His gaze dropped to the pavement.
Change the subject, quick!
“Nice of them to put these benches here.”
“They’re memorials.” He pointed to a bronze plaque on the seat back. “To folks who lived and died here.”
The plaque read,In memory of Carlotta Agnesi, 1909-1992. Beloved wife, mother, friend, and maker of the best damn cioppino in Washington State. She loved this spot best of all.
Danielle whistled. “Eighty-three years. Think of all the changes she saw in her lifetime.”
“She lived longer than most. Lots of these plaques are dedicated to fishermen lost at sea.”
As they strolled on, she calculated. She was already halfway to eighty-three, and how much time had she spent doing things she loved, in places she loved?
Matteo pointed toward a white tower rising above a stand of wind-sculpted cypress. “Gull’s Point Lighthouse. Best view in town.” He turned onto a path worn through scruffy brush.
“It’s been ages since I visited the lighthouse.” She pointed to a sign on the wooden gate. “Too bad. It’s closed until noon.”
Grinning, Matteo motioned her through. “Not if you know the keeper.” He knocked on the door of the neat little cottage at the stone tower’s base. It swung open to reveal a burly, ruddy-faced man with a grizzled jaw and bright, laugh-crinkled eyes. He ran a hand over his close-cropped ginger hair.
“Well, now, Matty-me-boy. You said you were bringing a friend. You didn’t tell me it was a beautiful lady.” He enveloped Danielle’s hand in his calloused paws. “Fred Gallagher, at your service. Come in, come in.” His hazel eyes twinkled, and his Irish brogue thickened. “Will you two be wanting the tour, or just the view?”
Matteo cocked an eyebrow in a silent question. While Danielle enjoyed an Irish accent, it was Matteo’s deep voice she wanted to hear more of—wanted to bathe in, if she was honest with herself.
She linked her arm with Matteo’s. “View, please.”
Matteo’s smile shimmered with sexy mischief as he covered her hand with his own.
“Right, up we go.” Fred led them past a ticket counter and up a tall spiral staircase. Their footsteps echoed as they passed doors to the storage rooms and lighthouse keeper’s quarters. At the top, a metal door clanged open. “Hold on tight, now.,” Fred warned them. “It gets mighty windy up here.”
Seen from below, the lighthouse tower hadn’t seemed terribly high, but when she stepped onto the metal platform, dizziness seized her. She grasped the cold iron railing, rough with peeling paint. Wind whipped her hair and made her eyes water.
As if sensing her budding panic, Matteo stepped behind her and wrapped his arm around her waist. “I won’t let you fall, bella,” he murmured into her ear, and the goosebumps that bloomed over her skin had nothing to do with acrophobia.
Their guide settled against the wall, lit a cigarette, and launched into a story. “Out there.” He pointed toward a cluster of rocky islands rising above the surf. “That’s where it appears when the moon is full.”
Matteo’s chuckle rumbled against her back. “The ghost ship?”
“Aye. The Ivanova. Ran aground in 1822, coming back from Alaska with a cargo of furs. Everyone aboard perished. But when the moon is full, ye can still see her, a ragged ship with glowing sails. And down below,” he pointed at the tower’s base, “the captain’s widow paces the shore, a spyglass in her hand, watching for her husband’s return.”
Danielle shivered, imagining the ghostly widow, forever searching the horizon for her lost love.
Matteo whispered, “He’s probably making it up.”
Fred snorted. “I heard that. Just you come back when the moon is full. See if you don’t feel something.”
Matteo’s arm tightened around her middle. She damn sure felt something now, something powerful and a bit scary. She shivered again, despite the heat of his body pressing against hers from shoulders to knees.
Taking his cue, Fred cleared his throat. “Well then, I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. Close the door when you come down. Don’t want the seagulls shitting on the stairs.”
“Romantic, isn’t he?” Matteo nuzzled her hair, and the soft scrape of his beard on her cheek did funny, delicious things to her core. “Just imagine how it was in the old days when the lightkeeper held so many lives in his hands.”
“Could we step back from the edge? I’m getting a little dizzy.” Truthfully, it was Matteo’s nearness more than the height that knocked her off-balance, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Sure, bella. I want you to feel comfortable.” He shifted to the wall and extended his arm.
She nestled beneath it and let the truth spill out—because why not? Soon, she’d return to her daily grind and never see this kind, flirtatious young man again.
