Chapter 2
Two
CALLUM
“ Y ou’re getting a wee lodger,” Iris drawls.
Coffee splashing over the rim of my cup, I jerk my head up, my eyes burning into my sister’s.
“Don’t want no company. You know that, Iris.”
“Huh. Well, big brother.” She swings the tea towel over her shoulder, leaning against the counter of the café she’s been running since our parents passed years ago.
“You have no choice in the matter. That lighthouse isn’t going to pay for itself much longer.
Fire Island is the last on the list where funding is concerned from those heritage restoration dunderheids.
She won’t be much trouble. I hear she’s a writer.
Probably have her nose stuck in a book most of the time, you know.
Besides, that Fresnel desperately needs replacing. ”
I grunt, returning to my coffee.
Great, just what I need. Something else to look after.
A woman, no less.
“How’s that meditation coming along?” Iris prompts, pinning me with a glare. “You could use a few less rough edges.”
“It’s not.” I return the sentiment, my accent not as thick as hers anymore.
“You will be on your best behavior, Callum McCreary. It’s not only your hide on the line.
” Iris levels me with a glare that could sink a thousand ships and see their sailors beg for death.
Always dramatic, my little sister. I tell her it’s because she was born the decade after me.
Nothing to do with her being a woman, I’m not that damn stupid.
Iris continues, “You might have to clear out, let her have the house. That hut of yours with no electricity isn’t going to keep a tenant longer than a day, ’specially one from the city.”
I let out a string of curses under my breath. The tea towel flings at my head.
“Aye, righto. Keep your hair on. She can have the house. I’ll bunk in the slums. You have my word, oh pristine overlord.”
Her green eyes narrow, hands planting firmly on her hips. No wonder no man has braved that particular storm.
“You can come and check for yourself, warden, if you like.” I drain the coffee cup as the tea towel flies in my direction again.
Grunting, I catch it in one hand. “See ye, Irry.” I toss the tea towel onto the counter and head for the exit.
Folks dip their gazes as I wander past. Errol, the oldest Coast Guardsman ever known to man, throws me a fowl look, pulling down his standard-issue cap.
I shake my head at him, resisting the urge to slap that cap right off his head in my little sister’s café. “Hold a grudge long, Errol?”
Just fucking rude.
In our everybody-knows-everybody town, you can’t walk fifty feet without having to stop and chat. Not that it ever happens to me.
Not real big on small talk—or talk in general—with anyone other than my sister and my best friend, Emmett. Seems like he’s been in my life for eons, at least that’s how far back high school feels. Damn, I’m getting old.
Errol sneaks a look out from under his cap. “Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out, McCreary.”
“She’ll be here in thirty, Cal. Don’t you dare leave without her! You gonna make it for Wednesday dinner this week?” Iris calls out as I move toward the front door of the café.
I wave a hand over my shoulder in response. Wednesday—my birthday. Great, another year closer to fifty. Well, forty-three, but who’s fuckin’ counting?
Doubt I’ll be back.
She mutters something like “stubborn ass” as I push through the café door and into the sunshine.
The marina is quiet in our sleepy little town.
The gulls are already circling the morning’s fish market scraps down by the dock.
The crisp winter air, salty on the senses as it always is, breathes life back into my body as I make for the marina.
Guess I have to wait for a passenger now.
Christ, how hard is it to be left the hell alone?
I find Emmett striding down the gangway, doing his morning harbormaster rounds.
Lucky bastard had the job passed down from his old man, after he graduated from the Corps, and was happy settling with the hand he’d been dealt.
He waves when he sees me coming. I take in the boats bobbing in their slips as I make for mine.
“Cal, morning. How’s Iris?” Em pays me a fleeting glance as he leans over, checking the rigging on a schooner.
“Same as last fortnight, Em. Bossy.”
He chuckles. “Someone has to keep you on the straight and narrow.”
“Yeah, I’m a whole lot of trouble, holed up on a rock in the middle of the goddamn sea, minding my own business.”
“Your supplies turned up. Loaded them onto her for you. You all set?”
“Nope, gotta wait till the midday bus. Got a lodger.”
His eyebrows shoot into his hairline. “Someone is paying you to live in that old hut? Man, it doesn’t even have electricity.”
“House, not hut.” I groan at the thought of some stranger in my space. But desperate times call for desperate measures. Possibly losing Fire Island’s only lighthouse is desperate times.
Not a big fan of change. I like my solitude on that tiny island. If taking a lodger on means I can keep that peace a little longer, I will.
Like Em’s father did for him, mine handed down his legacy—the lighthouse.
Among some of the more stubborn features, our parents also handed the accent down to us.
Although it’s waned since they’ve been gone.
Now, the inflections, a handful of Scots words, and a few Gaelic phrases my father would use from time to time are all that remain from our parents’ homeland for Iris and me.
“Hell, that’ll be rough midwinter, bud.”
I huff a chuckle. “Survived worse, Em.”
His face falls. “Yeah, you sure have.”
The pang of the ghost of past heartbreaks haunts me for a beat.
Clearing my throat, I compose myself and slap his shoulder as I walk past, heading for my boat.
It’s not Em’s fault. It isn’t anyone else’s.
Even all these years later, it still rips me up.
I have managed to ignore it over the years.
And time really does mend hearts. But the stitches old Father Time used to put my haphazardly beating organ back together show from time to time.
Footsteps from behind tell me Em is following.
Probably to make sure the supplies are secure.
And check I’m not going to sail off into the unknown, never to return.
He’s like my brother. We’ve always been close.
Through girls, sports, college, even my stint in the Navy, he would always be one of the first to meet me at the docks.
His father’s death. My parents’ accident. ..
My morbid thoughts are interrupted when he catches up.
“Cal, you need a hand to get all this sorted?”
I look at the boxes of supplies, the items on my fortnightly list that I drop off first thing when I dock every Friday morning. “No, bud, it looks good. Thanks though, hey.”
A soft smile pushes up on his face. His brown eyes are tight. “You know, if you ever get sick of living the real-life survivor episode, the mainland will always have you back.”
Tossing the cargo net over the supply boxes, I secure it down. “Nope. Like my peace, you know that.”
“How long is this lodger staying?” Em asks, bending over the side of the old fishing trawler to tie off the cargo strap on port.
“Not sure, hopefully long enough to pay for the lighthouse upgrades. The old Fresnel needs swapping out. At this rate, the fishing hut is going to outlive the damn house.”
Em chuckles. The memories I have revolving around the fishing hut on the southern end of the island are too many to count. Some of my best days were spent there. The only place I can still feel my father.
“Boss lady got you all sorted, I see.” Em’s face lights up with his reference to my tenacious little sister.
Rubbing the back of his neck, he opens his mouth to say something.
Heels click down the gangway toward us, and he snaps it shut.
“Been a long time since you had to share anything with a woman. Sure you’re up to it, old man? ”
“What’re you havering about? A, you’re literally the same age as me, asshole. B, she’s probably some crotchety old hag who smells like camphor and cats. C?—”
Em moves, his gaze looking right past me to whoever is walking toward us. He pulls his cap from his head with a nod. “Or not.”
I spin around.
A young twentysomething looks around, confused.
Her bottom lip worries through her teeth, black-rimmed glasses on her face.
Her long dark hair rests around her slim shoulders and a dark grey cap sits on her head.
In a cream sweater and tight dark jeans ending in black heeled boots, she swivels on the spot, as if searching for something.
“Hi!” Em steps forward like a bellhop, hands clasping his fucking hat. “I’m Emmett. You must be here for the accommodations.”
“Oh, hi, yes. I was sent down here from the café. A lady called Iris said my ride is here?” Her eyebrows lower over dark brown eyes. “Is it you I’m looking for?”
Emmett steps sideways. “Nope. That would be Callum.”
Now her gaze swings to me. “Oh sorry, I didn’t realize. Hi, I’m Eve. Sorry about the short notice. My editor only organized this all yesterday.”
Not an old, camphor-smelling crazy cat woman.
Brown eyes stay locked on me, as if waiting for something.
Emmett takes her bag, muttering something under his breath before waving her toward the boat.
“I’m confused, is the cottage up the coastline?” Eve says softly.
So fucking meek.
Great, just as I thought. Someone needing looking after.
Stepping aboard, the old fishing boat moves with my weight. I do a round of pre-start checks, like I didn’t already run her in from the island this morning. Em can deal with the crazy lady.
“Is he going to be long?” she says.
“Huh?” Em grunts, settling her things beside the cargo netting. “You’re going with.”
She stares at Em. “Up the coast?”
“The cottage is on Fire Island. Callum will take you over.”
Eve looks like she’s about to turn and run back down the gangway. “Oh.” Instead, she looks around like a deer in headlights. I busy myself with checking fuel and oil levels.
“You mean... over that?” She points toward the sea, now a little choppier than it was on the trip in this morning. Great, she probably gets seasick. Hell, Iris couldn’t vet potential lodgers?
“Typical,” I breathe under my breath.
Eve paces in a small circle, arms hugging her chest as she mutters to herself.
Wonderful.
I’m the one who should be worried, about to be stuck on the island with crazy.
“You can do this, Evie. You have to, no other choice now,” she whispers before halting abruptly.
I roll my eyes and drop onto the captain’s seat.
I fire up the old girl and let her idle, chugging out water behind us at a low churn.
The sound snaps Eve from her partial conniption, and she edges toward Firefly.
“Here, watch your step,” Em says, extending a hand.
She stares at his palm before she takes it and steps onto the boat. Forcing a small smile his way, she grabs onto the boat for dear life. “Sorry, I’m not usually this uptight, honestly. It’s been?—”
I throw the throttle forward. A squeaking noise bursts from her lips as she sways on her feet.
Em scurries for the lines, setting us free in quick time.
Raising a finger to my forehead in a salute aimed at Em, I steer Firefly out of her slip.
Eve drops onto the small bench seat behind me, hands clasped together in her lap.
I set my sights on the eastern horizon, maintaining heading.
Twenty minutes later, the rocky shoreline of Fire Island comes into view.
I run an eye over the chop and swell, slowing her as we approach.
The weathered jetty stands stoic in the water.
Just the sight of it has the tension I felt on the mainland starting to loosen.
As far as things a man could want for, peace and a place of my own have always been top of the list.
Loneliness and me have shared a bed for well over a decade.
The sneaky bitch slithered her way in and never left.
Firefly slides in beside the jetty. I kill the engine and throw the lines up. Eve sits frozen, watching. I tie off and jump back down into the boat. With a huff, I snatch up her bag. A second later, I drop it, remembering I need to clear out my house before she steps foot in it.
I step back up onto the jetty and start toward land.
The iconic Fire Island lighthouse stands proud and tall on the northern end of my slice of isolated paradise.
The white and black paintwork that took me weeks juts into the sky.
The small keeper’s cottage, mere feet from the oversized structure, shares the same color scheme.
But none of the amenities. Well, a fireplace and a bath, a basic bunk—no bed or living quarters.
It’s an all-in-one type arrangement. And for the next however many weeks, my new space.
Shuffling from behind sees me spin back. Eve is grabbing up her bag, like she’s about to hop from the boat and waltz right into my damn sanctuary like she was fucking invited.
Not likely, lassie.
I move toward her and hold up a hand.
Her mouth pops open a little, and she glances between me and the lighthouse. I shove my hand forward, signaling for her to stay put. When she drops back to the bench seat, I make for the lighthouse.
It takes all of ten minutes to clear out my personal effects.
I give the place a rough tidy and walk out the door.
And run right into softness.
Something like jasmine and vanilla shrouds me. Her bag drops to the ground at her feet. I force my gaze up to hers. Frowning, she looks over my shoulder into my goddamn house. When her eyes meet mine again, she says, “Thank you.”
Grunting, I leave the doorway, arms loaded with my belongings.
She may have to be here. I may have to make sure she stays to keep this place from being lost forever. But I don’t have to like it or her.
And I sure as hell don’t have to talk to her.