Page 5 of Love Takes A Tumble (Midlife Meet Cute #3)

Chapter Five

Audrey stood at the edge of the marina dock, acutely aware of the gap between the wooden planks and the gently bobbing tour boat.

One small step for most people, but something of a challenge when balanced on crutches with an injured ankle.

Behind her, Harrison waited patiently, making no move to assist unless she asked.

She appreciated that more than she could express.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the water, turning it to liquid gold.

A perfect evening for a lighthouse tour.

For research, of course. She'd repeated that to herself at least a dozen times while getting ready, as if the mantra might quell the flutter of anticipation she'd felt since Harrison had accepted her invitation.

"You sure you don't want a hand?" he asked, his voice close enough that she could feel his warmth at her back.

"I'm sure," she replied, adjusting her grip on her crutches. "Just stay close?"

"Always."

The simple word resonated through her, stirring something she'd thought long dormant.

She forced her attention back to the task at hand, gauging the distance and shift of the boat against the dock.

Taking a deep breath, she maneuvered herself forward, letting one crutch cross first, then placing her good foot securely on the boat deck before bringing the injured one across.

"Welcome aboard the Island Lady," greeted the captain, a weathered man with salt-and-pepper beard who nodded approvingly at her successful boarding.

"Nice work. We've got a smooth evening ahead, so your ankle should do just fine.

" He gestured toward the passenger seating.

"Best views are port side for the lighthouse approach. "

Harrison stepped easily onto the boat behind her. "Port is left," he whispered, close enough that his breath stirred the hair near her ear.

"I know what port is," she replied, though without the sharp edge such a correction might have held a few days ago.

His soft chuckle warmed her as they made their way to the padded bench seats running along the boat's left side. Settling herself took some work, but soon she was seated comfortably, crutches stowed beneath the bench, ankle propped on a cushion Harrison had somehow procured without her noticing.

"Better?" he asked, taking the seat beside her, not quite touching but close enough that she was aware of the space between them.

"Perfect," she admitted. And it was, between the gentle rocking of the boat, the salt-tinged breeze, and the golden light of approaching sunset.

She pulled her small notebook from her bag, determined to remember her purpose here.

"I've never actually seen the lighthouse up close.

Hard to write about one when your entire experience comes from Google searches and library books. "

"Nothing beats first-hand research," Harrison agreed, stretching his long legs out before him.

He looked different today. More relaxed, his usual alertness softened by something she couldn't quite name.

He'd exchanged his typical henley for a button-down shirt in a deep blue that matched his eyes, the sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned forearms.

The boat's engine hummed to life, vibrating gently beneath them as they pulled away from the dock.

A handful of other passengers—mostly couples, Audrey noted with a flush—found seats around the small vessel.

A young woman began a practiced spiel about the island's history, but Audrey found her attention drifting to the shoreline, to the Pelican Inn visible on its gentle rise above the beach.

"Strange seeing it from the water," Harrison commented, following her gaze.

"It looks smaller somehow. More vulnerable." The observation surprised her.

"Changes your perspective," he agreed. "Seeing things from a distance sometimes makes them clearer."

She glanced at him, wondering if they were still talking about the inn. "What have you been seeing more clearly lately?"

His eyes met hers, something unguarded in their depths. "That I've been running from one temporary place to another since my retirement. That maybe it's time to stop running."

The honesty caught her off guard. "Why did you come to Palmar Island?" she asked, the question she'd been wondering since their first encounter.

"No real reason. Saw a brochure at a rest stop in Georgia. Liked the lighthouse on the cover." He shrugged. "As good a place as any to figure out what comes next."

"And have you? Figured it out?"

The boat rounded a bend in the shoreline, bringing the lighthouse into view for the first time. It stood tall and proud, its white and red stripes gleaming in the golden hour light. Harrison's gaze lingered on it before returning to her.

"Getting closer," he said, and she wasn't entirely sure which question he was answering.

The tour guide had moved on to explaining the lighthouse's history—built in 1868, automated in 1956, nearly destroyed in Hurricane Hugo before being painstakingly restored. Audrey dutifully jotted notes, though her attention kept drifting to the man beside her.

"What about you?" Harrison asked as the guide moved to the other side of the boat. "Why a lighthouse for your novel? Why not a... I don't know, a plantation house?"

Audrey smiled, tracing her pen along the edge of her notebook.

"Lighthouses are solitary but purposeful.

Their entire existence is dedicated to helping others find their way safely home.

" She hesitated, then admitted, "I always wanted to be that for someone.

A guiding light. But I spent so many years just trying to keep my mother's ship from sinking that I never got the chance. "

The words had emerged without her permission, more honest than she'd intended. She felt suddenly exposed, vulnerable in a way that made her want to retreat behind her usual reserve.

Harrison didn't rush to fill the silence that followed, didn't offer platitudes or easy comfort. Instead, he simply nodded, his expression thoughtful. "It's never too late to light the lamp," he said finally. "Even lighthouses have to be built before they can guide anyone home."

Something about the simplicity of his response, the absence of pity, loosened a knot inside her chest. "Is that what you're doing now? Building your lighthouse?"

"Trying to figure out what it might look like," he admitted. "What about you? Is that what this novel represents?"

The boat glided smoothly through the water, bringing them ever closer to the lighthouse that now dominated the horizon. Audrey considered his question, turning it over like a shell found on the beach, examining its contours.

"Maybe," she said. "Or maybe I'm just trying to find my own way home first."

The sun dipped lower, casting long fingers of gold across the water. Without thinking, Audrey shifted to capture the view in her notebook, a quick sketch of light and shadow. Her shoulder brushed against Harrison's, a brief touch that sent a current of awareness through her. She didn't pull away.

"You know," Harrison said, his voice a low rumble beside her, "I don't think I've been this relaxed in years."

She glanced up at him, struck by the openness in his expression. "It's the ocean air," she offered, though she suspected it was something else entirely.

"Must be," he agreed, his smile suggesting he didn't believe it either.

As the boat curved around toward the lighthouse, Audrey found herself studying Harrison's profile. The strong line of his jaw, the laugh lines around his eyes, the silver at his temples. There was a steadiness to him that drew her, like a ship to safe harbor.

The thought should have frightened her. Instead, she found herself leaning slightly into the space between them, toward whatever was building in this moment, on this boat, beneath this golden sky.

The boat slowed as they approached the lighthouse. The sunset had transformed the sky into a canvas of amber and rose, the colors reflecting on the water's surface in shimmering patterns.

"The original lens was a First Order Fresnel," Harrison explained, his voice taking on a quiet authority that surprised her. "Much bigger than what they used in later years. It could project light for almost twenty miles."

"How do you know all this?" Audrey asked, genuinely curious.

He smiled, a hint of self-consciousness in the gesture. "I might have done some reading before tonight. Thought it might help with your research."

The admission touched her more than she expected. "Thank you," she said softly.

"Did you know most lighthouses have their own unique light pattern?" Harrison continued. "It helps sailors identify which lighthouse they're seeing. Like a fingerprint."

"A signature," Audrey murmured, thinking of her lighthouse keeper character. "Something distinctly their own."

The boat rocked gently as it circled closer to the stone foundation rising from the water. The tour guide had moved to the bow, but Audrey found herself more interested in Harrison's explanations, delivered without pretension, just a genuine desire to share what might be useful to her work.

The wind picked up as they rounded the eastern side of the lighthouse, sending the loose strands of her hair dancing across her face. She reached to brush them away, but Harrison's hand was there first, his fingers gentle as they swept the wayward lock behind her ear.

"There," he said, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. "Now you can see."

His hand lingered near her cheek, a breath away from touching her again. Audrey found herself unable to look away from his eyes, from the warmth and something deeper she saw reflected there. The space between them seemed charged with possibility, with unspoken questions.

For one breathless moment, the world narrowed to just this. His closeness, the lighthouse, her heart beating a rhythm she'd forgotten it knew.

And then panic surged through her, sudden and fierce. Too much, too fast. Too real.

"I should take some notes," she said abruptly, pulling back and fumbling for her notebook. "For the book. That's why we're here, after all. Research."

She could feel Harrison's gaze on her face, could sense his confusion at her sudden retreat. But he didn't press, didn't try to recapture the moment she'd broken.

"Of course," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "What else would you like to know about the lighthouse?"

Audrey stared down at her notebook, at the blank page that seemed to mock her cowardice. What was she so afraid of? That she might actually feel something? That he might?

That he would leave, like everyone eventually did?

"The foundation," she said, forcing steadiness into her voice. "How deep does it go?"

As Harrison began explaining the engineering behind lighthouse construction, Audrey tried to focus on his words rather than the lingering sensation of his fingers near her skin.

She told herself she'd imagined the connection, the charge between them.

That it was simply the romantic setting, the golden light, the proximity of bodies on a small boat.

Nothing more.

But as the boat completed its circuit and turned back toward the marina, Audrey couldn't help glancing at Harrison's profile, at the way the fading light traced the contours of his face. And she couldn't quite convince herself that what she'd felt wasn't real.

Only that it was safer to pretend it wasn't.