The gesture triggered a realization. He'd spent sixteen years hanging that towel in the same spot, in precisely the same way. He followed the same coffee routine, the same weatherobservations, and the same careful maintenance of an island that never changed.
What was I doing here? I was twenty-two years old, just finishing college, and still figuring out what I wanted from life beyond the next research project or graduate school application. Wes had been managing an entire island ecosystem since before I'd learned to drive.
"After lunch." Wes didn't look at me as he spoke. "Weather should hold until evening."
The screen door opened and closed behind him with its familiar squeak and bang, leaving me alone at the table with cold eggs. Through the window, I watched him disappear down the path toward the generator housing, tool bag slung over his shoulder. His stride was confident, unhurried. He knew exactly where he belonged and what came next.
When was the last time I'd felt that kind of certainty about anything?
I stared down at my plate. My phone lay face-down where I'd abandoned it, probably collecting more messages from Ziggy about being twenty-two in a world that expected me to have answers I didn't possess.
Was I just a kid playing at understanding what it meant to build a life? Wes kissed me under the stars, and I immediately started fantasizing about family dinners—like I was scripting some romantic comedy where love conquered all and age was just a number.
What did I know about love that lasted longer than a semester? Wes had thirteen years on me—thirteen years of loss and disappointment that had driven him to build something stable from the wreckage of his dreams.
I pressed my palms against my eyes. In ten years, would I still love the quiet here—or would I be aching for the noise ofthe mainland? Would Wes look at me one morning and see just another boy who mistook longing for wisdom?
A sharp knock on the front door interrupted my spiral. My phone lay face-down and buzzing with ignored messages. The sound came again, more insistent this time, followed by a cheerful "Hello? Anyone home?"
In the entire time I'd been at Wes's cottage, no one had knocked on the door. The cottage sat at the end of a winding path that led nowhere else, invisible from the main trail unless you knew where to look.
The knock came a third time, accompanied by a woman's voice. "Hi there! I'm so sorry to bother you, but I think I might be a little turned around!"
I opened the door to reveal a woman in her fifties wearing a bright yellow rain jacket and hiking boots. Wes appeared behind her shoulder. She wore her graying hair pulled back in a sporty ponytail.
"Oh, thank goodness!" She pressed a hand to her chest with theatrical relief as she smiled at me and then turned, sensing Wes's presence. "I was starting to think I'd have to send up smoke signals. I'm Linda Kowalski, and I am absolutely, completely lost."
"Morning." Wes's greeting was polite but reserved. "You're pretty far off the main trail."
"Tell me about it!" Linda laughed. "I'm staying with my cousin Janet over in the village—you might know her? Janet Pierce? She's lived here for, oh, must be thirty years now—and she told me I absolutely had to see the old lighthouse ruins. Well, I thought I was following her directions, but somewhere along the way, I must have taken a wrong turn."
Wes inched around Linda and joined me at the door. She looked from one of us to the other. She tilted her head slightlyas she took it all in—me in yesterday's clothes, Wes still mussed from sleep, and the smell of coffee and breakfast still lingering.
"Hi," I offered, hoping my smile looked more natural than it felt. "Eric Callahan."
"Oh, wonderful! Are you boys related? You don't look alike, but you never can tell." Her eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Brothers? Cousins?"
Wes tensed slightly. "Eric's here doing research. I'm the caretaker."
"Research! How exciting!" Linda clapped her hands together. "What kind of research? Are you a scientist? You look so young to be a scientist. Not that there's anything wrong with being young! My daughter's friend just got her PhD at twenty-four, can you believe it? Though she's been studying since she was practically in diapers..."
"Coastal ecology," I managed, acutely aware of how Wes's explanation—I'm the caretaker—had created a careful distance between us. Professional. Safe. Nothing that would invite follow-up questions about why the caretaker and the researcher were having coffee together at dawn or why we both looked like we'd just rolled out of bed.
"How fascinating! And you're staying here?" Linda pushed up on her toes to look beyond us into the cottage kitchen, taking in the two coffee mugs on the table and the lingering intimacy of our interrupted breakfast. "What a cozy arrangement. It must get lonely out here for two young men all by yourselves."
Two young men.
She'd pegged Wes as closer to my age than his actual thirty-five.
"The village isn't far," Wes pointed to redirect her walk. "If you head back the way you came and watch for the split where the path forks left toward the water—"
"Oh no, I'm hopeless with directions!" Linda waved a dismissive hand. "I got turned around three times just getting here. Could one of you possibly walk me back? I'd hate to impose, but Janet will have the Coast Guard out looking for me if I'm not back for lunch, and I'd never hear the end of it."
Wes's jaw tightened.
"I can show you," I offered, stepping forward slightly. "The lighthouse ruins are on my research route anyway."
"Perfect!" Linda beamed. "You can tell me all about your ecology work on the way. I've always been fascinated by the environment. Well, not always—really just since my daughter started her environmental studies program—but still!"
