Chapter 7
Seven
EVIE
O ne would think after our encounter with the shower and then the eggs and bacon, some kind of progress would have been made between Callum and me.
I mean, not like there’s a Callum and me.
Just, that . . .
With a sigh, my forehead hits my keyboard.
The one I’ve been staring at for hours only to get down a whole one hundred and twenty-eight words.
Fire Island can be kind of lonely, even for a hermit like me.
And that little burst of time we spent together over a fortnight ago felt like something I can’t explain.
It was . . . nice.
Comfortable with an undercurrent of something intense that I haven’t yet been able to place.
Then it was like it never happened.
He never came back for breakfast that morning, and I cleaned up and ate alone.
And just like that, that spark of life, of connection that would make my stay here more bearable, has gone up in a puff of smoke, along with my words.
Callum hovers around, tending to the garden in the greenhouse and maintaining the light above my small room.
He’s good at keeping busy. Then, he went to the mainland without me last week. Again.
And we’re back to square one.
So, now, I find myself alone once again with writer’s block that’s kicking my butt.
The plot is all over the place, the characters too shallow, and the world-building as thin as Saran Wrap.
And the chemistry between the hero and heroine?
Nonexistent . I haven’t managed to write anything romantic since the accident.
It’s like every bit of lust and love that I ever possessed stopped breathing the minute Joshua did.
Maybe some research could help?
Groaning, I push off the desk, adjusting my glasses before deciding I need some fresh air.
Maybe that will kickstart this stupid, stuck head of mine.
Revive this aching heart. The weather has started to warm up and I change out of my PJs and into a yellow sundress, plucking out a cardigan just in case.
A long, slow walk on the beach on the eastern side of the island should help.
Here’s hoping.
I’m out the door before my never-touching-grass brain can catch up.
The gravel of the small path around the lighthouse crunches underfoot, and I take in the magnificent grass-topped rock I’m lucky enough to live on, even for a while.
Making my way toward the sheds and the eastern beach, I wonder what it would be like to live here as long as Callum has.
And at which point the loneliness would find me.
The grass ends, giving way to a dark rocky border before the beach spills out around me.
The waves on this side are wilder than the mainland side.
The tide is out. I kick off my slip-ons and pad toward the roiling ruckus.
The sand is still cold, like this is only a brief pocket of warmth, not the turn of the seasons I hoped it would be.
The ground is awash with shimmering sand, clusters of shells, small ocean debris, and the odd scurrying tiny crab.
The ocean breeze steals my hair, tangling it behind my shoulders at my back.
I close my eyes and hold my arms out, letting the rushing water, briny scents, and wet, wet sand that sinks between my toes swallow me.
Inhale.
Exhale.
The world quiets for a beat, letting my racing, harried mind slow the tiniest bit.
The morning sun kisses my skin, my arms and legs and shoulders tingling with the welcome rays.
My lungs stretch with each breath. All thoughts of fantasy worlds, mythical creatures, worlds too big to be contained in one mind melt away.
For this very moment, I’m right where I’m meant to be, even if only for a while.
A gull cries overhead, and I snap my eyes open. The waves are biting at my feet. The tide is shifting. I turn back and wander along the beach. The waves eventually chase me up the sand and to the rocky edge. It’s been forever since I spent hours outside with nothing in particular to do but wander.
So I do.
Stopping at the shed, I skirt around the outside until I find a window. Pushing up on my tiptoes, I peer inside.
There’s boxes, old pieces of furniture. Some covered in sheets, others with only a thick layer of dust for cover.
Rusted items hang on the wall. Something big sits at the end of the shed, covered, with smaller boxes resting on top.
Some of the furniture looks antique. A box sits on a bench by the opposite wall, next to another labeled clothes .
It’s like someone moved out and left their things behind. Maybe the lighthouse keeper before Callum?
“Find what you’re looking for?” a harsh voice snaps from behind me.
I stumble away from the shed to find a stone-faced Callum, his arms crossed over his chest. Eyes burning into me, like if he only stares hard enough I might burst into flames.
“I was exploring,” I say, too quietly.
“Taking a man’s home wasn’t enough? You gotta snoop over every inch of the island as well?”
My mouth gapes.
“No, I wasn’t snoo?—”
“Yeah, you were. Don’t you have a novel to work on?”
My brows drop, but I take a step sideways, toward the lighthouse. His eyes track the length of me, taking me in.
“Go on, then.” He nods to the house.
Ass.
Giving him the poutiest look I can make, I stalk toward the lighthouse. The wind plays with the hem of my dress, flipping it about. All of a sudden, the frigid bite of the wind finds me.
Right now, I couldn’t care less.
“You always do what you’re told, princess?” He chuckles from behind me.
Ugh!
I spin back and march right back to where he stands. My finger is in his stupid face a second later. “Don’t call me that, ever .”
A smirk pulls up on his stupid, handsome face as his blue eyes light up. “What can I call you, then?”
His demeanor has changed from a minute ago when he was accusing me of snooping.
“Eve. You get to call me Eve. That’s it.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay, Evie.”
“Urgh!” Only my family and Allie call me Evie. You know, the close friend and family I love. Not him ; he doesn’t get that. I turn back and walk for the house.
A large hand wraps around my wrist a heartbeat later.
I stop dead still.
“Eve.”
“What?”
“You can’t go wandering around the island alone.”
“You do,” I say, turning back. His hand on my wrist burns, sparks flinging up my arm like damn wildfire, settling in my chest.
His gaze drops to where he’s still holding me to the spot. His grip softens before he pulls his hand back. I stare at the place his fingers had just covered my skin, willing my body to calm the hell down.
His face softens, and he sets his shoulders back. “Just tell me where you’re going if you wander away from the house.”
“Sure thing.” Sarcasm drips from every syllable.
Who the hell am I?
This man is infuriating.
A hint of a smile ghosts across his lips, and he walks away. But he glances back. “Don’t get too used to the warmer days; the last cold snap will be here”—he nods to the sky—“any day now.”
Watching him, I’m rooted to the spot. The bundled-up man from a month ago is down to jeans and a T-shirt. A broad back with musculature that would make a Greek god cry...
His hair is ruffled, like he’s been out in the wind since he woke this morning.
My mouth is gaping.
Shit.
Good lord, Evie, snap out of it.
I jerk, spinning back to the house. I’m guessing any man would have that effect on a woman who’s been starved of human touch for five years.
Yes, that’s it. He could be anyone.
I’m certain of it.
Safe inside the house, I kick off my shoes and pad to the kitchen sink.
In a daze, I find a mug and fill it with water, drinking it down like I’m dying of thirst. I lean a hip on the sink and refill the mug.
Movement from beyond the curtained window catches my attention.
I sweep the pale-lemon cloth aside, holding it back.
Callum is stacking wood. Corded arms and working shoulders manhandle the timber. He tugs the axe from the chopping block and bends down to pick up a short round log. The mug meets the counter, my hand still wrapped around it.
The axe swings, smashing into the log, his hands wrapped around the handle. The log splits, one half falling to the ground while the other teeters on the stump. Forearms flexing, he adjusts the split half and swings again.
It splinters, but the blade is stuck deep into the wood.
One large hand wrapped around the wood, he pries the head of the axe out. I swallow, chest heaving, as I lean closer to the window. Lips parted, each breath I take rustles the curtain, its fabric now white-knuckled between my fingers.
With the wood down to size, he tosses it into a pile to his right and bends over, swiping up the other half. As if my gaze is burning his skin, he turns toward the house. I jerk back, letting the curtain fall.
“Oh god.” The word is breathy, and far too guilty.
Frozen to the spot, I stall the air in my lungs. Eventually the thwack of the axe takes up again, and I relax. Fumbling the mug in my hand that’s warmed in my hold, I drain the last of the water and place it in the sink.
Words.
Right, I have words to write.
Surely after seeing the only other person on this isolated island working in the sun, my imagination has been stoked. As I climb the stairs and wind my way up to my room, I can’t help but think that my words aren’t the only thing I have rediscovered today.
I slam the laptop shut. Well, so much for that theory.
Watching Callum work did something, but unblock my writing was not it.
I slide the desk drawer open and pull out the old, tattered Weather Log journal I found in the sofa days ago, flipping through the pages to read a few entries.
He writes about Emmett’s problems and possible solutions.
Iris and her life. The words are selfless and so. .. kind.
I’m warming up to him more with every turn of the page. Every entry I read gives me a privileged look inside Callum McCreary. His thoughts, his life.
The door shuts with a thud downstairs, and I rise from the chair, slipping the journal back into the drawer. It should be weird, him coming and going as he pleases, but it’s not. Heavy footsteps tread upward and bypass the open bedroom door.
Curious, I follow. Outside my room, I glance up the spiral treads that continue to the very top.
The lantern room. Callum disappears into it, and I hurry after him.
I’ve never been up there. I’m not sure I’m allowed.
Maybe I could put it down to research? Surely there could be a lighthouse in my fantasy realm? Magical pirates and all...
World-building research, that’s what I’m going up there for.
Not the long-lost chemistry I can’t seem to pin down, no matter how hard I try.
“Callum?” I grip the last of the rail before the room’s threshold.
“’Round front.”
Well, at least he didn’t accuse me of snooping this time.
I step into the room. It’s bigger than I imagined.
A curved, slatted cage fences the enormous light in.
Everything is bright white or transparent.
The lamp itself is silver and reflective.
The round room is topped with a small dome. Interesting.
“You needing something?” a gruff voice rumbles from behind the lens.
I lean around it, but the apparatus is too big. Carefully, I step around until I find Callum squatting down, a white rag in one hand, a long brush in the other, and a scowl on his face.
I sink to the floor beside him, and he looks at me. A curious but entertained look flickers over his face and his blue eyes don’t leave me. I train my eyes up to the huge light that’s currently stationary and turned off. “It’s so big. The light, that is.”
He chuckles, continuing his cleaning. “That it is.”
“Did you always want to do this? Live out here by yourself?”
He drops to his seat and leans against the slatted wall behind him. The rag comes to rest between his hands over his knees, now bent up. His face falls a little. “It wasn’t my first choice. But the best one at the time.”
“Oh,” I mutter. I can’t seem to close my mouth. He runs a hand over his short-cut beard and licks his lips, and I’m mesmerized. Clearing my throat, I drop my gaze to my hands. My idle, useless hands.
“You always want to be a writer?” he returns.
Surprised at the question, I look up with a strained chuckle. It’s odd, these little pockets of easy we find ourselves in between the otherwise strained existence we have here together.
“I guess. I had the idea in high school and never really worried about looking any further.”
He simply nods. “Sometimes you just know.”
“Yeah, sometimes.”
The conversation is easy, if not a little stifled.
It’s the first time we have talked like this.
Who knew all I needed to do was corner him in the lantern room?
And it’s refreshing; it gives me hope. Maybe life isn’t as bad as I think it is.
Maybe the grey, lifeless days I endured were meant to give me a fresh start.
Maybe not here, but this is like a precursor, a way to kick the tires.
This is me, dipping my toe in the waters of change.
Changing from the life I have in the city to something different.
Anywhere different. I can take my writing anywhere.
Maybe I should.
The deep-seated thought of my heart’s work resurfaces for the umpteenth time since I started my writing career.
Fantasy isn’t what my heart wants. It fills the void most days, but it far from lights me up.
To be honest, it stresses me out. The world-building and magic systems. I haven’t had the guts to tell Livvy.
“. . . down?”
I flip my focus to Callum’s frowning face. “Sorry, what?”
He gives me a quizzical look that ends with a genuine smile.
And, oh my god, he’s stunning. A wide smile that lights up his eyes the way I imagine this lantern room illuminates the ocean.
His throat works as his chuckle peters out, and the room is far too small all of a sudden.
My heart flings against my ribs, and I can’t help it when my eyes lift to find his mouth.
Shit.
I scramble to my feet and look anywhere but at the man below me. He stands, shoving the cleaning rag in his back pocket. “We should go down before the afternoon sun finds us.”
“Ah—yeah—sure thing.” I grab the rail and descend faster than is safe, my cheeks aflame, my body doing something ridiculous.
When I hit the first floor, I dart into my room.
Shutting the door behind me, I lean against it.
My head thumps backward onto the wood and I slide down to the floor. Knees hugged in my arms, I groan.
What the hell was that?