River moved through appreciating Finn's taste and the obvious care he'd taken creating a home that reflected his personality. Reading chairs positioned for optimal light. A compact kitchen that managed to be both functional and charming. Windows offering views of both harbor and lighthouse that had become such a significant part of River's routine.
“Nice place,” River said, meaning it. The apartment felt warm in a way that had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with the careful attention Finn had paid to making it feel like home.
“Thanks. Took a while to get it right.” Finn busied himself with the espresso machine, movements efficient but relaxed. “I wanted it to feel like an extension of the shop, but more personal. A place where books and life could coexist.”
River settled into one of the reading chairs, finding it perfectly comfortable, positioned to offer views of both harbor and room interior. From here, he could watch Finn prepare coffee while observing how the apartment balanced professional and personal elements.
“You live alone?” River asked, then immediately regretted the personal question. “Sorry, none of my business.”
“It's fine. And yes, alone.” Finn glanced over, expression slightly wistful. “Have for a couple years. Since my mother died, actually.”
River felt his chest tighten with recognition and sympathy. “I'm sorry. That's rough.”
“Thanks. It was... complicated.” Finn's voice carried weight suggesting complexities beyond normal grief, but he didn't elaborate as he finished their coffee. “What about you? Family in the area?”
“Sister in Boston. Parents both gone.” River accepted the espresso cup, noting the care Finn had taken with presentation, warming the cups despite the casual nature of their gathering. “My dad died a couple years ago. Coast Guard accident during a storm rescue.”
Finn's expression shifted to immediate understanding, recognition that only came from personal experience with devastating loss. “That explains your connection to the ocean. Professional and personal.”
“Something like that.” River found himself speaking more openly than usual, encouraged by Finn's empathy and the comfortable atmosphere. “I grew up around Coast Guard families, learned to dive before I could swim properly. Butafter Dad died, the water became something different. Less recreation, more... purpose.”
“Purpose can be healing,” Finn said thoughtfully, settling across from River with his own coffee. “After Mom died, I threw myself into restoration work. There's something therapeutic about fixing things that seem irreparably damaged, proving careful attention can bring them back to life.”
River nodded, recognizing the parallel between Finn's approach to grief and his own. They'd both chosen professions involving healing and preservation, both found comfort in work requiring patience and faith that broken things could be made whole.
As evening deepened outside, their conversation flowed from professional topics to more personal territory. River shared his concerns about the isolation of his work, how marine research could become consuming to the point of excluding normal social connections. Finn opened up about the challenges of running a specialized bookshop in a tourist town, the difficulty of finding customers who appreciated true historical preservation.
Neither mentioned the letter that brought them together, but its presence lingered in subtext. The impossible intimacy of its contents, the way it demonstrated knowledge neither could explain, the questions it raised about memory and connection.
River realized he was reluctant to leave, reluctant to end their time together and return to the lighthouse cottage that would feel even more solitary after the warmth of Finn's company. The conversation had revealed depths in both that deserved further exploration.
“I should probably head back,” River said reluctantly, though he made no move to stand. “Early dive tomorrow, need to check my equipment.”
“Of course.” Finn's tone was understanding but tinged with the same reluctance River felt. “This has been really nice,though. I don't often get to talk with someone who understands the passion behind preservation work.”
“Same here. Most people think marine biology is just swimming around looking at fish.”
They both laughed, shared understanding creating another moment of connection that made River's departure feel like loss. As he finally stood, River found himself hoping for an excuse to return.
“Would it be okay if I stopped by again sometime?” River asked, the question carrying more weight than it should. “I'd like to see more of your techniques, maybe share some research findings if you're interested.”
“I'd like that very much.” Finn's smile was genuine and warm, free of careful politeness. “And River? Thanks for returning the letter. Even if we couldn't figure out how I wrote it, I'm glad it brought you here.”
River left with Finn's words echoing in his mind and the promise of future visits warming his chest despite the cool evening air. The letter remained a mystery, its impossible contents unexplained. But whatever strange circumstances had brought them together, River found himself grateful for the connection they'd discovered.
Walking back through Beacon Point's quiet streets, River realized that for the first time in two years, he was looking forward to something beyond his research. Looking forward to conversations with someone who understood his work and passion. Looking forward to time with a man whose gentle intelligence had made the afternoon feel like a gift.
The lighthouse beam swept across the harbor as River drove home, steady and reliable as always. But tonight, its illumination felt less like solitude and more like guidance, pointing toward possibilities he'd forgotten existed and connections he hadn't dared hope for.
In his pocket, the mystery letter remained unanswered. But in his chest, something that had been closed for too long was beginning to open, allowing in light that made the dangerous prospect of caring about someone feel worth the risk.
Chapter 4
Deepening Currents
River
The lighthouse cottage felt different in the pre-dawn darkness, charged with possibilities that hadn't existed before yesterday's unexpected afternoon at Finn's place. River's mind was already wide awake, replaying every moment they'd spent together with the obsessive attention he usually saved for research data.
