Page 17 of Escape to Lighthouse Cove

Lightly she touched his shoulder, the powerful muscle flexing under her hesitant grip. “Noah…” she whispered. “Noah, wake up. It’s all right. You’re having a nightmare, that’s all.”

That’s all.As if nightmares were such pesky, trivial things rather than frightening monsters that held you in their terrible, taloned clutches.

He moaned again, and she shook his shoulder gently. “Noah…”

In the next instant, his hand came around her wrist, tightly enough to hurt, at least a little, and he stared up at her, wide-eyed, and yet still, she suspected, not awake.

“Noah…” she whispered, trying to tug her arm, but he held it fast.

A few endless seconds passed and then, abruptly, he flung her arm away from him so Grace fell back, and Noah rolled onto his side as he began to sob as if his heart would break—or really, as if it was already broken.

10

“Good morning.”

Noah rose from behind his desk, the sunlight streaming through the windows, as Grace ventured cautiously into the study. She’d left Jacob still asleep in his bed, and she had no idea what to expect from Noah after his episode last night. After he’d released her arm and started to cry, she’d tried to comfort him, clumsily, patting his shoulder, but his sobs had stopped almost as soon as they’d started, and he’d lapsed once more into a restless sleep. Grace had watched him uncertainly for a few moments before she’d crept back to bed, her mind full of questions before she’d eventually fallen asleep herself.

“You look a little more rested today,” Noah remarked as he strolled out from behind his desk. He was freshly showered and shaven, his dark hair still damp, and brushed back from his chiseled face, so his eyes looked very blue. He was dressed in another pair of faded jeans and sweater, this one a navy that matched his eyes. “I checked on you a few times last night, and you seemed to be sleeping comfortably, I’m glad to say.”

“I—I did?” Because he certainly hadn’t been.

“Well, I didn’t note any worsening symptoms,” Noah replied, smiling. “Isaiah is making some breakfast,” he continued in the same easy tone. “He does a pretty amazing ham and cheese omelet. Meanwhile, there’s coffee.” He gestured to a tray with a silver carafe and a couple of cups on the table by the fireplace.

Grace eyed him uncertainly; she’d expected some reticence or reserve from him, to hide any understandable embarrassment from last night, but his deep blue eyes were clear and guileless as he headed over to the tray to pour them both cups, and he seemed surprisingly unfazed by everything. Had he forgotten about the nightmare? Maybe he’d never remembered it in the first place. Grace hadn’t been entirely sure he’d ever been truly awake, so she supposed that would make sense.

And yet… it felt strange and even wrong somehow to have witnessed it without his knowledge. Almost like she’d been spying, but of course she hadn’t.

“Isaiah takes good care of you,” she remarked, striving for some normality, as he poured out the coffee, and he let out a light laugh.

“He does, indeed. I’m very fortunate in that regard. Milk? Sugar?”

“Just milk, thank you.”

Noah handed her a cup, his fingers brushing hers in a way that was not unpleasant. As he moved, Grace caught the scent of his aftershave—something clean and woodsy, so different from Brad’s cloying cologne.

Then he frowned, cocking his head, his relaxed, affable expression like the mask Grace suspected it was. His brows snapped together and he suddenly looked angry. “What is it?” he asked abruptly.

“What?” Startled, she leaned back, only to have his frown deepen, his forehead knitted, as he stared at her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Noah demanded, his voice sharpening into something almost like accusation.

“Looking at you?” Grace blustered, taking a sip of coffee to hide her own alarm at how quickly their chitchat had escalated into something seemingly angry, her heart rate skittering in response to the sudden sea change of emotion. “I didn’t realize I was looking at you in any kind of way?—”

“Like you feel sorry for me.” Noah’s mouth tightened. “Did you read something on the internet? Is that what it is?”

“Theinternet?” Grace couldn’t help but goggle at him, becausethatwas unexpected. “When would I have done that?” she asked as reasonably as she could. “I think my phone is probably ruined from being in the water.” Something she didn’t really care about; no one had been in touch, and she didn’t need a phone here, anyway. There was hardly any signal.

“That’s true.” He was still frowning, his gaze assessing, his eyes narrowed, his body tense. “I put it out to dry, but I haven’t checked whether it’s working yet.” He shook his head slowly. “What, then? Because it’s something, I can tell. You’re looking at me like—like youpityme.” He spoke the word with something like loathing.

Grace opened her mouth to insist she didn’t know what he was talking about and then realized she didn’t want to lie. She hadn’t been aware she was looking at him in that way, but she did know why it might seem as if she was. “You had a… a nightmare last night,” she confessed quietly. “I was worried about you.”

Noah’s face paled and he flicked his gaze away from hers, his lips pursing. “Ah,” he said after a moment, and then took a sip of coffee. “Well, I was afraid that might happen.”

“I’m sorry,” Grace told him, although she wasn’t sure what exactly she was apologizing for. For seeing him in the throes of the nightmare? For him having it in the first place?

“I’m the one who’s sorry.” His lips twitched in something not quite a smile as he forced himself to meet her gaze, although she could tell it took some effort. “Here I was, meant to be checking up on you, and you ended up having to check up on me.” He angled himself slightly away from her, and now Grace could feel his embarrassment as well as his deep sadness, and all of it made her ache.

“I understand about nightmares,” she said after a moment. “I have them, too.”