Chapter 3
The next morning, Winnie knelt in the soft earth of her herb garden, carefully tucking a small rosemary plant into place.
Her knees protested the position, but she ignored them.
Some aches were worth bearing for the satisfaction of working with her hands.
The morning sun warmed her back as she patted the soil around the fragrant herb.
She glanced up at the sound of a door closing.
Emily stood on the small porch of Starfish Cottage, hesitating before stepping down into the courtyard.
The woman moved like someone expecting the ground to shift beneath her feet, cautious and uncertain.
Winnie recognized that look. She’d seen it on countless faces over the decades.
“Good morning. Beautiful day, isn’t it?” She kept her voice light and casual. No need to spook the woman. She pushed herself to her feet and brushed the soil from her gardening gloves.
Emily nodded, her gaze darting around the courtyard as if checking for other people. “It is.” Emily hesitated, then stepped closer. “The garden. It’s beautiful. Did you design this?”
“Over many years. The garden changes with the seasons, just like the people who come here.”
“How long have you been the lighthouse keeper?”
She rose and stretched. “Officially? About fifty years now. Unofficially, I’ve been part of this lighthouse my entire life.”
Emily’s eyebrows rose. “Fifty years? That’s impressive. I didn’t realize lighthouses were still family operations.”
“Most aren’t anymore. The Coast Guard automated many of them years ago. We fought to maintain private ownership when they decommissioned it. The light still works. It’s just not the primary navigational aid it once was.”
“It must be special, having that kind of family legacy.”
“Special and sometimes heavy. Each generation of Lockharts has faced its own challenges in keeping this place alive. The cottages were my solution. We had Starfish Cottage, but I begged my father to add the others over the years.”
“Your solution?”
“Lighthouse upkeep isn’t cheap. The rent from the cottages helps with expenses. And I’m always getting offers from developers who want to buy the property, change it, and make it into something it wasn’t meant to be. The extra income helps keep them at bay.”
“Developers want to buy the lighthouse?”
“And the cottages, though I’m sure they’d tear them down and put up some big resort.” She shook her head. “But more importantly, I realized the lighthouse had always been a beacon for those needing direction. The cottages just formalized what was already happening naturally.”
“What do you mean?” Emily’s brow creased.
“People find their way here when they need something.” She brushed dirt from her gloves. “Most of them don’t know what it is yet.”
Emily tensed. “I’m just looking for some peace and quiet.”
“Of course. That’s how it starts.”
“How what starts?”
“Figuring out what you actually want.” She motioned toward the other cottages.
“Take Melissa in Captain’s Watch. Professional photojournalist. Covered disasters worldwide.
Now she only photographs the lighthouse at dawn.
Or Clint in Driftwood Cottage—came back after twenty years in the Coast Guard because this was the only place that made sense anymore. ”
Emily shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not planning to stay that long.”
“Few do, at first.”
Emily glanced back at her cottage, obviously looking for an escape. “I was thinking of heading into town to get a few things.”
“Bayview General Store has most essentials. If you want breakfast, Harbor Brew downtown makes the best coffee in three counties. Marty Fuller at Tides & Tales bookstore can recommend local history books if you’re interested in the area or if you want to pick up a good fiction read.”
“Thank you. I appreciate the information.”
She could see the walls the younger woman had built around herself, sturdy as a fortress made of stones. Whatever had happened to Emily Shaw had taught her to guard herself carefully. Winnie recognized the signs because she’d spent decades perfecting her own defenses.
“As I mentioned earlier, we have a small gathering in the courtyard most Friday evenings. Nothing fancy, just wine and conversation. You’re welcome to join us whenever you feel like company.”
Emily’s expression tightened. “I’m not really looking for social activities right now.”
“Of course. The invitation stands whenever you’re ready. No pressure at all. And privacy is respected here. Whatever brought you to Starfish Cottage is your business. You’ll find no prying questions from me.”
Something in Emily’s eyes softened slightly at that. Perhaps she’d expected Winnie to push or demand explanations or participation. So many people did, never understanding that healing couldn’t be rushed.
“I should head into town now.”
Winnie nodded and watched Emily head toward her car. There was a story there, one written in the set of the woman’s shoulders and the shadows beneath her eyes. She had developed an instinct over the years for recognizing pain in others, even when they tried to hide it.
She turned back to her gardening, pulling a stubborn weed from beside the rosemary. Emily reminded her of the lighthouse during a storm—still standing but battered by waves. That kind of determination took tremendous strength, but it also exacted a price. She knew that cost all too well.
Emily would find her way in time. The lighthouse had never failed to help lost souls rediscover their bearings. Some people needed space before they could accept connection. She’d learned that lesson through decades of watching people arrive broken and leave whole.
The drive into downtown Starlight Shores took less than five minutes.
Emily followed Winnie’s directions to the historic district, parking on a tree-lined street near the harbor.
The town was exactly as charming as she feared it would be.
Colorful buildings lined the waterfront, their facades freshly painted in cheerful blues, yellows, and coral.
Flower boxes overflowed with blooms and trailing vines.
It looked like a postcard or a movie set and almost too perfect to be real.
She walked slowly along the main street, taking in the shops and restaurants.
The bookstore Winnie had recommended, Tides & Tales, occupied a corner building with large windows displaying maritime histories and local authors.
Close by, a seafood restaurant called The Sandpiper advertised fresh catch and sunset specials.
Everything about the town radiated authenticity and history, the kind of place that had been here for generations and planned to remain for generations more.
Bayview General Store sat in the middle of the block, its wooden sign weathered but freshly painted. Emily took a breath before pushing through the door, triggering a cheerful bell.
The interior was packed with everything from fishing supplies to gourmet food items, organized in a way that suggested decades of evolution rather than any particular plan. An older woman behind the counter looked up with a welcoming smile.
“Good morning. You must be the woman staying at the lighthouse.”
She blinked, caught off guard by the immediate recognition. “I am. How did you know?”
“Small town, honey. Word travels fast when Winnie gets a new tenant.” The woman’s smile widened, and she winked.
“And Winnie called to say you might be stopping by and to help you get stocked up. I’m Sally Morris, by the way.
My family has run this store for years. If you need anything, you just ask. ”
Word travels fast. She managed a smile. Wonderful. By tomorrow, they’d probably know her shoe size and her credit score. Maybe they could skip ahead to the part where they ran her out of town and save everyone some time.
“Thank you. I’m Emily.” She left off her last name, hoping to maintain at least a shred of anonymity.
“Welcome to Starlight Shores. The lighthouse and its cottages are a special place. You picked a good spot to land.”
She nodded, unsure how to respond to that. She grabbed a basket and started gathering supplies, acutely aware of Sally’s friendly gaze following her progress through the store. Two other customers, both older women, studied her with undisguised curiosity.
She pretended not to notice and focused intently on comparing the prices of pasta sauce. She’d known a small town would mean less privacy, but she hadn’t expected to become a topic of conversation quite so quickly.
She paid for her purchases, enduring Sally’s cheerful chatter about an upcoming festival and how Emily simply must attend. Outside, she loaded her bags into the car and stood for a moment, debating whether to head straight back to the cottage or push through her discomfort and explore a bit more.
Coffee. She needed coffee.
Winnie had mentioned Harbor Brew. The coffee shop was easy to spot a block down, its large windows offering views of the harbor. Emily left her groceries in the car and slowly walked toward it.
Just coffee. She was just getting coffee.
Harbor Brew’s interior matched the rest of the town with its nautical decor and exposed brick walls. The scent of fresh-brewed coffee and baked goods made her stomach growl. A handful of customers occupied tables near the windows, and a short line had formed at the counter.
She joined the line and studied the menu board while she tried not to notice the curious glances from other patrons. She was definitely the new person in town, marked as clearly as if she wore a sign.
“Morning, Grant.” A woman greeted the man ahead of Emily with easy familiarity. “The usual?”
“Please. And one of those cranberry scones, if you have any left.”