Chapter 10: The Lighthouse Keeper’s Ghost

Nora hunched over the cottage table, papers scattered like driftwood after a wreck. The grant applications were a maze—forms, budgets, deadlines she could barely track. Her laptop pinged with an email from Meg: Library tonight? Found something good. She rubbed her temples, the storm's aftermath still humming in her bones. Elias's jacket was gone, returned, but his presence lingered—his voice, his heat, the way he'd almost begged her to talk.

She grabbed her coat and headed out, the dusk settling cold over Cutler Cove. The library was quiet, just Meg at a back table, surrounded by old books and a thermos of tea. "You look beat," Meg said, sliding a cup over. "Drink."

"Thanks," Nora said, sipping the bitter brew. "What'd you find?"

Meg pushed a leather-bound journal across the table, its pages brittle and stained. "Lighthouse keeper's log, 1901. Guy named Amos Reed. Listen to this." She flipped it open, reading aloud: "Storm took the schooner last night. Watched her break on the rocks, no light to guide her. Mary's gone with it—my fault. I'll wait 'til she comes back."

Nora frowned. "Wait for what?"

"Her ghost," Meg said, leaning in. "Story goes, Amos's wife, Mary, was on that ship. He'd let the lantern go out—drunk, sick, no one's sure. It crashed, she died, and he never left the tower. Folks say he stayed 'til he starved, waiting for her to forgive him."

A chill crawled up Nora's spine. "That's… bleak."

"Yeah," Meg said, closing the book. "But it's gold for the proposal. Tragedy, romance—people eat that up. Could draw tourists, fund repairs."

Nora nodded, jotting notes. "Elias said the foundation's worse than we thought. Fifteen grand, minimum. This might help."

"Elias again," Meg teased, smirking. "You two are joined at the hip."

"Hardly," Nora said, but her face warmed. "He's just… involved."

"Uh-huh." Meg sipped her tea, eyes sharp. "Heard Leah's not thrilled about it."

Nora's stomach twisted. "She said something?"

"Not to me," Meg said. "But town talks. She's been quiet lately, and Elias—he's got that look. Like a man caught between tides."

Nora stared at the journal, Amos's scrawl blurring. She knew that look—had seen it yesterday, up in the lantern room. He was fraying, and she was part of it. "I'm not here to mess up his life," she said, quiet.

"Maybe not," Meg said. "But you are. Question is, what're you gonna do about it?"

She didn't answer, just gathered her notes and left, the story of Amos and Mary echoing in her head. Waiting for a ghost—that's what it felt like, standing this close to Elias again. Only she wasn't sure who was haunting who.

Later, she met him at the lighthouse, the sky bruised purple as night fell. He was already there, flashlight sweeping the lantern room, his crew gone for the day. "Jimmy's right," he said, not turning. "Foundation's a mess. Storm loosened everything."

"Meg found something," she said, climbing the last steps. "Old keeper's log—guy lost his wife, died waiting for her ghost. Could sell the story, bring in cash."

He snorted, flicking the light off. "Ghosts, huh? Fits this place."

She stepped closer, the air tight between them. "You ever hear that one growing up?"

"Yeah," he said, leaning against the railing. "Scared the shit out of me as a kid. Thought I'd see her in the fog."

"Me too," she said, smiling faint. "We'd dare each other to climb up here alone."

He chuckled, low and warm. "You always won. Never backed down."

"Not true," she said, softer. "I backed down plenty."

His eyes met hers, sharp in the dim. "Not with me."

The words hung, heavy as the sea below. She could feel it—the pull, the ghost of them, right here where they'd made promises. Her breath hitched, and he stepped closer, close enough she could smell the rain on him.

"Nora," he said, voice rough, "whatever you're not saying—it's killing me."

Her heart slammed. She wanted to tell him—about her dad, the shame, the why—but her lips wouldn't move. His hand brushed her arm, tentative, and she froze, caught between running and falling.

A wave crashed hard outside, the sound jarring them apart. He pulled back, cursing under his breath. "I can't," he said, more to himself than her. "Not like this."

He left her there, the lantern room empty, Amos's ghost whispering in the dark. She sank to the floor, head in her hands, and let the truth simmer, too close to the surface now to push back down.