7. One Very Brave Candle #2
I set the candle carefully on the floor and watch the small pool of light spread around me. It isn't much, but at least I can move without carrying my phone everywhere.
Now I just have to remember not to kick it over.
I haven't quite reached the point where accidentally setting fire to the house I spent half my life in sounds like a reasonable solution.
Yet.
I start figuring out how to transport the candles, matches, and one lit candle to the relative comfort of the living room when a harsh rattle sounds somewhere outside.
I freeze.
My gaze snaps toward the front of the house.
I'm too far back to know for certain if the sound came from the porch swing, but my nerves apparently don't care about certainty.
Jack tied it down.
I watched him do it while pretending I didn't care. Then I closed the door and told myself I was finished thinking about him and the stupid swing.
Apparently, the swing didn't get the message.
I leave the rest of the supplies where they are and pick up the lit candle before making my way toward the front window.
Carefully.
Because adding house fire to tonight's list of problems would feel excessive.
I pull back the curtain.
The swing is still there, but it's straining against the rope and jerking with every gust like it deeply resents being restrained. The knot is holding, but the chains groan as the wind pushes against it.
It looks less like a porch swing and more like something trying to escape.
I swallow.
That swing used to be one of my favorite places in the world.
Now it's apparently the bane of my existence.
Or I'm the bane of the bench's existence.
Whichever.
When I was younger, I spent hours sitting on that swing with a book, listening to the ocean like it was a lullaby. And when I brought Ben here for the first time, I made him sit on it before I'd show him anything else.
Test it, I'd told him, like sitting on the Monroe porch swing was some kind of Tidehaven rite of passage.
He'd laughed before dropping into the seat and rocking gently back and forth like he'd always belonged there.
The memory hits too quickly.
Too clearly.
I blink hard and let the curtain fall.
No.
I'm not standing in a dark house during a storm and letting a porch swing become another memory trap.
I need a plan.
A real one.
I pull out my phone and check the signal.
Five bars.
Perfect reception.
Of course.
Tidehaven is apparently happy to keep me connected to the entire world while taking away the one thing I actually want.
Electricity.
My thumb hovers over Maya's name.
She offered me a place to stay. She has a generator, and she'd probably make tea and calmly assure me that everything is going to be okay.
For a moment, I'm tempted.
Then I look toward the window.
The wind is stronger now, and the first drops of rain have started tapping against the glass. It's not heavy yet, but it's enough to make the pavement shine.
Enough to make my brain supply one unwanted word.
Hydroplaning.
My chest tightens.
No.
I'm not driving across town in this.
Not when my mind is already too focused on wet roads and everything that can go wrong in one stupid second.
I exhale slowly and look toward the front door instead.
There is another option.
A much closer option.
Unfortunately, that option is Jack Wilder.
My stomach does a strange little flip at the thought, which I choose to blame entirely on irritation.
I don't even know if he has power. The windows I can see from here are dark, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. My own house is currently being illuminated by one very brave candle and a phone battery that will probably die at the exact moment I need it most.
Besides, with the way my luck has been going since I arrived in Tidehaven, I'm probably the only person on the street without electricity.
I head to the kitchen and grab the flashlight I bought at the hardware store yesterday. It isn't much, but at least carrying it will make me look somewhat prepared when I show up on the doorstep of my grudge-holding neighbor.
Right up until I have to admit that I'm not prepared.
And, as an added bonus, the porch swing he specifically warned me about now looks like it's considering tearing apart my porch or launching itself through the front window.
I glance at the candle.
Maybe I'm overreacting.
I'm a capable adult woman. I could stay here, go to bed, and sleep until the storm passes.
Preferably in the back of the house.
Far away from the runaway porch swing.
“Fine.”
I stand there for another few seconds.
Then another gust slams against the house.
I grab my jacket.
Apparently, capable adult women are also allowed to temporarily relocate next door.
I blow out the candle before leaving. Given how tonight is going, I'm not taking any chances with open flames and homeowner's insurance.
Then I open the front door.
The wind hits me in the face like it's personally offended that I've stepped outside.
“Good evening to you too.”
I hurry down the porch steps and across the yard, clutching my jacket closed with one hand and the flashlight with the other.
By the time I reach Jack's porch, I'm already reconsidering every decision that has led me here.
I knock hard enough to hurt my knuckles.
And immediately regret it.
Because now I have to follow through.
The door opens.
Jack Wilder stands on the other side, his hair slightly damp like he's been outside too. His expression shifts the second he sees me.
“What happened?”
Of course.
Not hello.
Not what are you doing here?
Straight to the assumption that something is wrong.
Which, unfortunately, is accurate.
I lift my chin and gather the last scraps of dignity I have left.
“My power went out.”
Jack's gaze flicks toward my house.
“And the swing is trying to tear apart my porch,” I add. “Or possibly launch itself through the front window.”
His eyes return to mine.
“And no, I'm not panicking, so don't think I am.”
The corner of his mouth twitches.
I narrow my eyes.
“Don't.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“I was thinking about it.”
“Same thing.”
Dusty appears behind Jack's legs, his tail immediately wagging like I'm a surprise guest he actually approves of.
At least someone is happy to see me.
“Just…”
The word catches.
I stop and look down at the flashlight in my hand, suddenly wishing I'd rehearsed this part before marching across the yard.
I hate how small my voice sounds when I finally force the words out.
“Can I come in for a minute?”
Jack's expression changes.
The amusement disappears, and his gaze moves past my shoulder toward the dark windows of the Monroe house.
Then he steps aside and opens the door wider.
“Get in.”