Chapter Sixteen
As the sun sets and the lighthouse interior glows a soft shade of orange, it feels absolutely magical in here.
Shane wants to stay a while longer, and I do too.
That’s why I turn to him and whisper, “Yes, let’s stay.”
I can’t look away.
We’ve had a lot of “moments,” but not like this one.
I see in his gaze that he wants more.
I do as well.
I want to feel his lips on mine.
I want to kiss this man.
So when he leans in, eyes closing, I shut mine too.
Then our lips touch.
Finally.
Oh my God, it’s so good—the perfect mix of soft and slightly rough and hungry at times.
I kiss Shane back with everything I’ve been keeping bottled up inside. It feels as if he’s doing the same thing.
No, I know he is.
While we kiss and kiss, the sun melts down into the water, a perfect romantic backdrop.
The skies darken, and we know someone will be coming around to lock up soon. In fact, it’s the sound of a truck pulling up that finally gets us to stop making out.
“That must be the lighthouse keeper,” I say softly as I lean back.
With his hands still on my hips, Shane says, “Yeah. We better get out of here before we get kicked out.”
Laughing, I agree, “That’s for sure.”
We still haven’t said a word about what just happened. Nevertheless, it feels comfortable and normal between us.
I’m relieved about that.
Shane is so sweet and cute too. When we’re ready to start down the staircase, he insists on carrying me.
“It’s going to be dangerous navigating these steps in the near-dark,” he says. “I’d never forgive myself if you fell, Willa.”
Okay, I’m melting a little right now.
Of course I agree.
I like being in his strong arms.
At the base, though, to my dismay, he puts me down. But then he spins me around to face him.
I think we’re about to have another moment, and maybe more kissing too.
Oooh, I hope so.
But then the door pops open and an old, grizzled man walks in. He totally fits the stereotype of what you’d expect for a lighthouse keeper.
“Time to go, young people,” he says gruffly when he spots us. “The lighthouse is now closed for the night.”
“No problem,” Shane replies. “We were just leaving.”
The man huffs, and we go, laughing as we jog out to the Jeep.
“I don’t think he liked that we were still there,” I say as I stop by the passenger door.
“Yeah, probably not,” Shane agrees. “But he should be happy there were visitors, at least. I get the impression the lighthouse is not a big tourist draw.”
Seeing as we had the place to ourselves the whole time, I’d say he’s right.
Once we’re in the Jeep, we head back down the sandy lane and start on the road to our house.
In a way, it really does feel like “our” house. I guess technically it is until August. But after what happened in the lighthouse, it feels even more so.
Still, was the kissing a one-off?
Were we just caught up in a magical moment?
Shane hasn’t said a word about it yet.
I guess I’ll have to.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Can we talk about what just happened back there?”
He nods once. “Yeah, I think we should. But let’s wait till we’re home, okay? I want to be able to look at you when we’re talking.”
I actually agree, and I tell him as much.
Only thing is now I’m worried that maybe he’s going to say that what happened was a mistake, and that we need to forget about it and get back to working on being just friends.
God, I hope not.
Frankly, I don’t know if I can.
Back at the house, we decide to talk out by the pool. There’s a nice warm breeze, and it feels comfortable back there. Truly, it’s become our go-to spot for late-night chats.
Though this one is über important.
That’s why we choose to angle our loungers so that we can face each other. Since we still would like to sit side by side, Shane just spins his chair the opposite way of mine and scoots it down a little so that once we’re seated, his hips are about where my thighs are.
“So,” he begins with a warm smile, “about what happened at the lighthouse…”
“Oh God.” I cover my face with my hands, worried. “Please don’t say it was a mistake.”
“A mistake?” I hear him exclaim. Then he snorts, and I dare to lower my hands. “Willa, it was far from a mistake. To be honest, it was one of the best kisses I’ve ever had.”
“Me too,” I reply softly. Then I ask, “Do you think we just got caught up in the moment, though? It felt so magical up there, what with the sun setting and that soft orange glow.”
I don’t know what I’m doing. I guess I’m trying to make sure that, though it was an amazing make-out session, it was real.
“Willa.” Shane takes my hand. “Listen. It wouldn’t have mattered where we were. It was bound to happen. I’m glad it was in such a romantic spot, but damn, girl, I’ve been thinking about and wanting to kiss you for a long while now.”
“You have?” I ask, surprised.
He squeezes my hand. “Yes, I have. I’ve been attracted to you since day one. Hell, since moment one. But then we agreed to work on a friendship, and I wanted to respect that and give it a try. Though I have to admit, it’s been fucking hard to see you in just that light.”
Smiling, I share, “I’ve felt the same way, Shane. Every word of what you just said about me is how I felt, and feel, about you.”
He’s beaming as he says, “Then it’s good that this happened.”
I agree, but then I tell him, “Still, I’m scared.”
He looks concerned as he asks, “What are you afraid of, sweetheart?”
“Well…” I blow out a breath. “It’s just that we get along so well, and I don’t want us to move too fast and have things just burn out. You know what I mean?”
He nods. “I do, and I feel the same way. But I have an idea to maybe keep that from happening.”
“What’s that?”
With his free hand, he smooths back his messy hair, and then he says, “I can’t believe I’m even suggesting this, but I’m thinking maybe we should take things slowly. You know, still work on our friendship and all, and no rushing into bed.”
“I’m actually a little relieved,” I admit. “I like that plan. I was thinking more or less the same thing.”
Squeezing my hand once more, he says, “Then, tough as it may be at times, slow is the order of the day.”
With a mischievous smile, I say, “Great, but I do have one question.”
He cocks his head. “Yeah? What’s that?”
Pouting, I ask, “Does taking it slowly mean no more kissing?”
“Oh hell no, girl,” he chortles. “Fuck that. If anything, it means more.”