Chapter 8 #3
“I put them in a mason jar. I poked holes in the metal top. I’d keep them in there for about fifteen minutes before I felt sorry for them and let them go. Every time, I swore I was going to keep them as pets.”
“That’s a very keen observation for a child, to realize they needed to be released.”
“I looked out at the woods and I thought how much better it was to run in them than to be shut up in my room, so they needed to have the same freedom. Did you keep yours?”
“No. I didn’t think as much about it as you did, but I always let them go.”
“Ah,” he smiled, sending a current of happiness through her chest. “Maybe it’s because you already knew. You didn’t have to think about it.”
Faith and Jake had let their lightning bugs go, only holding them close to inspect their beauty; their real beauty was when they were out in the world.
Perhaps that was how Nan felt about her family.
She enjoyed seeing them out instead of shut up in the confines of the house.
It hit her at that moment that she hadn’t shared much of her social life with Nan in a long time.
Perhaps Nan didn’t realize how much she’d changed.
Was that why she’d brought them all the way to the Outer Banks for her birthday?
Was that why she had all those photos—photos of life being lived?
Was Nan hoping to remind them all that they needed to enjoy their lives?
No one ever takes photos while sitting at a desk working.
Those aren’t the memories that matter. That wasn’t living.
As she walked next to Jake, the wind in her hair, the sun on her skin, the clean, spicy smell of him wafting around her in the breeze, she realized how much of a memory she was making. And this was a memory that mattered.
“So, what do you like to do when you aren’t working or building things?
What do you do to relax?” she asked, the question coming easily this time.
His hand was swinging right next to hers, and she wondered what it would feel like to be able to hold it casually.
She wished she could fast forward to a time when she knew him well enough to feel completely at ease around him.
He had such a gentle, caring way about him, despite his strong exterior.
Would his romantic touch be as light as his words were sometimes?
“I’m up for anything,” he said.
“What about if it’s raining and you can’t go out. What do you do?”
He grinned a crooked grin and shook his head. “You probably wouldn’t believe me.”
“Why? Do you give yourself facials or something?” she giggled at the thought.
“Ha! No. Definitely not.” He chuckled some more and allowed her to hop off the walkway first. On the grounds of the lighthouse was an old farmhouse—white wooden siding with a long, country porch. It looked as though it might be a museum. “I sit in my favorite chair and read.”
There was something so delicious about thinking of this man beside her, a book in his hands, the quiet hum of the fan or the crackling of a fire the only sound as he devoured the words on the page.
What he hadn’t realized was that it was the perfect answer.
Faith would love nothing more than to sit and read beside him.
“Why is that so hard to believe?” she asked.
“I suppose it is believable. It’s just not very exciting.”
“Says who?”
“My ex-wife, for one,” he said with another huff of laughter, but his face straightened out quickly and Faith could sense the wound that was still there. “Good grief. I’m out of practice.”
“What do you mean?”
“First time I take a lady out, and I’m mentioning my ex. Sorry.”
His admission warmed her. “It’s okay.”
“I’m trying not to mess this up,” he said in a lighthearted way, but she could feel a seriousness to his words. It was clear that he was trying to make a good impression, meaning that taking her out was a big deal to him. This fact made her so happy.
“I love to read, too,” she said in an effort to calm his worry. “It’s my favorite thing to do.”
He smiled at what she’d said, but there was more behind his smile—a wonder, an interest. He looked a little unsure, which was odd, since he’d been so confident with her family.
“Really?” he asked. Faith sensed that he thought she was just trying to make him feel better, and she was taken with his vulnerability.
“When I was young, I always had a book in my hands. I still do whenever I get a chance, although, with my job, I’ve been reading a lot of children’s books lately.”
“I always liked the classics, and my dad said that I was an old soul.”
“What was your favorite book?”
“A newer classic, actually. Hemingway. Old Man and the Sea. I read it so many times that the binding broke and all the pages were loose inside.”
She felt the coincidence in her chest and couldn’t believe that it was possible that as kids, the two of them could’ve been in the same town in the Outer Banks with their noses in a book. “Hemingway? Didn’t he have a house in Key West?”
“Yes, I think he did. That’s impressive knowledge!”
“I only know because I was obsessed with Key West as a child. I read all of Robert Frost, and he spent time there as well. I wanted so badly to go there.”
“Did you ever go?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
She took in a breath, relishing the smell of the beach. “I don’t know; work commitments, family stuff, I suppose. But deep down, I think I just didn’t want to go alone. I’d rather wait until I have someone to go with.”
He looked at her for a long time, and she wondered what was going through his mind. It was as if she’d hit a nerve or something. She could sense a little disappointment, maybe? It was hard to tell. “If you wait for things like that,” he said gently, “you’ll end up having never gone.”
It occurred to Faith then that this strong, handsome man, who seemed to have it all together, who had so much free time he could work every day doing something he loved, who had enough money to buy enormous sailboats and luxury cars—that with everything he could ever want, he might be missing something.
Did he crave the intimacy of a family? Did he want someone to share his life with?
Or were those just Faith’s wishes coming through?
Reaching the lighthouse, Jake paid the entrance fee and they walked inside.
Spiraling upward as far as she could see was a mesh, metal staircase.
Looking up, the climb seemed daunting as she considered the sandals she was wearing.
She’d tried to look pretty, choosing her strappy ones with a slight heel. Now, she wished she had her flip-flops.
“Ladies first.” Jake gestured toward the first step. Trying not to think about the journey upward, she put her foot on the step and started the climb to the top. Their feet made quiet, clattering sounds as they walked up.
“In my dad’s house, there was a crawl space underneath our stairs for storage.
My dad cleared it out and made it into a little clubhouse for me.
I used to sit in there and read. The only light was my battery-operated book light.
I could hear the sound of feet on the steps whenever someone went up.
I haven’t thought of that in years, but our footsteps reminded me of it. ”
She looked back at him, wishing they could stop right there on the stairs and talk some more despite the fact that it wasn’t the most ideal place to stop. She didn’t care. She could be anywhere and talk to him. “You did a lot with your dad, it seems,” she said, taking another step.
“Well, growing up, it was just the two of us.”
She didn’t want to pry, but she wanted to find out everything about Jake.
He was like no one else she’d gone on a date with before.
He was open, genuine, no nonsense. It was clear that he was just himself.
She wanted to know how that little boy, who’d crawled under the stairs as a kid, had grown up to be a wealthy businessman who still did carpentry on the side.
What happened in all those years to make him the man who was climbing those stairs with her now?
She wanted to know all the things his father had seen as he’d grown up.
And she wanted to meet him—the man who’d taught Jake how to be this wonderful, sweet person.
“I only ask,” she said, “because it was just me, Casey and my mom. My dad left when we were little.”
“Ah. Well, my mom passed away when I was young.”
“I’m so sorry, Jake.” His loss made her unexpectedly sad.
“It’s okay. I have foggy memories of her—like dreams. I remember her kissing my forehead before bed, and I remember her singing me to sleep. The rest of my memories—very good ones—are of my dad.”
His words echoed in the hollow space of the lighthouse, but they were the only ones there, so no one heard them.
She stopped and turned around, and he almost bumped into her. His hands were on the railing on either side of her. If he let go, they were close enough that he could put his arms around her. “Thank you for telling me that,” she said, seeing him in a new light.
He was eye level, being a step below her, and she could see contemplation on his face.
His eyes roamed hers for a moment, as if he, too, had only really seen her for the first time in that moment.
The silence was thick around them. She didn’t know how to respond to whatever it was zinging between her and this wonderful stranger.
The way he was looking at her, it was as if he were going to do something, say something—she wasn’t sure.
“It was nothing at all to tell you that,” he said quietly, his eyes still intently looking into hers.
He pulled in with every word and every look, closer and closer.
His face was so near that she could feel his breath, and she swallowed to keep composure.
He leaned forward and smiled, just before his lips met hers.