Love Song(81)

I sweep my gaze over her wet hair, her cheeks pink from the wind. She’s gorgeous. Windswept and wild. I tuck the line away, wishing I’d brought my songbook with me.

The wind hissing in the cracks of the wooden facade sounds almost human, a ghostly wail. “Uh-oh,” I joke. “Do you think Darlie’s here?”

“Maybe.” Blake turns to face me. “You know what? What if we’re wrong? Maybe what actually happened is Darlie killed her sister.”

I lift a brow. “Ooh. Go on.”

“She found out that Raymond was meeting Dolly at the lighthouse and followed them here one night. Then she killed them both and drowned herself in the lake.”

“You still haven’t found any records showing whether Raymond and Dolly are dead or alive?”

“Ugh, no. I finally confirmed that Darlie is dead, but not the other two. These information requests take forever. Honestly, if I had one wish in life, it would be to cut through all the red tape of the bureaucracy.”

“Really, one wish, and that’s what you would do? We don’t want world peace? Not interested in curing hunger?”

“Oh, shoot, yeah, those are probably better options,” she says, and I snort out a laugh.

She sits down again and kicks off her wet sneakers and socks, leaving her feet bare. The rain settles into a steady rhythm. It’s not as violent as before but still persistent.

“This is kind of romantic,” she remarks. “Trapped in a lighthouse during a storm, dramatic lightning strikes, near-death hike. It’s very…” She mulls it over. “Jane Austen meets National Geographic.”

I snicker. “What a combo.”

“Hey, don’t laugh. I bet you’re already writing a love song about this.”

She’s not off base. Lyrics are dancing through my mind like dust motes.

“Maybe,” I say vaguely.

“No maybe about it, songboy. I can practically see you composing.”

“Hey, you said so yourself. It’s romantic. The song practically writes itself.” I begin strumming invisible chords on my thigh. “The ocean’s wild, but her eyes are calm. Guiding me home like a beacon in the storm. Falling…we’re falling…into the crash of the tide, our hearts open wide…” I trail off, smiling sheepishly.

Her jaw drops. “Did you seriously just make that up on the spot?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow. It was kind of perfect.” She gasps. “Wait, you said falling. Is that your way of saying you’re falling in love with me?”

Mischief twinkles in her expression, indicating she’s just teasing, but the question, joking or not, throws me off-kilter.

“No,” I say quickly. “Of course not.”

“Uh-huh.” She looks back to the window, but not before I glimpse a hint of a smile.

Thankfully, she doesn’t push it. Doesn’t force me to defend the denial. If I opened my mouth again, I’m not sure what would come out. Because I see how easily it could happen. Falling for her. When I let myself go there, it happens fast and fierce.

But it also doesn’t last. Love is too messy, and I’m bad at it. I get bored and move on. I leave broken hearts in my wake. And I refuse to break Blake.

Yet I also can’t stop myself from getting deeper and deeper with her. It’s like a hand reaching out from the water, pulling me under. But not in a horror movie kind of way. I want to go deeper. I want that warm water to engulf me whole.

I don’t understand it. All I know is that when we’re together, I crack open my soul to her, and I think she does the same with me.

Our eyes lock across the room. There’s something between us, something that I fight so damn hard, but here in this old lighthouse, with the thunder cracking in the sky and the streaks of lightning from the thin gaps in the slats, it’s impossible to deny.

Her throat dips as she swallows. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” I say gruffly.

“Why won’t you have sex with me?”

I blink. I wasn’t expecting that.

“Because I don’t think it’s about me being your muse,” she continues. “So…why?”

“I just think…” I hesitate. “If we do that, there’s no turning back.”

“Turning back from what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

I don’t answer.

“This is ending when the summer is over,” she says softly. “I haven’t forgotten that rule.”

I want to believe her, but I’ve had women say that to me before, insisting they were okay with their temporary status. I always make it clear they’re on borrowed time with me, which makes me sound like a total fuckboy prick, but at least I’m honest. I’m not built for long-term entanglements. Eventually, I’ll be drawn elsewhere. To another place, another woman, another song.

Blake fixes those blue eyes on me with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe. But she doesn’t speak.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask.

“You don’t want to know.”

“No, tell me.”

“I was just thinking it would be a real shame if I never got to feel you inside me.”