Page 56 of Escape to Lighthouse Cove

“You could make some kind of… center,” she explained slowly, feeling her way through the words. “Or a camp or a retreat, I don’t know the right term, but… it could be a place people come to heal. They could rest and maybe do classes—yoga and watercolors, there could be therapies offered too, play therapies for children…” She saw it unfolding in her mind’s eye—the houses refurbished, a playground by the pool, music and art rooms… “With the ocean and the nature reserve and these houses justsittinghere… and you have the money, don’t you?” Her voice rose in her excitement. “I mean, you haven’t said, but I get the sense that you’re filthy rich.”

He laughed at that, a bubble of sound. “Fairly filthy.”

“You could do something good here, Noah,” Grace persisted. She felt deep inside, right down in her bones, that this idea wasn’t just some pie-in-the-sky plan, a whimsical wish. That this could be good for others, for Noah, for the island itself. “With this island, these memories. You could create a place where people who have suffered—from loss, from trauma, whatever—could come to recover. To heal. They could help in the nature reserve, and take classes and therapy, or just be. Justbein a beautiful place.” He didn’t reply and she couldn’t tell from his expression whether he thought it was an incredible idea or an awful one. “That’s why I came here,” she continued in a rush. “To recover and heal. And I have, at least I’m getting there. And imagine if you could offer it to people like me, like you, like Jacob. Or Jem.” She fell silent, afraid she’d gone too far, invoking his brother’s name, but he just nodded thoughtfully.

“You’d need to get some source of funding,” he said after a moment. “I could set up a trust, but I couldn’t bankroll it forever. The money would run out.”

Her insides leapt at the realization that he was considering it so seriously. “Fundraisers. Grants. Maybe charging those who can afford it. There have to be ways.”

He paused, squinting out at the view. “You’d have to get other people involved, people who were willing to live here. Therapists, specialists, an architect even…”

“It could become a community.” She thought of Becca, so lonely, and Lewis who either wanted to stay or bust out, she couldn’t tell which. Grumpy Jethro and gossipy Bab, Ned who seemed to live by his own law. “Do you think the locals would be okay with it?” she asked.

Noah scratched his jaw. “Honestly, I don’t know. But it would be a big project, Grace. Ahugeproject, just getting these cottages habitable again, and then putting all the safeguards in place so you could house vulnerable people… plus recruiting staff, publicizing…”

At first, she thought he was throwing up obstacles, but then she heard the excitement in his voice, saw the light flare in his eyes, and she smiled.

“But you could do it,” she said softly.

“We could do it,” Noah replied, and then he crossed the room in three long strides, took her in his arms, and kissed her hard on the mouth.

It started out as a hard press, what felt like a brand, but then Grace wrapped her arms around him, and it turned into something far more passionate and they stumbled back against the wall, still kissing. Grace could feel the thud of Noah’s heart against her own. And even though her mind was spinning, her body tingling all over, she forced herself to break the kiss first.

“Jacob—” she whispered shakily, an apology as well as an explanation, and Noah smiled faintly and pressed his forehead against hers.

“Thank you,” he whispered back.

They picnicked on the lawn outside, Noah spreading a blanket over the long grass and bringing out all sorts of treats he’d bought in Eastport—mini-quiches and lobster rolls, fudgy brownies and fresh strawberries and crusty bread that he spread with warm, golden butter. As they ate, he leaned back on one elbow, so Grace teased he looked like a Roman emperor, and his foot kept nudging hers in a way that did not feel careless.

Every time it did, her heart gave a little skip.

The sun was starting to sink in the sky by the time they made their way back along the dirt track, Jacob, now sleepy, trailing behind until Noah offered a shoulder ride and her son gave an emphatic nod. As Noah hoisted him up easily, joking how he could see the whole world, Jacob let out a little giggle, and Grace felt as if her world had become suddenly, shimmeringly, perfect.

She didn’t think her heart could feel so full, her soul so light, her body so free. Right then, she felt as if she had everything she’d ever wanted.

As they came onto the main road back to the lodge, Jacob pointed toward the ocean, and Grace followed the line of his finger.

“Ned’s trawler,” she said by way of agreement. “Or his ferry.” She frowned a little as she saw the way the boat was heading steadily for the harbor. “Is someone coming to the island?”

“Maybe Isaiah,” Noah suggested, his hands resting loosely on Jacob’s legs to steady him. “He heads to the mainland once or twice a week.”

“Maybe,” Grace agreed. She watched as the boat made a beeline for the dock. Why did she feel a little frisson of unease, even of fear? Maybe she was just being paranoid, because this happiness felt so fragile, so new, and she was scared anything, anything at all, might shatter it.

Noah reached for her hand, linking his fingers through hers. “You look worried,” he remarked as he scanned her face.

“No.” Grace shook her head, smiling. She was choosing not to be worried. “Just wondering who it is. But I’m happy.” She squeezed his hand. “Very happy.”

They spent the rest of the walk back to the lodge daydreaming about their potential project—how they would renovate the cottages, what kind of services and therapies they might offer.

“Grayhaven could have offices and consulting rooms as well as leisure areas—an art or yoga studio,” Grace offered. “And it already has a gym.”

“True, true.”

“Am I rushing ahead?” she asked a little anxiously. “Taking over your house?”

Noah squeezed her hand. “I would love,” he said sincerely, “for that mausoleum of a place to have life again. To be put to good use.”

“Really, you’re sure?—”