Page 6 of Love Takes A Tumble (Midlife Meet Cute #3)

Chapter Six

The smell of woodsmoke mingled with salt air as Harrison added another log to the crackling fire.

The flames leapt higher, casting dancing shadows across the small gathering of people seated in a rough circle on blankets and beach chairs.

The casual beach bonfire had been Elise's idea.

"Just a little get-together for our guests," she'd said, though the knowing glint in her eye suggested ulterior motives.

Harrison glanced toward the path leading from the inn, trying not to be obvious about checking for Audrey's arrival.

She'd been noticeably absent at breakfast that morning, and when he'd run into her briefly in the parlor, her smile had been polite but distant, her excuses about needing to work on her manuscript a transparent retreat from the moment they'd shared on the boat.

"She'll come," Jacob said quietly, appearing at Harrison's side with two bottles of beer. He handed one to Harrison. "Elise can be very persuasive."

"Who says I'm waiting for anyone?" Harrison replied, accepting the bottle with a nod of thanks.

Jacob's knowing smile was answer enough. "You've got it bad, my friend."

Harrison took a long pull from his beer, neither confirming nor denying the observation.

What could he say? That he couldn't stop thinking about the way Audrey's eyes had reflected the moonbeam on their return from the lighthouse?

That he'd lain awake half the night replaying that moment when she'd pulled away, wondering what he'd done wrong?

"Not sure what 'it' is," he said finally. "Or if it even matters. I'm leaving soon anyway."

"Are you?" Jacob's question was gentle but direct. "Because it seems to me you keep finding reasons to stay."

Before Harrison could formulate a response, a murmur of greetings drew his attention back to the path.

Audrey stood at the edge of the firelight, her crutches abandoned in favor of a simple walking cane.

She wore a light sweater over loose linen pants, her hair pulled back in a soft knot at the nape of her neck.

Simple, practical. Yet something about the way the firelight caught the curves of her face made his breath catch.

Elise immediately went to greet her, guiding her to an empty chair that was conveniently located directly across the fire from Harrison.

He resisted the urge to immediately go to her, to help her settle, to make sure she was comfortable.

Instead, he raised his bottle in a silent greeting when her eyes found his.

She nodded in acknowledgment, but quickly turned her attention to Miss Doris, who was offering her a plate of something that looked delicious. The distance between them felt wider than the circle of sand and fire that separated them physically.

"Give her time," Jacob murmured, clapping him on the shoulder before moving away to help Elise distribute drinks.

The evening progressed with the easy rhythm of casual gathering.

Conversations ebbed and flowed. Laughter punctuated the sound of waves.

But Harrison remained acutely aware of Audrey across the flames, of how she participated in the group's discussion but avoided direct engagement with him. Her walls were up, higher than before.

"Marshmallows!" Elise announced, producing a bag and several long roasting sticks. "No bonfire is complete without them."

As the treats were passed around, Harrison found himself caught in an unwelcome memory of his ex-wife and his daughter at a similar beach fire years ago.

Before everything had fallen apart. Before the job had consumed him.

And before the missed birthdays and canceled anniversaries had built a wall between them that even he, with all his rescue training, couldn't breach.

"Penny for your thoughts," Miss Doris said, settling into the chair beside him with a grace that belied her years. "You look like a man solving the problems of the universe."

"Just remembering," he replied.

"Ah." She nodded as if he'd said much more. "The past has its place, but it makes a terrible compass, dear. You can't navigate forward while staring back."

Harrison smiled despite himself. "You never run out of metaphors, do you?"

"Life provides an endless supply." Her shrewd eyes moved to Audrey, then back to him. "She's scared, you know. Not of you. Of what you represent."

"And what's that?"

"The possibility of a future different from the one she's planned." Miss Doris patted his arm before rising. "Much like someone else I know."

As she moved away, Harrison's gaze drifted back to Audrey.

The firelight softened her features, made her look younger, more vulnerable.

As if sensing his attention, she glanced up, meeting his eyes across the flames.

For a brief moment, the wariness in her expression gave way to something softer, more uncertain.

Then Jacob began strumming a guitar, breaking the moment as conversation shifted to requests for songs.

Harrison found himself drawn into the music despite his preoccupation, joining in on a chorus he hadn't realized he remembered.

Across the fire, Audrey remained quiet, watching, but there was a wistfulness in her expression that hadn't been there before.

When the song ended, she rose carefully, using her cane for support. "I think I'll head back," she announced to no one in particular. "My ankle's had enough excitement for one evening."

"I'll walk you," Elise offered immediately.

"No need," Audrey said with a smile. "I'm getting quite proficient with this." She waggled her cane. "Besides, I wouldn't want to pull you away from your hosting duties."

Before Harrison could offer, Jacob caught his eye and gave a subtle shake of his head. The message was clear: Let her go. Let her come to you.

It went against every instinct Harrison possessed to watch her make her way back toward the inn alone, her solitary figure silhouetted against the moonlit path. But he remained where he was, nursing his beer, joining halfheartedly in another song. Watched her pause and turn around.

"Harrison?" she called, her voice carrying just enough to reach him over the music. "Could I ask you something? About firefighting?"

The conversation around the fire continued, but Harrison set his beer down immediately. "Of course," he said, rising from his seat.

Jacob gave him an encouraging nod as he made his way around the circle toward Audrey. The sand shifted beneath his feet as he approached her, standing at the edge of the firelight.

"Everything okay?" he asked, stopping beside her.

"I've hit a wall with my novel," she admitted, her voice carrying a note of frustration.

"My lighthouse keeper was a firefighter in his earlier life, before taking the solitary post. But I've never—" She gestured vaguely.

"I don't know how to write it authentically.

What it feels like to run toward danger while everyone else runs away. "

"Want to walk while we talk?" he offered, gesturing toward the shoreline where moonlight danced across gentle waves.

She nodded, and they fell into step together, Harrison matching his pace to her slower one. The sounds of conversation and music faded behind them as they moved toward the shore, close enough that the waves nearly reached their feet before retreating.

"What do you want to know?" he asked.

"Everything." She glanced at him, then away. "Or maybe how it felt. Why you did it for so long."

They reached a large piece of driftwood, bleached silver by sun and salt, shaped almost like a bench. Audrey lowered herself onto it with careful movements, and Harrison settled beside her, leaving respectful space between them.

"I always knew," he said finally. "Even as a kid. While other boys wanted to be astronauts or baseball players, I knew I'd be a firefighter. My uncle was one. I saw how people looked at him, respected him. How he made a difference."

"Was it what you expected? Once you started?"

Harrison leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Yes and no. The physical challenges, the training was what I expected.

But the feeling..." He paused, searching for words.

"Imagine being absolutely certain of your purpose.

Knowing exactly why you're here and what you're meant to do. That's what it felt like on good days."

"And on bad days?" Audrey's voice was soft, her attention fully on him now.

"On bad days, you question everything. Whether you're good enough, fast enough, strong enough." His voice dropped. "Whether you deserve to come home when someone else didn't."

The admission hung between them in the salt-laden air. Harrison couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken so openly about the weight he'd carried, the burden of responsibility that had shaped his entire adult life.

"That's why your character needs a lighthouse," he said, turning to face her. "After running toward fires for years, he needs a different kind of purpose. One where he's still helping, still guiding others to safety, but from a distance. Protected. Alone."

Audrey's eyes widened slightly. "Yes," she whispered. "That's exactly it."

Something shifted between them, a door opening that had been merely cracked before. They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the waves, the distant music from the bonfire.

"I took care of my mother for twenty-eight years," Audrey said suddenly. "After my father left, it was just us. And then she got sick. Not all at once, but gradually. The kind of illness that steals a person piece by piece."

Harrison remained silent, recognizing the rare gift of her confidence.

"I became a librarian because it was practical.

Steady hours, close to home. I told myself it was temporary, just until she got better.

But she never did." Her fingers twisted in her lap.

"By the time she died last year, I'd spent so long being her caretaker that I didn't know who I was without that role. "

"So you came here," Harrison said gently. "To find out."

"To write the book I'd been planning for decades. To do something for myself, finally." She gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. "And I tripped over a piece of driftwood not unlike this one."

"Lucky driftwood," Harrison said, surprising a genuine smile from her.

The conversation flowed more easily after that, moving from her novel to his daughter in California, to the lighthouse that had drawn them both to this island. The moon climbed higher, casting silver light across the water, but neither made a move to return to the bonfire or the inn.

"Why did you really come to the island?" Audrey asked eventually, the question hanging in the night air between them.

Harrison was quiet for a long moment. "My heart," he said finally. "A minor episode, they called it. Enough to end my career, not enough to really slow me down. But suddenly everything I'd built my life around was gone." He looked out at the distant lighthouse. "I didn't know who I was anymore."

"And now?" Her voice was soft, cautious.

"Now..." He turned to face her, finding her eyes in the moonlight. "Now I'm starting to think maybe there's more to me than just what I did for a living. Maybe there's a second act I hadn't planned on."

Something vulnerable and hopeful passed between them, a current strong enough that Harrison could almost feel it physically. Without thinking, he reached out, his fingers finding hers on the driftwood between them. To his surprise and relief, she didn't pull away.

"I should probably get back," she said after a long moment, though she made no move to rise. "My ankle—"

"Of course." Harrison stood, offering his hand. "Let me walk you? No heroics, no carrying. Just company."

Audrey looked at his outstretched hand, then up at his face. Whatever she saw there must have reassured her, because she took his hand and allowed him to help her to her feet.

"I'd like that," she said simply.

They walked slowly back toward the inn, their conversation continuing in comfortable tones.

The bonfire was still going strong, but they skirted its edges with small waves to the others, following the shell-lined path that led up to the porch.

The night air had cooled enough that the warmth of the inn beckoned invitingly through the windows.

"Tea?" Harrison asked as they stepped into the quiet lobby. "I think there's still some hot water in the carafe Elise set out earlier."

"That sounds perfect," Audrey nodded, looking more relaxed than he'd seen her since the boat ride.

The common room was empty, the other guests still enjoying the beach bonfire.

A small lamp cast a warm glow over the comfortable seating area, and the embers in the fireplace still glowed with fading heat.

Harrison busied himself preparing two mugs of tea while Audrey settled onto the small sofa, propping her ankle on a footstool.

"Thank you for your stories," she said as he handed her a steaming mug and took the seat beside her. "They'll help with my character, but..." She hesitated, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug. "It was more than research. I want you to know that."

Harrison nodded and felt something warm unfurl in his chest that had nothing to do with the tea. "Does your lighthouse keeper get a happy ending?"

Audrey considered this, her expression thoughtful in the low light. "I haven't decided yet. I thought he would remain alone, finding purpose in his solitude." Her eyes met his. "Now I'm not so sure."

"What changed?"

"Maybe I did," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.