Chapter 9
nine
T he lighthouse on the southern end of Magnolia Bay had been a staple in Elisa’s life as far back as she could remember. And yet, she did not remember the drive there taking this long.
She gripped the steering wheel with both hands, having long abandoned her nervous run of chit-chat and settled for awkward silence instead. The extended proximity with Noah made her hyper aware of his masculine scent, the warmth of his presence, the way he tapped a steady rhythm on the passenger door handle—like maybe he was nervous, too.
“I think we’re at an impasse.” The words blurted free before her lips could catch them.
Noah shot her a sidelong glance, his dark hair falling across his forehead. “The turnoff to the lighthouse should be another few miles up the way.”
“I didn’t mean geographically.” She waved one hand in the air before returning her death grip to the wheel. The road carved a gray path toward the horizon, the lighthouse still much too small in the distance for her liking. The late afternoon sun teased the clouds, casting long shadows across the water lapping on either side of the concrete bridge. “I meant…us.”
“What us ?”
That honest question shouldn’t sting, but a prickle ripped down her spine anyway. Elisa shifted in the driver’s seat as she checked her side mirror. There was hardly any traffic, but it gave her something to do with her gaze while she felt Noah’s fixed on her. “It’s weird, you know? We’re not friends. But we’re not really enemies, either, now that we’ve called a truce.” She shrugged as she needlessly glanced into her rearview at the dotted white lines blurring behind them. “It’s like we’re in the void.”
He laughed, a small sound in the back of his throat that reminded her of slow dancing on the beach, with fireflies and the moon as their only light. “That’s one way to put it.”
“And how would you put it?” She braved up enough to meet his eyes, briefly, since she was driving. And also briefly because she sure didn’t want to be responsible for steering her car straight into the bay if he happened to be looking at her like he had during those summer nights.
He wasn’t.
They were safe.
He stretched his long, jean-clad legs against the floorboard as she slowed down to make the turn to the lighthouse. “I’d say it’s complicated.”
She pressed her lips together as she clicked on her blinker. “Like a social media status.”
“Hopefully less drama than that.”
She cut him a look as she turned right. “We have a personal history and an entire family feud, sugar. I think we’re more drama than that.”
“Why do you do that?” He pulled at his seatbelt, turning slightly to face her. “The whole sugar thing.”
“To bug you.” She shot him a smile, one that hopefully masked the telltale thumping of her heartbeat under her floral tank. “Is it working?”
“It is now.”
Good. Nice and safe. “Don’t you think we should get along, though?”
“We do get along.”
She stopped at a four-way and tilted her head. “No we don’t. We’re always arguing.”
Noah sighed. “You do realize we’re only arguing right now because I disagreed with you that we don’t get along?”
Point taken. She tapped the steering wheel with one finger. “Maybe the truce should be a little more defined.”
“Sure. Name your terms.” He leveled his gaze at her, shadows playing hide and seek across his face, and for the life of her, she couldn’t remember which pedal would get the car moving again. “What do you want?”
She swallowed, avoiding his eyes. Such a loaded question. In all honesty, she wanted her life back before he popped up in the diner with her father, before he swept in to help her with Delia…before he discombobulated what had taken her years to regulate after that summer.
But she couldn’t say that. Luckily, she’d had years of practice toning down her real emotions. “I think we should work as a true team. With good communication.” The pedal on the right, that was it. She glanced both ways and eased down onto the gas. “And leave the past where it is.”
Hopefully he wouldn’t ask her to clarify whether she meant their past or their families’ past. The answer was both, but it seemed rude to specify.
“Works for me.” Noah stared straight ahead, his gaze fixed on the lighthouse drawing ever closer. “So how’d you figure this clue out?”
“I don’t know if I’m right.” She pulled up to the looming white tower, weatherworn despite a fresh paint job a few years ago. The hurricane hadn’t done any true damage to the time-honored structure, but it sure had tried. “A couple of tourists in Bayou Beignets were talking about the lighthouse, and the woman mentioned how poetic they were. It got me thinking about the poem, and the lines about light and shore…” She shrugged.
“My mind would have never connected those dots.” Noah shook his head. His hand rested on the door handle, but he made no move to get out as he studied her. “That’s impressive.”
Warmth flushed her neck. It was much too dangerous to let his compliment seep in—especially when he was just trying to be civil, maintain their truce. She cleared her throat. “I could be wrong. But it seemed worth investigating.”
“I think you’re right.” A muscle twitched in his jaw, and for a moment, Elisa wondered if he was referring to more than the lighthouse lead. Did he really want to work with her, for real and not only for survival? Maybe work toward a semblance of friendship again?
She weighed the pros and cons of such a move as he maintained eye contact, his brewed-coffee gaze slowly deepening to espresso. He opened his mouth, then shut it and offered a tight smile. “Shall we?
He popped open his door, and she quickly followed suit, shutting her side with one hip and meeting him in front of the vehicle. The lighthouse stretched above them, tall and proud, as waves lapped against the nearby shore. A plaque on a stand boasted the lighthouse operated for over a hundred years in official capacity before retiring and settling into the status of tourist favorite. Even now, a couple stood down the sandy beach by the water as a photographer knelt in front of them, capturing the lighthouse in the background.
“So, teammate.” Noah’s hands rested on his hips. “If you were a clue, where would you be?”
“That’s easy.” She gestured to the guard shack near the base of the tower. “Did you bring that cash?”
Noah frowned, then he scanned the lighthouse from bottom to top. Understanding etched across his features. “I don’t like heights.” He pressed his lips together as he stared upwards, his gaze shuttering.
“I know.” She tugged his sleeve, urging him toward the ticket stand. “That’s why I mentioned the lavender oil.”
“Do I look like the kind of guy who carries essential oils in his pocket?” Noah’s worry turned into a scowl that proved he must have been spending time with Linc lately.
“I don’t know.” Elisa gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, trying not to notice the way his muscles, coiled with anxiety, clenched tight beneath her hand. “But lucky for you, I am that kind of girl.” She produced a vial from her jeans pocket and uncapped it. “Smell this, sugar. You’ll be fine.”
He stared at her, just long enough to make her wonder if he was going to get right back in the car and lock the door. Then he reached out for the oil, like maybe he did trust her, like they were friends again. Or at least heading in that direction?
Their fingers grazed as he took the vial from her hand. She cleared her throat as he held the tiny bottle under his nose and breathed deep.
Because wasn’t friendship what got them in trouble the last time?
After he inhaled several breaths, she took the vial from him and recapped it, hoping he didn’t notice how her fingers trembled.
Maybe neither of them would be fine by the time this wretched hunt was over.
* * *
He’d paid twenty dollars for this. Handed over two tens to the bored-looking guard sitting in the ticket stand, then followed like a sheep as the man lumbered over to the access door at the base of the tower with a key ring that looked as ancient as the lighthouse itself.
Noah steadied himself on the rickety spiral staircase stretching up…up…up, and tried to control his breathing. Elisa, on the other hand, scampered up the stairs several paces ahead of him, reminding him of the Bible verses he’d seen crocheted on a pillow in Magnolia Grocery—something about hinds’ feet and high places.
“You coming?” Her voice echoed in the round structure, only serving to remind him how narrow and confining the winding staircase was. The steps weren’t wide enough for two people, and if anything was going to make him start praying again regularly, it would be the thought of what would happen if someone attempted to climb down while he was going up.
He gritted his teeth, biting hard on the stick of gum he’d popped in hopes he could release his adrenaline. “Right behind you.”
One look down on her part through the open slated stairs would prove that wasn’t true, but it gave him something to strive for. Sweat pooled on his lower back as he forced his legs to move onto the next stair. Done.
One more. Done.
Elisa’s blond head poked over the railing, two levels up. “Do you need more oil?”
He needed to get out of this suffocating hot box, is what he needed. Needed the ground. “I think you slicked me up plenty good enough in the parking lot.”
While he’d been trading cash and his sanity for two tickets, she’d swiped oil down both sides of Noah’s neck. Elisa swore it had calming effects, but all he’d noticed was that his nervous sweating smelled better than it probably would have otherwise.
One more step. Done.
At this rate, they’d find the next clue by Christmas. How many stairs had the guard told them—177? He’d zoned out after that. Was the inside of this tower shrinking, or was that his vision tunneling? He squinted.
“Hey, Noah?”
He grunted, still unable to see Elisa as he gripped the railing in his damp palm. One more step. Done. Six million left to go. He tried to widen his eyes, but it didn’t help the shadows crowding his vision. His heart raced. “What?”
“Did I ever tell you I went to culinary school?”
He blinked, attempting to focus on the next step beneath his feet as it swam. “I heard.”
“Ah, that figures.” Her voice lilted from above, giving him something to climb toward. “Well, anyway, I obviously didn’t stay.”
He wondered how she’d ended up back at the same diner she was waitressing at before she left, but why was she telling him this now? He climbed a little faster as his vision cleared. Two more steps. Done. He sucked in a long breath. “What happened?”
“A lot, actually. I sort of got screwed over by a boy—by a coworker who took my graduation job lead out from under me.”
Noah released his breath. “Boyfriend?”
There was only silence above, and the sound of his own breathing. Then…“I didn’t mean to say that.”
He took another step toward her. “But you did.” So she had a boyfriend betray her.
The thought stung a little—did she count Noah on that same list of betrayals?
“Well, doesn’t matter anyway, because I realized I wasn’t as into cooking as I thought I was.” Her voice softened, though the echo still carried in the tight space. “Just because my mom cooked didn’t mean I had to, you know?”
Three steps. Done. “That’s baloney.”
Elisa had always loved cooking. Even when they were eighteen, she’d fixed a picnic for them to take to the beach. He’d expected PB&J, maybe a few bags of chips. But she’d made three-cheese grilled flatbread sandwiches with her own secret Creole sauce, homemade garlic and pesto chips, and fruit salad with marshmallow cream. And those southern teacake cookies she’d claimed were her mother’s recipes.
A decade later, he could taste the maraschino cherries, picture the hunk of bread that got caught in her hair during an impromptu food fight with the leftovers.
Another four steps. Done. “No, really. I like being manager.” Her easy tone filled the space again, urging his feet forward. Another four steps. Done.
And now he was really trying not to imagine Elisa cooking for the jerk who double-crossed her.
“Being manager is the best of both worlds. I can be around the food but not have to make it.”
But her accompanying laugh didn’t sound genuine, and suddenly, Noah wanted to see her face. Wanted to see if her expression matched her voice.
Wanted to see if she meant it.
He rounded the final curve at a near jog. Elisa waited for him at the top level leading to the observation deck, the sunlight through the wall-to-wall windows catching her blond hair and making it gleam. The lighthouse’s original Fresnel lens the guard had yammered about earlier filled the center of the space behind her.
Elisa smiled, and he felt silly for needing to check on her. She was fine.
“Odd time for story hour.” He braced his hands on his thighs as he caught his breath.
“Was it?” She raised an eyebrow before leaning down to unlatch a low window marked EXIT. “Seems like it was the perfect time to me.” Then she shimmied out the opening before he could reply.
She’d done it on purpose. He bit down on his lower lip as he cautiously hunched under the low frame of the window and moved into the sunshine. That made twice in two days that Elisa Bergeron had tricked him. Except this time, he hadn’t minded the trick nearly as much.
A fact which disturbed him far more than the nerve-wracking view from the top.
Noah risked a step toward the security railing to see the ocean, and his stomach pitched. Nope. He plastered his back against the lighthouse wall. A bird swooped past the curved deck, doing little to settle Noah’s rush of adrenaline. He closed his eyes.
A warm, steadying hand rested on his arm. “You good?”
He opened his eyes. He couldn’t quite feel his legs, but he wasn’t about to let Elisa know that. He sniffed, squaring his shoulders as he avoided her gaze. “I’ll be fine.”
She grinned. “I won’t let you fall.”
The wind lifted a strand of her hair and sent it fluttering away from her cheeks. Something stirred within him, something terrifyingly like old feelings. Noah clenched his hands into fists to prevent his fingers from tucking that rogue lock behind her ear, from cupping her cheek in his hand and reminding her how pretty she was.
Silly impulse. He blamed the lavender oil.
Then their eyes met, hers with a teasing, compassionate spark, and his stomach flipped.
It was no longer the lighthouse that had him concerned about falling.