Chapter Text
The kitchen smelled faintly of onions and broth, the kind of smell that settled deep into the wood grain after years of storms and salt air. Outside, the wind clawed at the lighthouse windows, rattling the old frames in protest. The knife made a dull sound against the cutting board as Tim lined up the celery stalks into precise lengths before sweeping them aside with the blade.
He paused, not because of the storm, but because something broke through it- a voice. Soft, lilting, carrying through the drafty lobby with a warmth that didn’t belong to the weather. The sound of Kojo’s nails clicked against the floorboards, a rhythm that said his dog had abandoned his corner of the kitchen rug for more exciting company.
He set down the knife and wiped his hands on a towel, already assuming one of the villagers had braved the gale..
The sight that met him in the lobby was strange enough to make his eyebrows lift. A woman- small, bundled in an absurd number of scarves and coats- was crouched on the floor, hands buried in Kojo’s fur. The dog’s tail slapped happily against the wall as she cooed at him, voice high and affectionate, as though she’d known him all her life.
Tim didn’t recognize her. And anyone who lived here would’ve known better than to dress like winter was trying to strangle them.
He watches her closely as she continues to pet the dog, unaware of his presence. Her cheeks and nose glowed red from the wind, a sharp contrast to the wool wrapped clumsily around her face. Brown hair cascaded around her shoulder in waves, forsted with dew. A few bags stood beside her, wrapped in more scarves.
Tourists? At this time of the year?
When she glanced up and saw him standing there, her grin faltered into confusion.
“Uh—sorry. Do you know where I can find Mrs. Dwyer?”
Her voice had lowered a few octaves as she straightened.
Tim’s mouth pressed into a flat line. “She doesn’t live here anymore.”
The woman blinked, as though he’d spoken in code. “Oh… um- this is still a bnb right?”
“She sold it. I’m the owner now,” he said, voice even, a little clipped.
“Oh.” She straightened, tugging at her scarves like they’d suddenly betrayed her. Kojo leaned against her leg as if he’d already made his choice. “Right. That makes sense.”
Tim didn’t respond. He just waited, letting the silence stretch until she cleared her throat and said, “So, um… I guess I should book a room?”
He turned, jerking his head toward the check-in desk. She followed, shuffling off the dew and dripping onto the faded rug.
The desk was old, the computer older- one of those boxy monitors that hummed faintly, as if running itself was witchcraft. Tim woke it with a tap of the spacebar, ignoring the way she snorted.
“That thing still works?” she asked.
“It does the job,” he said shortly, already pulling up the reservation system.
“If you say so,” she murmured, her breath puffing out like fog as she unwound one of her scarves.
He kept his eyes on the screen. “Name?”
“Lucy. Lucy Chen.”
Her voice wavered just slightly, as if she wasn’t used to saying it here, in this place that felt like it had been waiting centuries before she arrived.
“Duration of stay?”
She hesitated, worrying her lip. “Um. A month? Maybe two?”
That made him glance up. Her posture was nervous, shoulders drawn in, but her eyes were steady. Determined.
“You planning to rent out the whole place?”
“No- just me. I- I can cover it. I promise. I’ve got the money.”
Tim frowned. “Off-season. Not like anyone else is fighting for a room."
She quietly hummed as Tim continued to click more keys.
"I’m not taking full payment if you’re just going to be waiting it out here.”
Her brows knit together. “Why not?”
“Because I said so.”
“That’s not an answer,” she shot back, color rising under the windburn already on her cheeks.
He exhaled through his nose. Stubborn. Great. "Fine, I'll split it. Half now.”
"And the other half..." she trailed off, still not comfortable with the idea of imposing.
Tim sighed, sensing that she's not refusing to put up a fight about this. "You can help around the BnB to make up the rest."
Her eyes widened. “Help? Doing what?”
“You’ll figure it out.”
Kojo thumped his tail against the counter leg, as though approving of the deal.
Lucy crossed her arms, still hesitant. “You’re not worried I’ll mess something up?”
“There’s not much you can mess up,” Tim said flatly, clicking through the booking. “Meals are included. You got any allergies I should know about? Food restrictions?”
“Oh. Um… I don’t eat much meat. Most of the time.” She glanced at the bag of vegetables he’d left on the counter. “But if that’s what you’re cooking, it’s fine. I can help in the kitchen too.”
He gave a noncommittal nod, jotting it down.
When the booking was done, Tim decided it was best to let her choose her own room, considering her stay wouldn’t be a short one. At that, Lucy’s grin returned, bright and unguarded, and she fell in step behind him with a kind of eager bounce. Together they moved through the chill of the dimly-lit corridors, Kojo trotting at their heels like a self-appointed escort. The air smelled faintly of salt and old wood polish, and every creak of the floorboards echoed the hush of the storm outside.
They reached the staircase that spiraled up through the tower, its steps worn smooth by generations of tenants. The climb was narrow, forcing Lucy to trail her hand along the cool stone wall for balance. Most of the guest rooms branched off the second floor, but curiosity tugged her farther. She slipped past Tim, her scarf brushing his arm, and wandered down the hall until another stairwell revealed itself.
Casting a glance back, she caught the flicker of his raised eyebrows- permission enough. So she kept climbing, higher into the tower, until they reached the third floor where the ceilings dipped low and the hallway tightened, making the place feel secret and tucked away, as though it belonged only to those who dared climb that far.
“This one?” she asked, pushing open the door at the very end of the hall.
The room was smaller than the others, tucked beneath a sloping ceiling with a round window that framed the restless sea. It looked like the kind of place storms would rattle and sunlight would bless, a room made for solitude and secrets.
“If that’s what you want,” Tim said from behind her, his voice low, unreadable.
She stepped inside, dropping her bags onto the worn floorboards. Kojo padded forward to sniff at the threshold, then circled once before settling with a sigh, as though declaring it officially hers.
Tim lingered in the doorway, arms folded loosely across his chest. He let her take it in- the bed tucked against the wall, the faint smell of salt and cedar, the steady hiss of the wind outside. When her gaze finally drifted back to meet his, he straightened. “Dinner’s at seven.”
A small smile curved her lips, soft and grateful, and she gave a quick nod. Something about it unsettled him- not in a bad way, but in a way he couldn’t quite name. He cleared his throat, called Kojo to heel, and stepped back into the hallway.
By the time he reached the kitchen, the rhythm of his life had returned, the knife against the cutting board, the quiet shuffle of the dog’s paws, the steam rising from the pot. He reached into the bag again, pulling out carrots and potatoes to add to the broth he’d perfected over years of cooking for one. Now, for two apparently.
What he didn’t know- what he couldn’t possibly know- was that the pattern he’d carved so carefully for himself was already shifting. That the storm outside hadn’t just carried a stranger to his doorstep, but a change he could neither plan for nor resist.