his soft purr.
“Have you always lived by the ocean?” I asked. “I know you don’t like the water, and here I am, unable to live without it.” He nudged my hand, urging me to continue petting him.
I peered out into the darkness, the flashing beacon from the lantern illuminating the waves. “I should be out there.”
I had grown up on my parents’ lobster boat, spent most of my days there before I could even walk. By the time I was ten, I was helping my dad check traps and learning about weather patterns and navigation. My dad was a fifth-generation lobsterman, and I thought I’d be the sixth generation. But nothing had turned out how it was supposed to .
Sir Cat and I stayed outside until my fingers grew too frozen to continue petting him. I crept back down the stairs, set my empty bowl in the sink, and crawled into my nest, wondering if I would always feel this empty.