Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Iwake up in the morning before Dylan. I’m facing him, my leg splayed over his body. He’s warm and solid, and I had the best sleep ever nestled beside him. I’m sure the middle-of-the-night orgasm didn’t hurt either.
I bask in the feel of our bodies intertwined before slowly and quietly rolling off the couch.
I peer over at the stove and see that it’s only six.
Behind me, Dylan is snoring softly, turning to face the back of the couch.
I’m wide awake and feeling antsy about everything that happened last night.
How do we go back to the way things were?
I tiptoe over to the desk and sit down, staring out the window at the open ocean, waves crashing down, the sun beginning to peek over the horizon.
The sky is bright pink, and I get caught up in the view.
Looking down, I see his notebook in the centre of the desk with a pencil beside it.
The tip is dull, like it’s been well used.
This must be the infamous weather log. I place my hand on it and shake my head.
Then curiosity takes over any logical thinking, and I catch myself flipping the book open to a random page.
As soon as my eyes look down, I realize this isn’t his weather log.
My fingers flip through the pages of drawing after beautiful drawing.
It’s a sketchbook. My not-so-mystery lighthouse keeper is also an incredibly talented artist. My jaw drops from the intricate pencil sketches I’m seeing.
Beautiful landscapes and birds. I flip to the view from out the window—the same view I’m seeing now—the lighthouse itself, flowers that grow from the craggy rocks, an osprey.
As I get to a page in the middle, there’s that same raven I spied on his chest last night.
He must have sketched his own tattoo and given it to an artist. I get closer to the end of the book, and my eyes pause on the first portrait I’ve seen.
I run my fingers along the familiar face looking back at me.
Her hair is up in a claw clip, and she has a fiery look in her eyes. I scan all the way from the cropped tank top to the billowing, flowy skirt, to the chunky wedge sandals on her feet. “Oh my god.”
Me.
Dylan drew me.
After our first encounter.
I shut the book and push it away from me on the desk.
I thought he hated me then. It felt like we got off on such a wrong foot.
I sit at the desk for a few more minutes, staring out the window, watching the sun rise.
A lone tear slips out and runs down my cheek.
I wipe it away as my sadness is replaced by anger.
Frustration. This isn’t fair. None of this is fair.
Not only do I have feelings for Dylan, but I think he has feelings for me too.
And he’s supposed to die. My lip quivers, and my chest tightens at the thought of it.
Then an idea crosses my mind, and I head upstairs to use the bathroom, brush my teeth, and get changed back into my clothes.
Before heading out, I walk over to the desk and grab a different notebook, flipping to the back of it, where I know I’ll find a blank page.
No more snooping. I rip out a piece of paper and scribble out a quick note, telling him I popped out and will be back soon.
After placing the message on the coffee table, I glance over at his sleeping body once more, and head down the stairs and out the back door into the chilly morning air.
The stone path is smooth under my boots, and morning dew coats the tips of the grass and flowers on either side.
The sky is a kaleidoscope of yellows, oranges, and pinks, the colours reflecting in the dark waters of the ocean below it.
After about a ten-minute walk, I step into the town of Killick Bay.
Even though it’s only around seven now, the town is bustling and alive.
People are out walking toward the docks, and there’s a farmer’s market setting up on the main street, stalls already filled with fresh produce ready to sell.
I look around, hoping to find the one person I’m here for.
It’s a long shot, I know, since I have no idea where she lives or what she does, or if she would even be out at this time of day.
After walking down the cobblestone sidewalks without any luck, I pop into a shop called the Breeze Cafe to grab myself a much-needed latte.
It’s a cozy coffee shop with worn wooden floors and mismatched furniture.
Eclectic, as if nothing is meant to match.
Where I would describe Pleasant Coffee as trendy and aesthetic, with its uniform bistro tables and signature blue tiles on the wall, the Breeze Cafe feels like it’s trying not to have anything go together.
The appeal seems to be how “out there” it is.
Colourful subway tiles line the walls behind the butcher block counters, and the seating for tables is a combination of chairs, stools, and even a bench over in the corner. Nothing makes sense, but it works.
A yawning teenager in a green hoodie greets me at the till. “Morning, what can I get ya?”
I offer a hesitant smile. “Just a medium vanilla latte, please.”
“That’ll be $2.50,” she says as she punches in my order.
Wow, that is cheap. “Debit, please.”
She tilts her head at me and tucks a strand of long brown hair behind her ear. “We don’t take debit or credit. Just cash.”
“Ah, shoot,” I say as I peer into my cashless purse. “Sorry, I’ll have to cancel my order.”
I feel a hand on my shoulder, and an oddly familiar voice from behind me says, “Just add it to my order, please.” Turning around, there’s Iris, just the person I was looking for, coming to my rescue.
Her long, wild brown hair is its usual mess, and she’s wearing her typical flowy-skirt-and-shirt combination.
“That’s not necessary, Iris,” I start before she waves a ring-clad hand at me and scoffs.
“No trouble. Just a large green tea. I have cash.” She smiles and hands over a five-dollar bill to the barista, who accepts it and gives her a few coins in change.
“Your latte will be ready down there.” She points to her right before turning around to make Iris’s tea.
“Thanks,” I say when she walks and stands beside me, tea in hand. “I was actually looking for you.”
“I had a feeling.” She pauses while I grab my drink and take a sip. “Let’s go by the water and talk.”
We walk to the docks in silence, letting the sounds of the town act as white noise around us, pieces of conversations as people flit by.
“Why is everyone up so early on a Sunday?” I ask, curiosity taking over.
“It’s a fishing town, dear. Most people here have some part to play in the industry.
That, or they want to be open to serve the fishermen.
You have to start early if you want a good catch.
They’re usually back by mid-morning to sell what they’ve caught at the market. Then they’re out on the water again.”
She takes a sip of her tea as we step onto the dock.
The wood creaks under our feet, and the water in the bay surrounding us is calm.
Most of the boats are gone by now, with a few that are in the midst of getting ready to head out.
We walk past Dylan’s boat, tied to the dock, and warmth floods my cheeks at the thought of him. Then my brows knit together.
Iris must notice. “This can’t be good. Why you want to talk, that is.”
I shake my head. “It’s not.”
We take a seat at the end of the long dock, away from any remaining boats and people, on a bench that looks out into the bay. The salt air and the light spray of the waves are calming as they slap down gently on the wooden dock.
“What do you want to know, dear?” Iris asks as she stares out at the water and the rising sun.
I launch into the whole conversation we had in 2025.
Like a faucet has been opened, it all pours out of me.
Everything she told me and everything that has happened so far.
The lightning bolt that struck the door and how Dylan knows now as well.
She sits and listens, her hands holding the steaming green tea.
She nods every now and then, in between sips, and pats my knee during the emotional moments.
“I know I probably shouldn’t tell you this, because it technically hasn’t happened yet, but Dylan is supposed to—” I pause for a second to take a few deep breaths and notice that Iris has started to anxiously play with the silver band on her thumb.
My face softens. “Was that Grant’s?” I ask, placing my hand on her arm to settle her.
She doesn’t look up, just continues to fidget with it, before finally sighing and looking back at me.
“Yes. He gave me this the last time we saw each other. Of course, it didn’t make it through the portal, because nothing ever does.
But years later, there was a knock on my door one morning.
I answered it, and there was the new lighthouse keeper at Killick Point—Dylan’s father, actually.
He was standing there, holding a little black box and a piece of paper.
He asked if I was Iris, and when I said yes, he said there was something that had been left for me.
I opened the box, and there was the ring.
” She sniffles and pulls out a handkerchief from her skirt pocket, quietly blowing her nose and wiping any fallen tears.
“He must have seen that it didn’t go through with me and left it for whoever came after him, hoping it would find its way to me.
The note said, Please deliver to Iris Fable, and had my address on it. Thankfully, I never moved.”
“I’m so sorry, Iris.”
She looks up at me with pleading eyes and tilts her head for a moment. “It’s been over twenty years now, and it still feels like yesterday. I’ve never had a love so great. Tell me, dear, am I as heartbroken in my seventies as I am now?”