Page 15 of Ebbing Tides (The Lighthouse Duology #2)

The office was quiet. Lido's absence was felt, and the time passed slowly.

Even slower than usual. I glanced at the screen, my eyes scanning over the small, rectangular panels.

The snowy landscape was still; the air was steady.

Nobody was trespassing tonight, and shamefully, I wished someone would if for no other reason than to rob me of my thoughts.

I missed Melanie, and that seemed silly, but I had been missing her since I’d dropped her off at Charlie's cottage.

She hadn't let me walk her to the door. Didn't even give me the chance to help her from the truck. She'd just simply wished me a good night and left.

And now, in the cold, still aftermath, I could come up with only one reason why that would be.

“I shouldn't be jealous,” I said to the empty room as I sometimes did, in hopes that someone might hear and offer some advice. “I have no right to be.”

But I could do nothing to stop it from seeping in and infecting the memories of the good day we had shared.

I found myself questioning my decisions years ago, wondering what would have happened if I'd just simply kissed her then in that bar in Connecticut.

Wondering if she would've left Luke, if I could've bypassed all the pain and depression and heartbreak and—

“No.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, shaking my head. “Not gonna go there.”

I had zero regrets about my short life with Laura, and I would never belittle her memory with thoughts of what-ifs. I had been honored to be her husband and would've served as such again and again and again. Had she not died, I would still be her husband today. Nothing would've changed that.

“But what if I were alive now?” I heard her ask, the memory of her voice still familiar yet warped by time and distance.

I don't know what you mean , I answered silently, staring off beyond the computer screen.

“What if you had seen her again while you were still married to me?”

A knot formed in the pit of my stomach at the thought.

I never would've cheated on you , my mind replied. If that's what you're asking.

“No, but you know it would've been hard to see her. You couldn't even tell me her name, Max.”

“I never wanted to hurt you,” I answered aloud, hanging my head in shame.

“You haven't hurt me, babe.”

I laughed at the thought at the same time my hearing aids beeped with a warning to charge them.

I wanted to believe that was what she'd say.

I wanted to believe that she'd simply be fine with the idea of me being absolutely, mind-numbingly desperate to kiss another woman.

But she had died as my wife. We had vowed to be faithful until death, and now, I couldn't discern if that meant her death or mine.

I removed my hearing aids and said, “God, what if Melanie did me a favor by running away?”

You're being stupid , I told myself, my voice loud against the nothing of the world around me.

Am I though? I popped the hearing aids into their charging dock, then scrubbed a hand over my eyes . I've been alone for so long. Why the hell do I suddenly think this is a good idea, let alone a smart one? And if she were anybody else …

“But she's not anybody else,” I muttered to myself, dropping my hand onto my lap.

No, she wasn't. She wasn't ! And I had spent twenty years holding her memory close as one of the dearest moments in my life, and was I really about to let her go without, at the very least, seeing her again?

And after we'd spent the afternoon together—a good afternoon, full of effortless conversation and laughter and a connection I couldn't imagine even if I tried?

No. I shook my head with determination. No, I wasn't, but … if she wasn't ready, if she wasn't …

Though I had little use of my ears without the hearing aids, loud sounds of a certain pitch occasionally broke through, especially in complete silence. And now the muffled ring of the office doorbell pierced through my deafened eardrums.

“Fuck,” I muttered, knowing it was most likely Charlie because who else would it be? I removed the hearing aids from their dock and got up from my chair as the doorbell rang again.

Both hearing aids back in, I sighed and pulled the door open.

“Hey, what's—”

My words were cut short at the sight of Melanie, in loose-fitting sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt.

Her hair piled high on her head in a sloppy knot.

Her makeup had been washed off, but smudges of eyeliner remained along her lower lash line.

I cocked my head curiously, almost forgetting the other hearing aid gripped in my hand.

“What are you—”

The words died in my throat as she moved quickly, stepping toward me and raising her hands.

Impulsively, I took a step back into the office, my back bumping into the doorknob, when her hands lifted to press her palms to either side of my neck.

I opened my mouth to speak, to ask what she was doing, as she rose higher, higher on her toes, but I didn't get the chance to utter a word as her mouth collided against mine—her body tense, mine uncertain.

My hands at my sides, I was unsure of what to do or how to react as she held still, frozen with her lips against mine.

I held my breath, she held hers, and the wind whistled through the trees and into the open doorway, but, Lord, I didn't feel the cold.

Heat ran through my veins and bones, seeping into my heart.

Thawing out that dusty old organ until it beat heavily, thumping, thumping, thumping loudly and pushing the blood past my ears.

I was alive . So fucking alive. Like a baby taking its first breath beyond the womb, I inhaled sharply, pulling in the cool winter air and setting my lungs aflame.

Melanie sighed and relaxed, her fingertips stretching and moving toward the back of my neck, pulling me closer.

It was a call, and I answered, lifting my arms like I was moving within a dream, and I wrapped them around her waist. She kissed me again, her lips softer, her movements more precise and sure, and this time, I kissed her back.

For twenty years, I'd wondered about this moment.

What it'd have been like to take her mouth with mine in that bar in Connecticut.

To dance with her beneath the hazy lights and kiss to the tune of Eric Clapton.

And when I didn't wonder, I would dream, romanticizing and fantasizing about a time I thought I'd long left and could never return to, but here she was.

A lifetime and so, so much heartbreak later.

Her arms reached, wrapped around my neck in a tight embrace, and I held her, simultaneously terrified and confident as my body acted only on impulse, tipping my head and opening my mouth, begging with my tongue for permission to taste hers.

She was reluctant when just a moment before, she’d seemed so sure, so certain. I opened my eyes to find she wasn't looking back, her brow pinched and her lids closed. I lifted a hand from the small of her back to brush a strand of hair away from her forehead.

“Hey,” I whispered, my lips brushing against hers as they moved. “I'm sorry.”

I watched her face. Watched as her forehead furrowed and her lips moved just the slightest bit from mine.

“Don't tell me you're sorry,” she replied quietly, the lines on her forehead smoothing with a forlorn sigh.

“Okay,” I said, bringing my palm to cup her cheek, stroking my thumb along her cheekbone.

She leaned against my touch, sighing again, the sound passing through her lips with a whimper.

Sounding like this moment was nothing short of agony.

My mind tripped over itself, struggling to come to terms with this reality, that I was touching her and not dreaming, as I had so many times before.

This was her skin, her face, her lips I'd just kissed, and if I could never kiss them again, I thought that maybe I could be okay with that, after just having the opportunity.

Suddenly, all I wanted was what she wanted.

To make her happy. To be her servant in this life and any other I could be so lucky to meet her in.

Because it was her . The woman I'd dreamed of.

“Melanie,” I said, savoring her name as it rolled over my tongue. “Tell me what you want. What do you need?”

She opened her eyes then, and with painstaking hesitation, she slowly sought mine. I'd been afraid to know what I'd find there, scared to see repulsion and fear, but, oh, I was so far from the truth.

“Tell me you want me,” she whispered, her voice quivering, her hands shaking against my shoulders. Her tearful eyes dropping to my lips. “Please. Make this easier for me.”

I swallowed, my throat dry, my veins thrumming with need. “Oh God, you have no idea how bad I want you.”

She nodded, a tear spilling over. “Tell me you wanted me then. Tell me you—”

“I wanted you then,” I answered, clasping her face in both hands and guiding her eyes back to mine.

“I wanted you more than I'd ever wanted another woman in my life, and I never stopped wanting you.

Ever. Time had no effect on how badly I wanted you.

Decades, distance … it didn't matter. It didn't stop.”

She shook in my grasp as another tear fell from her eye, and so subtly, she nodded. “I never stopped either.”

I thrust my lips against hers once again as one hand left her face to slam the door shut, locking us away from the cold air and the voyeuristic ghosts lingering in the quiet, outside world.

This time, the swipe of my tongue across her lips wasn't as hesitant, and she reacted with a gentle sob but little resistance as her lips parted, silently inviting me in.

I racked my brain, trying to remember the last time I had made out with a woman, knowing it would've been Laura. Laura, Laura …