Wes turned to look at me, and for a moment, we were caught in one of those silent conversations that couples have. The words rattled in my head:Are you sure? I can handle this. Do you want me to come with you?
Except we weren't a couple. We were a caretaker and a researcher who'd shared one kiss under the stars and were now pretending to be professional colleagues in front of a chatty tourist.
"I'll grab my jacket," I said.
Linda launched into a story about Janet's garden while I ducked inside to collect my field notebook and jacket. When I emerged, she was peppering Wes with questions about island wildlife that he was answering in careful, minimal sentences.
"...and Janet says there are seals that come right up on the rocks! Have you seen them? Are they friendly? Not that I'd try to pet one, of course, but—"
I interrupted gently. "Ready?"
"Absolutely! Wes, it was lovely meeting you. You boys have such a nice setup here. Very... domestic." Her smile was knowing like she was filing away details to share with cousin Janet later.
Between clenched teeth, Wes attempted to be polite. "Safe travels back to the village."
As Linda and I headed down the path, I glimpsed Wes in my peripheral vision, standing in the doorway watching us go. He'd set his shoulders against the morning chill as he followed our progress down the path.
Linda was already chattering about the "lovely young man" Wes was, and how nice it must be for me to have such good company for my research, and wasn't it wonderful how some people just clicked right away?
I guided her toward the main trail, half-listening to her stream of observations and questions, while part of me remained back at the cottage with Wes. Wondering what he was thinking as he watched us disappear over a small ridge.
"You know," Linda said, picking her way carefully over a root, "Janet always says you can tell a lot about people by how they live. That cottage of yours has such a warm feeling. Very lived-in. Very... together."
I stumbled slightly on the uneven ground. "It's Wes's cottage. I'm only staying there for the research."
"Oh, of course," Linda's tone was innocent, but her smile was pure mischief. "Professional arrangement. I understand completely."
Chapter twelve
Wes
Iscrubbed a perfectly clean spatula for the third time, steel wool working against metal that didn't need the attention. The repetitive motion should have been soothing. Instead, my mind circled back to last night—Eric's mouth against mine, warm and certain under a canopy of stars.
A flush started at my collar. It was dangerous territory. I'd spent years perfecting the art of not wanting things out of my reach. Eric threatened to undo that with nothing more than his ridiculous optimism and those ocean-blue eyes that saw straight through my bullshit.
A soft thump echoed from the guest room, followed by the whisper of pages turning. He was settling in for the evening with whatever book had captured his attention. Probably something academic—coastal management theories or community development studies that would inform his thesis about places like this one.
And people like me.
Through the thin cottage walls, I heard him humming something tuneless. It had become such a normal sound. It washow it would be if he stayed—evenings full of shared spaces and comfortable routines, the cottage warming around two people instead of one.
If he stayed.
Eric had another two weeks remaining on his project, maybe a bit more if he pushed the boundaries. Then, back to Whistleport, graduate school applications, and a future that didn't include a broken-down caretaker on an island twenty miles from anywhere that mattered.
A door opened down the hall. Eric's footsteps moved toward what I assumed was the bathroom, floorboards creaking in the specific pattern I'd memorized over the past weeks. The water ran in the bathroom sink—tooth brushing, probably, or washing his face before bed—such ordinary sounds.
I gripped the counter edge, knuckles white against the worn laminate. The safe thing would be to head to my room, close the door, and let morning restore the careful distance we'd maintained before meteor showers and bourbon-laced hot chocolate scrambled my judgment.
Safety had never gotten me anything except sixteen years of solitude, and a heart so carefully guarded it barely remembered how to beat in anticipation of connection with another person.
The bathroom door opened. Eric's footsteps padded back toward the guest room, and I imagined him settling onto the narrow bed with his book, lamplight catching the gold threads in his sandy hair. He'd read until his eyes grew heavy, and then he'd sleep.
Alone.
He was going to bed alone in a room barely ten feet away from mine because I was too much of a coward to cross that distance and claim what we'd started under the stars.
I can't stay safe and keep him.
