Eve paces in a small circle, arms hugging her chest as she mutters to herself.
Wonderful.
I’m the one who should be worried, about to be stuck on the island with crazy.
“You can do this, Evie. You have to, no other choice now,” she whispers before halting abruptly. I roll my eyes and drop onto the captain’s seat. I fire up the old girl and let her idle, chugging out water behind us at a low churn. The sound snaps Eve from her partial conniption, and she edges toward Firefly.
“Here, watch your step,” Em says, extending a hand.
She stares at his palm before she takes it and steps onto the boat. Forcing a small smile his way, she grabs onto the boat for dear life. “Sorry, I’m not usually this uptight, honestly. It’s been?—”
I throw the throttle forward. A squeaking noise bursts from her lips as she sways on her feet. Em scurries for the lines, setting us free in quick time. Raising a finger to my forehead in a salute aimed at Em, I steer Firefly out of her slip. Eve drops onto the small bench seat behind me, hands clasped together in her lap. I set my sights on the eastern horizon, maintaining heading.
Twenty minutes later, the rocky shoreline of Fire Island comes into view. I run an eye over the chop and swell, slowing her as we approach. The weathered jetty stands stoic in the water. Just the sight of it has the tension I felt on the mainland starting to loosen. As far as things a man could want for, peace and a place of my own have always been top of the list.
Loneliness and me have shared a bed for well over a decade.
The sneaky bitch slithered her way in and never left.
Firefly slides in beside the jetty. I kill the engine and throw the lines up. Eve sits frozen, watching. I tie off and jump back down into the boat. With a huff, I snatch up her bag. A second later, I drop it, remembering I need to clear out my house before she steps foot in it.
I step back up onto the jetty and start toward land. The iconic Fire Island lighthouse stands proud and tall on the northern end of my slice of isolated paradise. The white and black paintwork that took me weeks juts into the sky. The small keeper’s cottage, mere feet from the oversized structure, shares the same color scheme. But none of the amenities. Well, a fireplace and a bath, a basic bunk—no bed or living quarters. It’s an all-in-one type arrangement. And for the next however many weeks, my new space.
Shuffling from behind sees me spin back. Eve is grabbing up her bag, like she’s about to hop from the boat and waltz right into my damn sanctuary like she was fucking invited.
Not likely, lassie.
I move toward her and hold up a hand.
Her mouth pops open a little, and she glances between me and the lighthouse. I shove my hand forward, signaling for her to stay put. When she drops back to the bench seat, I make for the lighthouse.
It takes all of ten minutes to clear out my personal effects.
I give the place a rough tidy and walk out the door.
And run right into softness.
Something like jasmine and vanilla shrouds me. Her bag drops to the ground at her feet. I force my gaze up to hers. Frowning, she looks over my shoulder into my goddamn house. When her eyes meet mine again, she says, “Thank you.”
Grunting, I leave the doorway, arms loaded with my belongings.
She may have to be here. I may have to make sure she stays to keep this place from being lost forever. But I don’t have to like it or her.
And I sure as hell don’t have to talk to her.
Three
EVIE
“It’s a freaking lighthouse,” I utter as my gaze darts around the large circular space. A genuine, real-life lighthouse. Stunned, I stand with my bag in hand. A door slams behind me, and I twist to see Callum pass by the tiny window of the small cottage connected to the lighthouse by a gravel path. He stops in his tracks and tugs a tattered curtain past the frame, disappearing from view.
Okay then.
I spin back, taking in the cozy surroundings. The ground floor has a kitchen, a fireplace, a wide shelf stuffed with books, a worn blue sofa, and a coffee table that looks absolutely handmade. It’s full of natural light, with three generous porthole-shaped windows with black shutters. The curved interior walls are whitewashed stone. The light fixtures look like something from an old maritime movie. I guess this is the essence of man living among the sea, so it fits.
That brings me back to the fact I’m alone on an island with a stranger. A man I know nothing about. Surely, Livvy wouldn’t have arranged this if he could be a problem, right?
Still, there’s nobody else here.
