Chapter 2
Emily woke to sunlight streaming through her cottage windows and the sound of waves rolling onto shore.
For a moment, she lay still, letting the peacefulness wash over her.
Then yesterday’s events came flooding back—the long drive, Winnie’s knowing eyes, the studio door she’d locked because she couldn’t bear to look at it.
She sat up slowly, testing the feeling. No upset stomach. No immediate urge to pack her bags and run. Just a quiet morning in a cottage by a lighthouse, as far from Chicago as she could manage.
Her phone showed a single notification. She braced herself before checking it.
An email from her lawyer. Subject line: “Holloway Update.”
She punched the delete button without reading the email. Whatever Julian Holloway was doing now, she didn’t want to know. That was the whole point of running away—no, traveling—to Florida.
She forced herself out of bed and into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the grogginess of sleeping in her clothes. When she emerged, she felt slightly more human. She pulled on clean shorts and a soft t-shirt, then ventured into the small kitchen to make coffee.
The coffee maker was ancient but functional.
While it gurgled and hissed, she stood at the window watching the morning light play across the lighthouse.
The white paint seemed to glow in the early sun, and she found herself cataloging details automatically.
She noted the way the cylindrical form caught the light, the contrast between the smooth tower and rough stone base, and the delicate ironwork of the gallery railing.
Stop analyzing it like you’re going to paint it. You don’t paint anymore.
A knock at her door interrupted the familiar spiral of self-recrimination.
“Emily? It’s Winnie. I brought breakfast if you’re hungry.”
She opened the door to find Winnie holding a basket covered with a blue-checked cloth. The older woman looked fresh and energetic despite the early hour, and her silver hair was neatly braided.
“I hope I’m not intruding. I just thought you might like something more substantial than whatever you managed to pack in that car.”
“You’re not intruding. Come in. I was just making coffee, but I’m pretty sure it’s terrible coffee.”
“Then it’s a good thing I brought some of my own.” Winnie swept into the cottage and began unpacking the basket on the small kitchen table. Fresh blueberry muffins, still warm. Butter. Strawberries. And a thermos that smelled infinitely better than whatever was brewing in Emily’s pot.
“You don’t have to feed me.” Her stomach betrayed her with an audible growl.
“I don’t have to do anything. I want to.” Winnie poured coffee from her thermos into two mugs. “Besides, I have an ulterior motive. I’m curious about you.”
Her defenses rose immediately. “Curious how?”
“Relax, dear. I’m not going to interrogate you.
” Winnie settled into a chair and gestured for Emily to do the same.
“I’ve had enough residents come through these cottages to recognize someone who’s running from something.
You don’t have to tell me what. But I did want to check that you’re all right. That you’re not in any danger.”
The directness caught her off guard. “I’m not in physical danger. Just... legal complications. And reputational ones.”
“Ah.” Winnie buttered a muffin and took a bite. “The kind where you did nothing wrong but everyone assumes you did?”
Her throat tightened. “Something like that.”
“Well, you’ll find that Starlight Shores is a good place for starting over. People here don’t much care what the internet says about you.”
They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. The muffins were tender and sweet with bursts of berry flavor. She realized she hadn’t eaten a real meal in days.
“Did the lighthouse light bother you last night?”
“Not at all. I actually… enjoyed it.”
“I thought you might. The lighthouse is quite something, isn’t it?”
“It’s beautiful. The architecture is fascinating. It’s late 1800s construction, I’d guess?”
“1885. My great-great-grandfather helped build it, and the Lockharts have been keepers ever since. Four generations, including me.” Pride colored Winnie’s voice.
“That’s remarkable. Not many families maintain that kind of continuity.”
“It’s in our blood, I suppose. The lighthouse, the Gulf, this stretch of coast. My father used to say the lighthouse called to the people who needed it most.” Winnie smiled.
“Of course, he said a lot of peculiar things. I found some of his old papers while cleaning the storage room last week. They were full of the most cryptic entries about signals. Probably just the musings of someone who spent too much time alone with his thoughts.”
Her curiosity stirred despite herself. “What kind of signals?”
“Oh, who knows. Lighthouse keepers had their own language, I suppose. Most of it’s lost to time now.” Winnie shrugged and began gathering the breakfast things. “Oh, and Emily? You should take a walk this morning. The beach is lovely, and fresh air does wonders for spiraling thoughts.”
After Winnie left, Emily stood at the window with her second cup of coffee. The lighthouse beam had stopped its rotation, replaced by ordinary daylight.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She almost ignored it, but the persistence of the vibration made her check.
A text from a number she didn’t recognize: Ms. Shaw, this is Julian Holloway’s attorney. We need to discuss your continued use of techniques derived from Franklin Holloway’s intellectual property. Please contact our office immediately.
Her hands shook as she read it again. Then again. How did they get her number? She’d changed it before leaving Chicago. Had someone from her old life given it to them?
“You can’t run far enough,” Julian had threatened during their last confrontation. “I’ll make sure everyone knows exactly what you are.”
She sat down hard on the couch. She was kidding herself, thinking she could hide here. Julian had found her in Tallahassee within three weeks. He’d tracked her to Mobile in less than two. He’d find her in Starlight Shores eventually.
The only question was whether she’d still be here when he did or if she’d have run again by then.
She pulled up her email app and saw three more messages from addresses she didn’t recognize, all with subject lines designed to intimidate her.
Legal Action Pending.
Urgent Response Required.
Final Notice Before Filing.
Harassment. That’s all this was. Her lawyer had been clear that Julian had no case. The investigation had cleared her completely. She’d done nothing wrong.
But wrong and guilty were different things in the court of public opinion. And Julian had unlimited resources to keep making her life miserable, even if he couldn’t win in actual court.
She thought about Winnie’s words. We tend to judge people by who they are here, not who the internet says they were somewhere else.
What if she stayed? What if, just once, he didn’t find her?
Her phone buzzed again. This time, she deleted the message without reading it. Then blocked the number. Then blocked the email addresses that had been harassing her all morning.
It wouldn’t stop Julian. But it would stop her from seeing his threats every five minutes.