Yeah.

I pull him over to the produce, grabbing some crackers and French bread on the way. “Some tomatoes, grapes, cherries...” I dump the stuff into his basket. “Hit the deli and pick up some meats, and then some wine, and you should be good.”

He stares at his loot, looking impressed.

“It’s a really easy way to look like you know what you’re doing, and no cooking involved,” I tell him.

“Thanks.” But then a worried look crosses his face, and he looks around. “Oh, I need a board, right? I don’t have one.”

“Gigi does.”

His gaze darts to mine, and I swear he looks like it was some big secret, and no one knew he’s been dating his ex-wife.

Speechless for a moment, he finally just breathes out a laugh. “We were trying to keep it on the down-low,” he says. “Does Clay know?”

“Everyone knows.”

He rolls his eyes. “Awesome.”

And I laugh. I can understand. The divorce was hard on them. Clay saw the home her brother grew up in become unrecognizable.

But it wasn’t solely Mr. Collins’s fault either. Loss, abandonment, cheating…a lot of things happened to break up their marriage, but it didn’t break up their family. Gigi sold the house, bought a lovely cottage on the beach, and found herself. Clay’s closer to her parents apart than she was when they were together.

And now, after years, maybe he can make his ex-wife fall in love with him again. He’s certainly up for the challenge, because it will be one. She’s different now.

They were trying to keep it quiet, though. They didn’t want to get Clay’s hopes up until they knew it would last.

“This is a great idea,” he tells me, gesturing to the food. “Thank you, honey.”

“Anytime.”

I head over to the wine, picking up the sauv blanc and hoping the refrigerator in our little house has decided to work today, so it’ll be chilled by the time she gets home. I check my phone for a call, just in case Macon doesn’t finish with her car and I need to pick her up.

I drive to our home, loving to cross the tracks and loving that she’s on the wrong side of them with me now, St. Carmen’s little princess, a full-fledged swamp rat. I speed down the dirt road in an old Jeep I picked up a couple of years ago, my Ninja at Macon’s house.

The sea permeates the air, and I grab the groceries out of the back, tipping my head and looking up at the lighthouse. One of the many things on our list—and as funds allow—is to get the light functional again.

But first, dinner.

I open the old windows in the kitchen, spreading them wide and letting in the September air as I switch on the music and start making the gumbo.

I feel the dust on the floor grind under my shoes, and no matter how much we clean, there always seems to be more dirt. The lightkeeper’s house is a shithole, but it’s our shithole, and it’s better than any mansion across the tracks. The old wooden beams above me smell like years of hurricanes and wind, and everything here is ours. Our stove, our table, our food, our bed.

The fireplace works, and if it ever gets so cold enough that I can’t keep her warm, then a fire will.

We’re going to have so much fun renovating this place and making every inch of it ours. Of course, we have to keep a certain aesthetic to maintain the historical landmark status, but that’s no problem. We only want to make it comfortable and enhance what’s already here.

I cut the stems of the flowers I bought at the market, and stick them in a vase with water, placing it at the center of the table, and I spot headlights outside, just as the sun starts to set.

In a moment, the front door closes, and I feel arms slide around my waist.

“I have to talk to you,” she whispers in my ear.

I damn near shiver, tilting my head into her breath more.

“Let me set this to simmer,” I tell her. “Then we can ‘talk’.”

I know what she wants.

She reaches over to my side, flipping open the old tin box I found this morning.

She holds up the old snapshot. “Archie?”

“Yeah.” I nod, wiping off my hands. “Found it under a floorboard.”

She sifts through the box, looking at pictures of the previous inhabitants. The corgi, Archie, and his human, the old lightkeeper.

“It’s him.” She smiles, finding the picture of the man in a torn, cable-knit sweater and a beard.

“He looks just like I pictured,” I say. “An old sea dog.”

She searches through the pics in the box, looking again. “No girl, though.”

I come around her and kiss her ear. “Someone was taking the pictures of him.”

Her eyes light up, the mystery safe and sound that just maybe this cottage was a hideaway for two other lovers before us.

I hug her tight, determined to keep the tradition going.

I turn down the temp on the stove, and she takes my hand, but instead of leading me upstairs, she takes me outside.

“What are we doing?” I ask.

She remains silent, leading me over the dunes and down to the beach. I don’t ask questions and don’t ask permission when I sink to the sand and pull her down between my legs, holding her as we both look out to the endless horizon.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” I ask.

“Your car’s extended warranty.”

I bury my face in her neck, unable to not laugh. “Brat.”

“Beautiful,” she calls me, instead.

“Trouble,” I counter.

“My pearl.”

“Hellion,” I bite out in her ear.

She turns her head, whispering, “Sunshine.”

“Pain in my ass.”

I smile and kiss her. I kiss her for a long time, the wind in our hair as the last light leaves us.

“Do you love me?” I ask against her lips.

She meets my eyes. “So much, I’ll hurt if you don’t marry me.”

And before I know what’s happening, she’s slipping something on my ring finger, her gaze never leaving mine.

My heart stops a beat, and I can’t speak, everything inside me swelling so big, my body can’t contain it.

What?

I mean, yes. I…

I slam my mouth down on hers, trying to get the words out, but my voice is in my stomach, my heart is in my throat, and my head is somewhere twenty feet above my body.

God, I love her. I was ready to ask her, but she beat me to it.

“Mmmmm, wait,” she tells me, pulling away and taking out her phone. “Before you say yes, I just want to make sure… We can do this when we get married, right?”

But I growl, pulling her phone—and whatever kinky sexual position she wants to try now away—as she giggles and I roll over on top of her.

“Handful,” I grit out over her mouth right before I kiss her madly. “Hellion. Pain in my ass. Trouble.”

“You’re never going to get rid of me, you keep talking sweet like that.”

And I dive in, biting her neck and making her squeal.

THE END