Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.

Chapter Text

The kitchen was soon covered with a warm fog, a comforting mix of soup and the faint tang of salt carried in from the sea breeze. Tim was finishing up, ladling the last golden broth into the bowl with a quiet precision. The pan on the stove hissed softly, finishing the fish he’d lightly pan-fried, the aroma mingling with the steam curling toward the ceiling. Behind him, he noted the soft sound of the rug crumpling as Kojo stirred.

Tim glanced up from the counter, brow furrowed, and caught sight of movement at the kitchen entrance. His soup ladle paused mid-air. Lucy. Standing there, frozen in the doorway, half her scarves now abandoned and coat askew. Her cheeks were still pink from the wind, eyes wide and unblinking as though she’d materialized out of the storm itself. Caught.

Tim tilted his head, expression unreadable. “Dinner’s almost ready,” he said flatly, though the edge of curiosity in his tone betrayed him. How long had she been standing there

Lucy blinked rapidly, then jerked her head around as if inspecting the rest of the kitchen, forcing a nervous, polite sort of smile. “Oh- yeah sure,” she said, voice lilting, “this is… really… cozy. Your kitchen. Love the layout.” She gestured vaguely, hands fluttering. “The countertops… and the little table over there. Neat."

Tim’s lips twitched, caught halfway between a grunt and a smile. He stirred the fish gently, the pan sizzling in protest. “Thanks,” he said curtly.

Lucy stepped a little closer, letting her hand fall lightly on Kojo’s head as the dog nuzzled against her, tail thumping like a small drum. “Can I… help?” she asked softly, voice uncertain, as though testing the waters of his routine.

Tim shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “No. Pretty much done.”

So she stood there. Watching. Her eyes scanned the kitchen with quiet fascination, catching the tiny details that made it his own. The worn wooden cutting board scarred with decades of knives, the little spice rack organized with military precision, the single mug hanging from a hook, chipped at the rim but perfectly in place. The table in the corner looked inviting in its modest simplicity, the two chairs tucked in as though ready for a quiet, intimate meal.

Kojo whined softly at her again, and she knelt to scratch behind his ears, murmuring soft praise, her breath fogging in the cool air. The howling of the wind fills the silence before her voice breaks it again.

"Kojo, that’s his name, right?”

It's really not Tim's fault that he can barely hear her over the storm.

Tim froze mid–stir at the stove, frowning over his shoulder. “What? No- My name's Tim. Tim Bradford ”

Why is she asking me if I have a dog's name

Lucy blinked, then burst into a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Not you. Him. The dog.” She tapped Kojo’s nose, who wagged his tail in agreement.

“Oh.” Tim’s frown eased slightly, though he still looked puzzled. “Yeah. Kojo.”

Lucy chuckled, warmth in her tone. “Good to know. Though ‘Kojo’ would’ve been a pretty great fit for you too.”

Tim only huffed, turning back to the pan, but the tips of his ears betrayed a faint flush.

She smiled faintly, crouching to scratch the dog’s ears. “He’s… adorable.”

Tim merely smirked and hummed as she went back to cooing.

“Okay,” he said finally, turning, “come on. Eat.”

Lucy followed him to the front dining area, filled with tables but empty with the lack of tenants. The golden glow of the overhead light casts a soft shadows across the worn wooden floor as Tim places the bowls carefully on a table, the fish glinting with a slight crust, the soup steaming like captured warmth. “Dig in,” he said, stepping back. He doesn't wait for her reply as he heads back toward the kitchen.

Tim returned to the stove and the counter, settling into the rhythm of eating alone in his own space. Kojo padded back and forth until he quietly settles at Tim's feet under the table.

Lucy ate slowly, savoring the flavors- the delicate balance of salt from the sea, the freshness of the vegetables, the crisping of the fish. His food is surprisingly warm and comforting for someone that gruff.

Her eyes wandered around the dining area, taking in the little touches. A vase with a single wildflower by the window, a small shelf stacked neatly with cookbooks and a few novels, a framed picture of the lighthouse when it was still whitewashed and untamed. The quiet was almost too deafening but it was better than what she'd left behind in LA. She realized she could stay here. Really stay. And for the first time in a long while, that idea didn’t terrify her.

By the time they were done, the storm outside had intensified, rain lashing against the windows, wind rattling the frames in urgent bursts. Lucy stacked her empty bowl and spoon, stepping back into the kitchen to see Tim already at the sink, hands submerged in warm, soapy water.

“I’ll help,” she said immediately, the words tumbling out before she could second-guess herself.

He hesitated, dishcloth paused mid-wash, as though weighing the benefit of company versus the disruption of routine.

"You told me I could. Let me?"

Finally, he nodded. “Fine. Just don’t break anything,” he muttered with a faint tone of sass. She merely rolls her eyes before joining him.

Together they worked through the dishes, the clink of ceramic and the hiss of water punctuating the room. Lucy washed and Tim dried, Kojo wandered around them, occasionally nudging against her legs or sniffing at a wet rag. Tim caught the little moments, the way her sleeves had slipped down to reveal delicate wrists, the way her hair had fallen in soft, damp waves, the soft huff of breath she let out as she scrubbed the larger pan.

When the last dish was rinsed and set to dry, they dried their hands on separate towels. Lucy’s eyes met his for a fleeting moment, and the corners of his mouth twitched in acknowledgment. “Goodnight,” she said softly.

Tim nodded, already feeling the evening pulling him back into his rhythm. “Goodnight.”

He walked up the narrow stairway to his room on the second floor, Kojo padding silently at his heels. Chaniging out of his dampened clothes into much warmer pj's, he climbs into bed. He watches as Kojo’s ears twitched nervously at a sudden rumble of thunder outside. Tim sighed, pulling back the covers, and found Kojo shrinking from the sound. With a gentle grunt, he scooped the dog up, letting him nestle into the bed beside him. The warm weight of the dog was a small comfort against the chill and the storm, a reminder that not all of his world had to be empty.

He settled into the sheets, the wind rattling the lighthouse windows, Kojo tucked against his side, and let his mind drift, reluctantly, toward the stranger upstairs—the girl with windburned cheeks, a curious stare, and a presence that was already beginning to shift the rhythm of his carefully ordered life.

Outside, the storm continued its ceaseless pounding, as though the sea itself had followed her to the door.

And for the first time in a long time, Tim didn’t mind.

---

The first light of morning crept softly through the round window of her room, gilding the edges of the sloping ceiling in gold. Lucy stirred beneath the weight of layers she had shed for sleep, blinking against the gentle brightness, the storm from the night before reduced to a distant memory. Outside, the lighthouse stood silent, salt air lingering, and the sea below rolled in calm swells.

She stretched, letting the warmth of the sun seep into her bones, and watched the shadows shift across the floor. Everything was quiet. Peaceful. Too quiet, perhaps. Her thoughts drifted to last night- Tim, with his precise movements, measured words, and the quiet authority he seemed to carry effortlessly. Why was he so stiff? So… closed? She couldn’t quite place it, and part of her was curious, part of her cautious.

After a few moments, she slid her feet into socks and wrapped herself in one of the scarves from the night before, padding softly towards the attached bathroom in her room. Splashing warm water on her face, she starts heading down the narrow staircase. The main lobby smelled faintly of salt and wood polish, still carrying traces of the evening’s meals. The lobby was empty when she walks in but movement caught her eye. Tim was just stepping in from a morning walk,  cheeks flushed, coat damp in spots, and the smell of sea spray clinging to him. Kojo walks in behind him, tail wagging sensing her presence.

“Good morning,” she said, trying not to sound too eager

Tim finally glanced up. “Morning,” his voice was roughened by the early hour. “Breakfast will be ready in a few.”

Lucy nodded as she watched Tim head toward the kitchen, shaking off his coat. Lucy followed, quietly slipping behind him, looking more like an eager puppy than Kojo did.

She hesitates, then asks. “Do you mind if I… join you in the kitchen? I’d rather not sit in the dining hall alone.”

He froze mid-step, turned to face her brow raised, then blinked at her. “What?"

"Don't get me wrong, your dining area is lovely. It just. There's no one else and-" she motions with her hands, hoping he'd understand.

"You… want to eat in here?”

“Yes,” she said quickly, cheeks warming. “If you want. It's fine if you don't!  I don't mind the hall- ’s nice being around someone.”

Tim tilted his head and stares at her for what feels like an eternity and  finally mutteres, “Alright.”

Lucy smiled, letting herself slip past the counter to watch him work. Soon, they're both sat with plates filled with warm pancakes and bacon much to Lucy's enthusiasm. And Kojo’s. Taking advantage of the new arrangement, he moves from Tim's seat to Lucy's under the table, whining.

She tries to avoid making eyecontact but watching the dog make puppy eyes and paw her, she swiftly slides a piece of bacon toward Kojo, who accepted it with a wag and a soft sound. She looks up at Tim to make sure he hadn't noticed from where he's intently staring at his plate.

“Don’t give him too much,” Tim said, voice low but amused, not bothered to look up. “Strict diet.”

Lucy giggled, catching him off guard. “Everyone deserves a treat sometimes,” she defends. Tim’s lips twitched in surprise, as he returned to his meal, though his concentration seemed slightly less rigid after that.

Later, when she had finished her meal and Tim had moved to washing dishes, Lucy tugged her sleeves back and offered to help, recalling last night’s arrangement. Tim hesitated by habit, but the corners of his mouth twitched as he nodded. She scrubbed and rinsed with careful hands while Kojo padded between their feet, occasionally nudging her for more attention. When the last dish was done, they dried their hands, exchanged a brief smile, and parted for the morning.

---

Lucy stepped out onto the cliff behind the lighthouse, inhaling the sharp, fresh air. The ocean spread endlessly before her, waves glinting under the rising sun. She let the wind whip through her hair, brushing the dew from her sleeves, and allowed herself to imagine the months ahead- quiet mornings, stormy nights, and the mysterious man who ran the lighthouse like it was a kingdom.

The stillness was broken by a sudden curse and the clang of metal. Lucy froze, then turned towards the sound. She found it to be coming from a  shed at the edge of the property. Tins of paint clattered inside, and she hesitated at the doorway, peeking in. There was Tim, paint splattered across his coat, brushing against the wall, muttering under his breath as he tried to regain control of the chaos.

“Uh… everything okay?” she asked softly, trying hard not to laugh at the scene infront of her.

He straightened slightly startled before wiping his hands on his pants. “I should probably head into the village,” he muttered. “We’re out of paint.”

Lucy tilted her head, seizing the opportunity. “Oh. Um… while you’re there, could you… maybe show me around? I’ll be staying a while anyway, and I don’t really have anything to do. I could even help carry stuff if you want.”

Tim blinked at her, caught off guard by her directness. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then finally said, “Okay.” His tone was nonchalant, but his brief pause betrayed a flicker of surprise. “Wait a minute,” he added, heading toward the house. “We need a grocery list for the village anyway. Might as well get that while we’re there.”

Lucy followed at a distance, the cliffs stretching behind her, the wind teasing her hair. She could feel the faint warmth of sunlight on her face and the salt air in her lungs. Her mind wandered to the man she had just started to know, the rhythm of the lighthouse, the smell of the kitchen, and the quiet, teasing dog who seemed to understand her in ways Tim did not yet.

Even in the early morning, even before playful words and terse nods, she could feel herself drawn to the steadiness of his world. And for the first time since she arrived, she felt like maybe, just maybe, she had a place here.

Chapter Text

The storm had passed in the night, leaving the world washed clean. Morning sunlight spilled across the cliffs in golden sheets, though the grass underfoot was still damp, darkened with dew and the remnants of rain. A soft breeze tugged at Tim’s jacket, carrying with it the sharp tang of salt and the faint cry of gulls circling far below where the ocean struck the rocks.

Lucy practically skipped beside him, her energy bubbling in a way that felt too bright for the quiet landscape. Kojo trotted faithfully at Tim’s heel but, traitorously, his ears pricked toward Lucy every time she giggled, his paws syncing almost perfectly with her light steps. It was surprising- how quickly his dog had grown fond of their new tenant. Then again, Tim suspected the scraps sneaked under the table during meals and frequent butt-scratches had something to do with it.

Tim drew in a deep breath of the sea air, letting it fill his chest, trying- just for a moment- to sink into the silence he always sought in these morning walks. But then, laughter. He flicked his gaze sideways.

Lucy was bent slightly, grinning at Kojo, who had discovered a neat little stick. Tail wagging, Kojo pranced just ahead, daring her to snatch it from his mouth as they moved along the damp path.

Tim sighed.

“You know,” he said, voice carrying over the hush of waves below, “none of my other guests have done this.”

Lucy looked up, startled out of her game, her grin still bright but edged with confusion. “What?”

“No one else does this.” He waved a hand vaguely, as though that might explain it all. “Eat in the kitchen. Follow me to the village.”

Her smile faltered, steps slowing against the spongy grass. “Oh. I— I can go back if you want? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” Tim cut in, sharper than he meant. He stopped short, irritated with himself. That wasn’t what he’d meant at all. “I didn’t mean it… like a bad thing. I just—” He cleared his throat. “I did ask you to help.”

Silence settled heavy between them, broken only by the caw of a gull and the squelch of their boots in the damp earth.

“Oh. Um. Okay then.” Her face brightened just a fraction, but the easy grin he’d grown unexpectedly used to hadn’t returned. The loss of it tugged at him, sudden and unwelcome.

Why the hell does he even care? It was just conversation. Now she looks like I kicked her puppy. Pull it together Bradford.

Kojo, thank God, remained oblivious, darting crisscross between them, nose to the ground, stick still clutched proudly in his mouth. The dog’s simple joy seemed almost mocking in the thick tension that hung in the salty air.

---

It doesn't take them too long to walk into the village. Lucy notes how the path now curved inland, the cliffs long gone. Tim always thought of it as a place caught in amber- untouched, unchanged since the day he's first been here.

The morning sun had burned away most of the storm’s residue, though the cobblestones still glistened damp where puddles clung stubbornly. Bright shopfronts lined either side of the narrow main street: a bakery already buzzing with customers clutching paper-wrapped loaves, the butcher’s shop with its neat display of cuts behind glass, and a produce shop spilling baskets of apples, carrots, and bundles of herbs onto the sidewalk. At the far end, a squat little shop leaned against its taller neighbors, a  hand-painted sign that read 'Library'. In the village center, the church rose with modest grace, its bell tower small but proud, casting a steady shadow across the square.

Tim stands next to Lucy as she takes it all in and he can feel her giddiness build again, like the warmth of a fire on his shoulder. Her steps slowed, eyes drinking everything in as though she’d stumbled into a painting. The scent of fresh bread drifted from the bakery, warm and yeasty, and she closed her eyes for a beat just to inhale. When she opened them, she looked around with a grin so wide Tim had to look away, as if it was too much brightness all at once.

“Dainty,” she breathed, almost to herself. “It’s like… stepping into the nineties.”

Tim shrugged, shifting the bag on his shoulder. “Haven’t really thought about it.”

“Of course you haven’t,” she teased, eyes sparkling as they landed on the library. The little building seemed to draw her like a magnet, its narrow windows and hand-carved door brimming with promise.

He followed her gaze, then nodded toward it. “Tell you what. You go explore. I’ll grab what I need and come back before heading home.”

“You’re leaving me here?” she asked, mock-offended, but her smile gave her away.

“You’ll survive,” Tim said, deadpan. Kojo barked once as if to second it.

“Fine,” she sighed dramatically, already halfway across the street. “But don’t take too long.”

The library was smaller than she expected, but charming. Wooden shelves pressed close together, the air thick with the perfume of old pages. She trailed her fingers along the spines as she wandered, eyes wide, her grin softening into something almost reverent.

That’s when she heard a familiar kind of voice- warm, teasing, friendly. “You look like you just walked into Narnia.”

Lucy turned to find a young man with an easy smile, sorting books onto a cart. He wore the air of someone who belonged here, comfortable in the hush.

She laughed. “Close. But I was hoping more Hogwarts.”

He chuckled, with a slight head tilt. “I don't think I've seen you before. Visiting?"

“I am. 'm Lucy,” she said, extending her hand with a warm smile.

He moves to shake it with a mirrored smile. "Jackson. Part-time librarian, full-time book enabler.”

Her nerves immediately dissolve under his grin. Within minutes, they’d fallen into easy chatter about favorite authors, guilty-pleasure reads, and the quirks of small-town libraries. Lucy found herself laughing more than she’d expected, the kind of laughter that surprised her with how quickly it came.

When Tim finally pushed open the library door, Kojo trotting in at his side, Jackson’s eyebrows flicked up ever so slightly. He didn’t comment, though, only gave Lucy a smile as she tucked a borrowed book under her arm.

“All set?” Tim asked, his tone brisk, though his gaze lingered a fraction too long on her flushed cheeks.

“Yep,” she said, hugging the book closer. “Ready when you are.”

They stepped back into the sunlight, Kojo weaving between them as they headed back to the b&b.

---

Tim was halfway through sorting the bags from the village- lining tins with military precision on the counter- when it happened.

A scream.

Not just any scream. A blood-curdling, banshee-woken-from-the-depths scream that ripped through the entire lighthouse and nearly stopped his heart cold. Instinct kicked in before thought did- muscle memory from years of fight-or-flight training at the army shoved him into motion. He bolted out of the kitchen, boots hammering against the old floorboards, storming up the narrow stairs two at a time.

By the time he hit the third floor, lungs burning, the scream was still going strong- right behind Lucy’s door. He didn’t hesitate. He threw it open, bracing for blood, broken bones, or at least a burglar.

What he found instead nearly made his brain short-circuit.

Lucy. Standing dead-center on the bed, bathrobe knotted tight around her, shrieking like she’d seen the apocalypse.

“Lucy- what?? What’s wrong??” His voice came out rough, breathless. Adrenaline pounded through his skull as he swept the room for threats.

She finally locked eyes on him, face pale, eyes wild. “Thank fuck- It’s right there in front of you!!”

Her trembling finger pointed toward the floor. Tim followed her gaze.

And stopped.

A spider. A fucking spider.

He stared at it for a beat, chest heaving, every synapse in his brain misfiring. He had sprinted up three flights of stairs like his life depended on it- for this.

Choices. Regrets. Life paths. All of them flashed before him in crystal-clear detail.

“Don’t just stand there- do something!!” Lucy shrieked again, clutching her robe tighter like the spider might develop opposable thumbs and climb up to undo the knot.

“Jesus Christ…” he muttered under his breath.

With the patience of a saint- or a man right on the brink- Tim crossed to her nightstand, snatched up the glass sitting there, and grabbed the nearest hardcover. He crouched low, slid the glass over the little intruder with one clean motion, and slid the book underneath with the precision of defusing a bomb.

The spider tapped uselessly against the glass as Tim walked to the window, pushed it open against the sea breeze, and tipped the creature out onto the stone ledge. He watched until it scurried down the wall and out of sight, making absolutely sure it wasn’t about to make a return appearance. Only then did he shut the window with a snap.

Silence filled the room, broken only by the faint howl of wind outside.

When he turned, Lucy was still standing on the bed like a statue. Her cheeks burned crimson, though she refused to meet his gaze. Slowly, sheepishly, she climbed down, her movements careful and embarrassed- as though stepping off the mattress somehow made the whole thing less ridiculous.

Tim said nothing. He didn’t have to. His stare was enough.

And judging by the way Lucy kept her eyes fixed on the floor, she knew it too.

Tim arched a brow, arms crossing over his chest. “All that. For a spider.”

Lucy’s head snapped up, scandalized. “It wasn’t just a spider- it was huge. Like- like the size of my hand.”

He glanced at the empty glass still in his hand. “It was maybe the size of a nickel.”

“Nickels are terrifying,” she shot back, chin lifting stubbornly.

Tim blinked, utterly unimpressed. “Right.”

As if on cue, Kojo padded in from the hallway, tail wagging, nose to the ground like he was on a mission. He snuffled around the corner of the room, clearly picking up on the excitement.

Lucy pointed at him like she’d just been proven right. “See? Even Kojo knows something was here. He’s on alert!”

Tim looked at his dog, who had now shoved his nose under the bed and sneezed at the dust. “He followed me in. He’s not on alert, Lucy. He’s just nosy.”

Lucy groaned, dragging a hand over her face. “Okay, fine, it wasn’t that big. But it moved fast. And it had those legs- ” She shuddered dramatically, hugging herself. “Eight is too many legs. Nothing should have eight legs unless it lives in the ocean.”

Tim’s mouth twitched, dangerously close to a smirk. “So what- you want me to do a room sweep every night now? Check under the bed? Behind the curtains?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t mock me. That thing could’ve killed me.”

“Or… mildly annoyed you,” Tim deadpanned.

Lucy let out a huff, cheeks flaming. She pointed a finger at him. “We will never speak of this again.”

He gave her one last look, then turned and walked out, shaking his head to himself. “Not a word,” he muttered, though the faint tug at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

Chapter Text

The morning breeze had left the air damp but fresh, and the kitchen window was cracked open just enough for the salty tang of the sea to sneak in with every soft gust. Tim had rolled up the sleeves of his grey henley, shoulders squared over the counter as he worked through a stubborn onion with practiced precision. Cooking was a ritual for him, almost meditative. Slice, peel, move aside. Repeat.

He nearly missed the quiet footsteps behind him. Nearly.

He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Lucy slip into the kitchen, no grand entrance, just her usual soft curiosity as if she wasn’t quite sure she was allowed in yet. Gone was the bathrobe fiasco from earlier; now she was dressed in faded jeans and a pale yellow sweater that looked like it had been washed a hundred times but still somehow suited her. Kojo’s nails clicked lightly against the floor as he trailed at her heels, tail wagging at half-mast as though he wasn’t sure if this was a serious occasion or a fun one.

Tim raised his brows wordlessly. He lifted the onion in one hand, the knife in the other, tilting both in her direction like an offer.

Lucy blinked, caught off guard, then broke into a grin and nodded enthusiastically. No words exchanged, just an understanding- she’d take the challenge.

Tim stepped aside, sliding the cutting board her way. He didn’t say anything, but there was something faintly amused in the way he leaned back against the counter, arms folded, watching as she picked up the knife like it was a new toy.

For a few minutes, the only sounds were knife against wood, the soft sigh of the sea wind through the window, and Kojo’s occasional huff as he flopped down dramatically in the corner to supervise. Tim was almost convinced they’d finally get a moment of peaceful silence for once, assuming Lucy was probably still embarrassed about the earlier situation.

A sudden, choked sound came from Lucy. At first Tim thought she’d nicked herself with the knife. He turned, instantly alert, only to find her eyes watering, cheeks flushed, knife still moving slowly but her face twisted into something between a laugh and a sob.

“You—are you—?” His brow furrowed as he half-stepped toward her.

“It’s the onions!” she sputtered, laughing through the tears, holding the back of her hand to her eyes. “God, they’re brutal.”

Tim exhaled, something like relief mixed with the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He turned back to his own pile of vegetables, shaking his head. There's a reason he offered them so easily.

Lucy caught it, of course. She didn’t say anything, but she noticed.

After she wiped her eyes and gathered herself, she glanced down at the counter again, frowning at the mountain of onions they were producing. “Wait—this is all for us? Because if so, you cook like an army general. That’s… a lot of onions.”

Tim shook his head, wiping his knife clean with the side of a towel. “No. Some of this is for the Greys. I’m making stuffed onions.”

“The Greys?” Lucy tilted her head, curiosity instantly piqued.

“Almost neighbors,” he explained in his usual clipped tone, like it was no big deal. “Their house is closer to the village. Mrs. Grey and I… we’ve got an unspoken agreement. I send food over sometimes, she sends fresh bread or preserves. Her husband’s a fisherman. Good one. Means I get first pick of his catch before the market does.”

Lucy hummed, clearly interested. “So, like… a barter system. Old-school village style.”

“Something like that.”

“That’s kind of nice.” She leaned against the counter, knife tapping idly against the cutting board. “Not very you, though.”

Tim shot her a look, half defensive, half curious. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. You just seem more like… canned food and ration bars. Military efficiency, not neighborly casserole exchanges.”

Kojo sneezed loudly in the corner, as if agreeing with her.

Tim rolled his eyes, but there was no heat in it. “I like things done right. Fresh fish. Fresh bread. It’s practical.”

“Practical,” Lucy repeated with a teasing lilt. “Sure.”

She went back to chopping, humming some tune under her breath. The kitchen settled into a quiet rhythm again, this time more comfortable, less guarded.

By the time the casserole was packed into neat Tupperware containers, the sun was higher, painting streaks of light across the small, cozy kitchen. Kojo perked up as soon as he heard footsteps in the lobby, followed by a cheery voice calling Tim’s name. Mrs. Grey

Tim sighed under his breath, gathering the containers. He could carry most of them, but not all. Without hesitation, Lucy scooped up the remaining ones and followed him into the lobby.

Luna Grey was exactly the sort of woman you expected to find thriving in a small seaside village. Cheery smile, wrapped in a warm shawl despite the weather, with twinkling eyes that missed nothing. Her smile was the kind that could disarm even the most hardened person.

“Timothy,” she greeted warmly, then her eyes darted past him to Lucy, widening with curiosity.

Lucy, caught mid-step with tupperware in her hands, gave a polite, slightly nervous smile.

Tim noticed the look in Luna’s eyes immediately and cut in, voice brusque. “New tenant. She’ll be staying for a while.”

“Ahhh.” Luna’s grin stretched wider, practically glowing. She shifted her attention fully onto Lucy. “So you’re the mysterious newcomer the village has been talking about. Well, aren’t you a breath of fresh air in this old lighthouse. Welcome to Stonington, dear.”

Before Lucy could react, Luna stepped forward and pulled her into a warm hug. Lucy stiffened at first, then melted into it with a laugh.

“Th-thank you,” Lucy managed, cheeks pink.

Luna leaned back, still holding her shoulders, giving her a knowing once-over. “Pretty, polite, and helping Tim carry food? My, my… you must be some kind of miracle worker.”

Tim muttered something unintelligible, jaw tightening as Lucy looked at him questioningly.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Luna scolded him, wagging a finger in his direction like a schoolteacher. “You’ve been living out here brooding like a hermit. It’s about time someone shook things up in that lighthouse.”

Lucy laughed outright this time, trying to stifle it behind her hand. Tim shot her a look that could have frozen seawater, but it only made her laugh harder.

“Anyway,” Luna continued, finally releasing Lucy, “you come visit us anytime, sweetheart. My kitchen door is always open. And don’t let Mr. Tall-and-Grumpy over here scare you off.”

“I’ll try not to,” Lucy said, grinning.

Luna winked, then turned back to Tim. “She’s a keeper, Timothy. Don’t mess it up.”

Tim closed his eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of his nose as if praying for strength. Kojo, sitting loyally by his feet, tilted his head like even he was amused.

Lucy glanced between them, laughter threatening to spill but tempered by a flicker of sympathy- amused by whatever that meant, yet feeling kind enough not to press for answers.

---

After sharing the meal and following their usual routine of washing dishes and tidying the kitchen, Lucy felt the pull of her room calling her back. The afternoon sun was beginning to stretch lazily across the lighthouse floors, casting long yellow streaks that mingled with the faint lingering scent of the old floors. She carried a mug of water with her as she ascended the spiral staircase, each worn stone step echoing faintly beneath her light footsteps. Kojo padded along behind her, tail wagging lazily, still energized by the remnants of their midday adventures.

Once inside her room, Lucy sank onto the bed, her back against the wall, and opened the book she had borrowed from the library. She had flown through the pages, her mind weaving itself into the story as if escaping the reality that loomed miles away in LA. For a moment, the lighthouse, the waves, the wind-whipped cliffs became her entire world. By the time she reached the last chapter, she closed the book with a soft sigh, the quiet thrill of accomplishment mingling with a pang of restlessness.

Her eyes wandered around the room, suddenly recalling the other worn books she had glimpsed the day before in the dining hall. Anything to keep her thoughts from drifting to her past, she thought. She quickly slipped out of bed, scuttling down the hall and back toward the shelves she had remembered, her scarf trailing behind her in a soft wave.

She rifled through the stack, fingers grazing titles that smelled faintly of dust and adventure, before selecting one that looked particularly promising. Its cover was worn, the title nearly illegible, but that only added to its charm. Book in hand, she hurried back up to her room, feeling the small thrill now that her mission was successful.

As she returned, her gaze flicked across the hall and caught something new- something she hadn’t noticed before. A door, tucked slightly into the corner, almost invisible against the faded wood of the hallway. Curiosity, as always, tugged at her, and before she could stop herself, she had pressed the brass handle and nudged the door open.

The sight that greeted her made her inhale sharply. Beyond the door lay a balcony- more like a small patio- nestled against the tower’s outer wall. A worn but inviting couch sprawled lazily against one side, cushions frayed yet soft, like they had been molded by decades of sitting and thinking and watching the waves. A few chairs, weathered yet sturdy, were scattered around, accompanied by small potted plants with leaves slightly wilted from neglect but still alive, stubbornly reaching toward the sun. The ocean stretched endlessly before her, waves rolling and crashing against the jagged cliffs below, white foam glinting in the slowly fading sunlight.

The sky was a canvas of fading hues, the kind unique to the coast. Soft apricot blending into dusty lavender, streaks of rose along the horizon reflecting the retreating warmth of late afternoon. The breeze carried the scent of salt and wet stone, cool against her skin but enlivening. Lucy stepped forward, curling herself into the couch with the book on her lap. She drew her knees close, wrapping her arms around them, and felt a rare sense of quiet ownership over this little nook. Surely, no one else would be using it tonight, she reasoned. It would be hers, just for a few hours. A private sanctuary where she could escape her thoughts and lose herself in another world.

---

Meanwhile, Tim had finished tidying the kitchen after prepping for dinner, Kojo at his heels, and had headed upstairs to check on his little sanctuary. This corner of the lighthouse was his- his place to breathe, to watch the waves crash against the cliffs below without interruption. Sometimes, he liked to sit here in silence, the wind tugging at his hair, the sun glinting across the water, and just let the world pause.

But today, as he pushed open the door to the balcony, he froze.

Lucy was sprawled across the couch, wrapped in the blanket he had left folded there the last time he visited, fast asleep with her book resting across her lap. The sight hit him in two unexpected ways. Part of him stiffened, irritated at the trespass- his private space, his quiet refuge, invaded without thought. He wanted to clear his throat, insist she return inside. But the other part of him- an equally stubborn part- felt something else entirely. A strange, warming frustration that had nothing to do with anger.

Kojo, of course, did not care about boundaries. He immediately noticed the sleeping figure, tail wagging in barely-contained excitement, and trotted toward her. Tim’s eyebrows shot up, panic flickering in his chest. He stepped forward, hands outstretched.

“Kojo! Wait! She’s- she’s asleep!” Tim hissed, low and frantic, feeling an absurd protective urge rising in his chest. Kojo, either ignoring him entirely or simply misunderstanding, wriggled past his legs, nudging the blanket with his wet nose. Lucy stirred, shifting slightly, murmuring something incoherent before her eyes fluttered open.

The color crept into her cheeks as she blinked, confusion and recognition mingling in her gaze. Her hair, damp from the breeze, clung in soft waves to her face, catching the light in coppery streaks. Tim cleared his throat, awkwardly leaning against the railing, unsure what to do with the surge of warmth pressing against his chest.

“You- uh… you should probably head back inside,” he said, voice tight but carefully measured. “It’s… it’s getting cold, and you’re… well, you were falling asleep out here.”

Sleepily, she yawned, wrapping her arms tighter around herself. “Oh. Yeah… okay,” she murmured, gathering the book and the blanket. Her feet padded softly against the wooden floor as she retraced her steps back inside, leaving Tim standing there, a strange tug of something unnamable settling over him.

Kojo, however, was not so easily dismissed. He hopped onto the couch, curling into the warmth Lucy had left behind, the soft imprint of her body lingering like a phantom. His ears flicked as he gazed out over the ocean, the wind tangling his fur, eyes tracking the rolling waves. Tim watched him, half-exasperated, half-amused, and shook his head. Kojo had claimed the spot as his own, indifferent to the human rules of space and privacy.

For a long moment, Tim stood there, shoulders squared against the breeze, the lighthouse silent behind him except for the gentle creak of the floorboards and the soft slap of waves below. There was something peaceful about the way Kojo’s nose twitched at the salty air, the way the horizon seemed to stretch endlessly, brushing away the corners of his mind that refused to rest.

He made a mental note to reclaim the couch later, of course. But not tonight. Not while it smelled faintly of Lucy, the blanket still warmed by her presence. Not tonight, when the sun was dipping low, scattering shards of golden light across the jagged cliffs and the foam below.

The lighthouse felt unusually quiet, but not empty. Somewhere deep in the hush, Tim realized that maybe, just maybe, it could be filled with other people without losing its rhythm. He adjusted his coat, feeling the chill nipping at his neck, and finally began the slow walk back down to the warmth of the kitchen, leaving Kojo to contemplate the ocean from the couch, slightly heavier, slightly warmer than usual, and entirely unbothered by the intrusion of human feelings.

Chapter Text

The storm arrived in the night, loud enough to work its way into Lucy’s dreams and fold itself into restless flashes of images she couldn’t quite hold on to. When she finally blinked awake, the morning light was dull and close to non-existent as the windowpane spattered with rain. The whole room felt colder than usual, the damp air creeping into her bones before she even slipped her legs out from under the quilt.

She sat up slowly, rubbing her arms, realizing how much she’d taken yesterday’s thin sunlight for granted. With a sigh, Lucy swung her feet onto the rug and reached for the oversized sweater she’d folded on the chair the night before. It was a woolly, lopsided thing she’d thrown into her bag without much thought before flying out of LA. Today, it suddenly felt like the most precious item she owned. She tugged it over her head, added thick socks, and tucked her hair into a loose bun that brushed her collar.

By the time she padded down the old stairs, the smell of toast and fried eggs reached her first, the kind of scent that could make anyone forget about the cold for a moment. Rounding into the kitchen, she found Tim already at work, his movements brisk, efficient, and entirely unbothered by the storm rattling at the windows.

He glanced up briefly when she entered, raising his brows in the closest thing to a greeting before turning back to the skillet. A pair of plates sat on the counter, steam curling off their edges.

Lucy’s lips twitched. “Morning,” she offered softly, voice still carrying the weight of sleep.

“Morning,” Tim returned, his tone steady and habitual.

She slipped into her usual chair, hands curling around the warm mug he’d already set out for her- tea, perfectly steeped, the way she’d come to expect after the last few days. It was strange how natural it felt. Not just the tea or the breakfast, but the entire quiet rhythm of it. She'd never shared with Tim how she likes her tea, yet somehow the cup she wakes up to on most mornings felt nothing short of perfect. The lighthouse groaned against the storm outside, wind howling and whistling through the cracks, but here in the kitchen, the world felt smaller, almost insulated.

They ate mostly in silence, forks clinking gently against plates. Tim never seemed to mind the quiet, in fact, Lucy suspected he preferred it. For her, though, silence had always meant awkwardness, emptiness. In LA, it was something to fill with chatter, TV in the background, or at least music humming from her phone. Yet here- here it was starting to feel… different. Comfortable. Like sitting in silence with someone wasn’t proof of distance but something calmer.

She found herself studying Tim across the table, his jaw set in its usual seriousness as he focused on cutting through toast. There was no strain in his silence, no urge to fill space with words that didn’t matter. Somehow, that steadiness was beginning to soothe her. She hated admitting it, but it was true.

Still, Lucy couldn’t help herself. “So… this weather. Is it always this bad?”

Tim’s eyes flicked up for a second, then back to his plate. “This time of year? Pretty much.”

That was it. No elaboration, no sympathetic laugh about her luck as a tourist. Just the fact, dropped flat on the table. A week ago, Lucy might have felt her frustration rise at his brevity. Today, she just huffed a little laugh under her breath.

“I see why you don’t get many guests this season,” she muttered, stabbing at her eggs.

Tim’s mouth tilted, the tiniest fraction- his version of a smile, she was starting to learn. He didn’t reply, but he didn’t have to. Somehow, Lucy found herself smiling anyway.

---

Once the plates were cleared, Tim moved with his usual precision, stacking dishes in the sink and rinsing them under the tap. Lucy leaned against the counter, thinking she’d excuse herself upstairs to read when she noticed him crouching down and pulling open the cabinet beneath the sink.

He dragged out a stack of cans- metallic, labeled with blocky print- alongside a couple of brushes, gloves, and rags. Lucy tilted her head, curiosity piqued.

“What’s all that?” she asked.

“Wood finish,” Tim replied shortly, not bothering to look up. He sorted through the brushes like a soldier checking gear before deployment.

Lucy frowned. “Wood finish?”

“For the furniture. Bed frame, dressers, chairs. One of the guest rooms upstairs needs a fresh coat before it’s usable again.” He stood, straightening with a grunt, a can balanced in each hand. “Storm like this, better to get the indoor chores done.”

Lucy blinked, taking in the simple practicality of his words- and then, unexpectedly, felt her pulse quicken. A chore. An indoor project. Something to do. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been genuinely excited about refinishing furniture, but suddenly it felt like the most thrilling thing she’d heard in days.

“Oh,” she breathed, eyes lighting. “Can I help?”

Tim froze, mid-motion, already bracing himself for that question. He’d heard it in her tone before she even finished speaking. Closing his eyes for a second, he let out a low sigh that was equal parts irritation and resignation.

“Do I even have a choice?” he muttered.

Lucy grinned, triumph already sparking in her chest.

Tim shook his head, but there was no real venom in his tone. “Fine. Gloves are in the bag.” He shoved one toward her, watching as she eagerly slipped them on like she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment.

Kojo, sprawled on the rug in the corner, lifted his head lazily at the commotion, ears twitching. His gaze flicked from Tim to Lucy as if quietly amused at the energy in the kitchen.

With his arms full of supplies, Tim started toward the staircase, boots thudding steadily on the wooden floor. He didn’t need to turn around to know Lucy was following him- he could practically feel her bouncing along in his shadow.

---

The guest room on the second floor was brighter than Lucy expected, despite the storm. The rain-streaked window let in a gray sort of light, the kind that made everything look softer and more worn. She noticed how empty the room felt- the bed stripped bare, the surfaces cleared of knickknacks or guest belongings.

Tim set his supplies down with a thud, scanning the room with that sharp, critical gaze he always had when working. Lucy hovered near the door, taking it all in.

“Didn’t you say this room wasn’t available?” she asked, puzzled.

Tim nodded once. “Not until it’s finished.”

She stepped farther inside, noticing now that some surfaces already looked different- the wood sanded smooth, edges cleaned. He must have done the prep work while she was busy with her own distractions.

“All that’s left is the finish,” he explained, lifting a brush and dipping it into the can. “Bedframe needs it most.” He nodded toward the large structure against the wall.

Lucy’s eyes darted to the lone chair propped beside the dresser—a rickety, uneven little thing that looked like it had barely survived the last decade.

“And what about that?” she asked, pointing.

“That’s yours,” Tim said flatly, already moving toward the bed.

Lucy’s mouth dropped open. “Seriously? I get the chair?”

Tim shot her a look over his shoulder, eyebrow raised in question.

She scoffed quietly, muttering to herself. “Of course. He gets the whole bed, I get the chair.”

Tim’s ear twitched, and he paused mid-stroke of the brush. “What was that?”

Lucy froze, caught. “Nothing,” she said quickly, eyes wide with innocence.

He didn’t push, just shook his head and went back to work, methodical as always.

Lucy sighed, dragging the chair toward the center of the room with a groan. “Fine. Guess it’s you and me, buddy,” she muttered to the chair, earning exactly zero sympathy from it. She dipped her brush into the can with exaggerated drama, rolling her eyes in Tim’s direction before bending over the worn wood.

For a while, the only sound was the storm outside and the rhythmic scrape of brushes against wood. And though Lucy tried not to admit it, there was something… soothing about it. The smell of the finish, the focus of steady hands working over simple surfaces, and Tim’s quiet presence across the room- it was a strange kind of peace.

---

Kojo had somehow managed to nose his way into the guest room in the middle of their work session. Lucy couldn’t remember when exactly he’d padded in, but there he was now, sprawled out on the floor with his chin resting on his paws, his soulful brown eyes following every move she and Tim made as though supervising the project. Occasionally, his tail gave a lazy thump against the wooden boards, a quiet reminder that he was still paying attention.

Lucy bent over the chair she’d been carefully brushing, sneaking the tiniest glance sideways at Tim—just once, maybe twice. Okay, maybe more than twice. He was quiet as always, focused, methodical in the way his broad hands moved with the brush. She quickly busied herself again, trying not to make it obvious.

Nearly an hour had passed, the room filling with the faint, sharp tang of lacquer, when the sudden buzz of a phone cut through the air. Tim straightened, fishing the device from his back pocket. His eyes flicked to Lucy briefly- almost as though to check if she’d noticed- before he muttered, “I need to take this,” and strode out of the room without waiting for a reply.

Lucy blinked after him, brush hovering mid-air, but didn’t call out. He’d offered her nothing more than a half-hearted excuse of an excuse, and though curiosity prickled inside her, she remained in her spot.

She finished her chair carefully, studying its once-rickety surface with a little pride as she set the brush down. The bed, however, sat only half done. Lucy eyed it, hesitating. Should she start on it? Maybe. But she could still hear Tim’s muffled voice carrying faintly down the hallway, low but insistent, and her curiosity betrayed her.

“I’m not eavesdropping,” she whispered to herself, setting the brush aside and wiping her hands on the gloves. “I’m just… checking.”

Her feet carried her to the door, quiet against the old floorboards. She followed the sound until she stopped outside another guest room, heart picking up at the clear tone of Tim’s voice on the other side.

“No, Genny, don’t bring her. I don’t want to- no!”

Lucy froze, tilting her head closer before she could stop herself.

“No, I’m not going to- why? What do you mean, why?” A pause. His voice rose, sharper this time, cracking into something she hadn’t heard from him before. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. No- wait, yes. Yes, I’m dating someone.”

Lucy blinked, confusion swarming her mind. Dating someone? She’d been here for days now, long enough to notice every strange quirk about him- his routine breakfasts, his habit of retreating into solitude, his curt words. Not once had she seen a trace of another woman, another man, anyone.

Her guilt at standing here listening pressed against her chest, warring with the intrigue sparking in her brain. She should walk away. She should.

And then Kojo made the decision for her.

The dog had padded silently after her, unnoticed until now. With a happy grunt, he pushed at the door she’d been nearly leaning on. It swung open, knocking Lucy slightly off balance. She stumbled forward into the room with Kojo at her heels, eyes wide.

Tim stood mid-pace, phone clutched in his hand, his sharp blue eyes darting to her immediately. His jaw tightened.

“I’ve got work to do,” he said into the phone, voice suddenly flat, dismissive. “I’ll talk to you later.”

And with that, he ended the call, shoving the phone back into his pocket.

The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. Lucy hovered just inside the doorway, mortified, words refusing to form. Kojo, oblivious, wagged his tail and padded further inside as though announcing, surprise, it’s all of us now!

Lucy cleared her throat, trying for nonchalance. “Uh- I just finished the chair. Thought maybe I could… help with the bed?”

Tim’s gaze lingered on her for a long moment, unreadable, before he finally gave the smallest nod. “Fine.”

Her cheeks warmed at his tone, but she forced a grin anyway, trailing behind him as he led the way back down the hall to the half-finished bed. She couldn’t shake the thought- had he really meant it when he said he was dating someone? Or was it just something to get off the phone faster? More importantly, why does she care?

Still, she bent to her work beside him, brush in hand, storm rattling the windows in steady percussion. The silence between them was heavy, yet strangely comfortable.

She settled cross-legged on the floor, the little chair behind her already drying, while Tim worked steadily at the headboard. Lucy eyed her new assignment- the foot of the bed- and scoffed quietly under her breath.

Tim paused. “What now?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head quickly, pretending to focus on her brush strokes.

But out of the corner of her eye, she caught the faintest twitch of his lips, as if he’d almost smiled. Almost.

Kojo sprawled on the rug nearby, tail tapping now and then, the storm raging on outside.

Chapter Text

A few days later, the storms that had blanketed Stonington in wind and sea-spray finally broke apart, leaving behind a sky brushed with soft gold. The air still held the chill of the season, but sunlight slanted through the lighthouse windows for the first time in what felt like forever.

Shortly after ten in the morning, Lucy padded downstairs, a book tucked in her tote bag and a cardigan draped around her shoulder while the house still smelled faintly of coffee and bread. Breakfast had long since been cleared, and she assumed Tim was holed up in some chore or another.

She slipped on her boots, tugged the tote higher, and stepped into the lobby with the distinct, stubborn resolve of someone determined to seize the day. Her plan was simple, return her library book, perhaps exchange it for something else, and, if luck allowed, bump into Jackson. The memory of his easy grin and the way conversation flowed with him lingered like warmth from a hearth.

She had just reached for the door when it swung open, and she nearly collided with Tim.

He stopped short, coat already buttoned, Kojo trotting happily at his side. For a moment, both blinked at one another as though surprised to find the other existed outside the boundaries of their usual routine.

“Where are you headed?” Tim finally asked, his tone casual but his brows furrowing slightly as his gaze flicked to the tote at her side.

Lucy shifted on her feet. “The village. Thought I’d return my book.”

Tim’s mouth pressed into a line, surprise flickering across his face. “Alone?”

“Yes,” she said, then caught the faint narrowing of his eyes. Her lips curved, a mischievous edge sneaking in. “Promise I’m not trying to follow you around or anything.”

He exhaled through his nose, something halfway between disbelief and resignation. “Right,” he deadpanned.

Lucy tilted her head. “That’s your way of saying you don’t believe me.”

“No,” Tim corrected, shrugging into his coat properly. “That’s my way of saying I was about to leave too. Groceries.”

Her eyes widened, and she broke into a grin before she could stop herself. “So I do get company. Well, more importantly, Kojo’s company.” She bent down to ruffle the dog’s ears, earning herself a pleased tail wag.

Tim’s lips twitched- so slight she might have missed it if she wasn’t looking right at him. “Don’t get too excited,” he muttered, but the warmth in his voice betrayed him.

Lucy didn’t care. Company was company, and walking with Tim and Kojo sounded infinitely better than braving the winding road alone.

---

The three of them set out, the sun glancing over the cliffs, painting the sea below in dazzling shards of silver and blue. Lucy noticed how Tim’s stride adjusted subtly to match hers, steady but unhurried, while Kojo bounded a few paces ahead, nose to the ground, tail like a flag.

For a while, the path wound predictably through the fields, the beaten trail she’d already grown familiar with. Lucy breathed in the briny air, the wet earth, and the faint sweetness of early wildflowers trying their luck against the chill.

But soon, Tim veered. Instead of following the main road that bent gently toward the village, he shifted left, toward a narrower track where the grass had crept in and the earth was uneven beneath their boots.

Lucy frowned at it, then at him. His steps didn’t falter, didn’t invite question, and she realized with a start that she didn’t feel nervous about following him down this half-forgotten lane. Surprising herself, she trusted him- this gruff, enigmatic man who barely gave her two words at breakfast.

Still, curiosity burned too brightly to keep inside. She quickened her pace until she was just behind him, tilting her head. “We're taking a new path today?”

“Detour,” Tim answered simply.

“Detour to…?”

“The Greys’ place.”

Lucy blinked, a smile tugging at her lips. “Mrs. Grey? The one who fed us like half her pantry last week?”

“That’d be her,” Tim said. “She asked me to stop by before heading into the village. Said she had something set aside.”

Lucy hummed happily. The thought of seeing Mrs. Grey again- warm, teasing, generous Mrs. Grey- was enough to brighten her steps. “Well, you could’ve just said that. I like detours.”

He didn’t respond, but she caught the corner of his mouth twitch again, as though her enthusiasm amused him more than he’d ever admit.

The path wound lower, brushing along the slope where wild grass leaned with the sea breeze, until the sight of a cottage appeared between clusters of budding trees. White picket fence, ivy climbing the posts, a small porch that sagged just enough to make it charming rather than neglected. The whole place breathed a kind of cozy, timeless warmth.

A man sat on the porch, newspaper folded in his lap, his frame broad and sturdy even in his sixties. He looked up as Kojo bounded through the gate and barked once in cheerful greeting.

“Luna!” the man called over his shoulder, his voice booming. “Tim’s here!”

He stood as Tim reached the fence, grinning wide, and clapped him on the shoulder with the kind of familiarity earned over years.

Lucy lingered half a step back, unsure if she should step forward or wait. She fiddled with her tote strap, but the man’s gaze finally caught her. His grin didn’t falter, but his brows lifted ever so slightly in silent inquiry as he glanced back at Tim.

Tim cleared his throat. “This is Lucy. She’ll be staying at the lighthouse a while.”

“Ah.” The man’s grin widened as though that explained everything. “Well then- welcome. I’m Grey.” His handshake was firm, warm, his eyes twinkling with the same humor Lucy had already come to associate with his wife.

“Nice to meet you,” Lucy said quickly, though she felt slightly awkward, like she’d walked into a play already in progress.

Grey shot Tim a smirk, one eyebrow arched in a knowing sort of way, though he kept his words kind. Unlike Mrs. Grey, he didn’t tease out loud- just let the expression do the talking.

Before Lucy could overthink the silent exchange, the cottage door opened and Mrs. Grey swept out, apron dusted with flour, cheeks flushed with the heat of her kitchen.

“Tim,” she exclaimed warmly, her voice softening the edges of his name. “Right on time.” She carried a bundle of bread wrapped neatly in brown paper, its warmth steaming faintly in the crisp air. She handed the stack to Tim, who took it with practiced ease.

Then, with a sly glint in her eye, Luna held up a smaller parcel, perfectly round and fragrant. She stepped past Tim and offered it directly to Lucy.

“And this one’s for you, dear. Fruit cake. Now I know Tim’s not one for sweet things, but I figured you might enjoy it.”

Lucy’s whole face lit up as she accepted the loaf, inhaling the rich, spiced scent. “It smells amazing. Thank you- I’d love it.”

“Thought so,” Luna said with a wink, clearly pleased.

Tim muttered something under his breath- likely about Luna's comment- but Lucy barely heard him over the warmth radiating from Luna’s gesture.

They lingered a while, Lucy content to stand and listen as the Greys and Tim exchanged bits of news about the village, the sea, the weather. Grey teased his wife about baking enough to feed the whole town, and Lucy caught the way Tim smiled- really smiled- and realized the Greys might be closer to him than she’d imagined.

Lucy found herself smiling too, her tote bag heavier now with books and cake and the subtle realization that these people, this place, already felt a little like home.

At last, Tim shifted the bread parcels into the bag he’d brought, and with a round of goodbyes they stepped back through the gate.

As the path bent once again toward the village, Lucy hugged the tote to her chest, savoring the sweetness of the moment. Tim didn’t say anything, his gaze fixed ahead, but Kojo trotted proudly between them, tail wagging as though he understood exactly what the day had already become.

---

Much to Lucy’s dismay, the library was closed.

The squat little brick building sat stubbornly dark at the far corner of the square, its shutters drawn tight as though the books within were dozing. A small sign hung crooked on the door, flapping against the glass whenever the sea-breeze cut through the streets. She sighed, scanning the note from a distance. It didn’t even bother to explain the reason for its closure- just a scrawl: Closed Today.

Beside her, Tim shifted the paper sack of bread under one arm and squinted at the door. “Huh,” he said, and there was no disguise for his complete lack of interest. “Didn’t know it ever closed, to be honest. Then again-” he gave a short shrug “never been in there before you arrived.”

Lucy turned her face to him, trying not to look too disappointed. “Really? Not once?”

“Not once.” His mouth tipped in a small, guilty half-smile. “Not much of a reader.”

She wanted to laugh at that, though something about his honesty softened her instead. “Well,” she said, wrapping her arms loosely across her chest, “I’ve already read the few novels you keep stacked in the guest lounge. The rest I’ve read before too. So unless I fancy rereading Austen with missing pages, I’ll just have to wait until I can swap out at the library.”

Tim adjusted the bread again, almost sheepish. “Most of those were left behind by guests. We don’t really, uh, curate the collection.”

Lucy smiled faintly. “I guessed.”

He tilted his head toward the market stalls lined along the square. “Come on. Groceries first. Kojo is about to head back to the lighthouse on his own.”

At the sound of his name, Kojo’s ears pricked. The dog trotted a little ahead, sniffing vigorously at a fishmonger’s display until Tim snapped a soft command. The dog obediently wheeled back, tongue lolling, trotting close enough that his tail brushed Lucy’s coat. She absently scratched behind his ear, grateful for the warmth.

The square was alive this morning, bright awnings stretched above the stalls, the air pungent with citrus, fresh bread, and the faint metallic tang of the sea carried inland. Vendors called out their prices in practiced sing-song voices, and the cobbles rang with bootsteps. Lucy found herself falling into rhythm beside Tim, the bag on his arm slowly filling as he chose with a kind of pragmatic ease- a bag of flour, a clutch of eggs, wrapped cuts of salted pork. He moved through the crowd with the unbothered pace of someone used to the ritual.

Finally, they came to the fresh produce stall.

“Morning Tim,” the vendor called, a broad-shouldered man with wind-roughened cheeks and hands stained faintly green from handling herbs. His voice was loud, cheerful, the kind that carried.

Tim gave him a perfunctory nod and began gathering carrots into a paper bag without much acknowledgment.

It wasn’t until the vendor’s gaze slid toward her that Lucy felt the attention shift.

His expression brightened- not quite a grin, but something close. “Don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” he said, curiosity lilting in his tone. “You must be new.”

Lucy felt Tim’s shoulder brush hers as he leaned to inspect the leeks, his attention seemingly elsewhere. She kept her voice steady, polite but not overextended. She was now getting used to the question. “Yeah, new.”

The man’s smile deepened with quiet interest. “Thought so. I’d remember otherwise.”

Lucy inclined her head slightly, neither encouraging nor dismissing. “I’m staying at the lighthouse.”

At that, his brows rose. “Ah. With Tim, then.” A pause, then, with careful casualness- “Are you traveling alone?”

It was lightly asked, folded into the conversation as though he were only making conversation. Still, Lucy caught the subtle shape of it. She answered with measured neutrality, “For now, yes.”

Tim, crouched low over a pile of potatoes, gave no sign he’d heard.

The vendor, Chris Sanford- the name stamped faintly on the awning above his stall- nodded, the curiosity still bright in his eyes. “Will you be here long?”

Lucy opened her mouth to reply- something vague, noncommittal- but Tim cleared his throat.

It wasn’t the sort of throat-clear that could be mistaken for anything else. Loud, deliberate, it cut clean through their little pocket of conversation.

Both Lucy and Chris turned instinctively toward him. Tim didn’t look at either of them, only straightened and shifted the basket higher on his arm before setting it squarely on the counter between them.

“Here,” he said, voice even. “Bill these up.”

Chris blinked, then reached for the basket. For a beat, Lucy caught his expression flicker, bemusement perhaps, but it smoothed quickly into professional brightness. He weighed, tallied, bagged the vegetables with brisk efficiency. When he handed them back, he looked past Tim to Lucy again. “Enjoy the lighthouse, then. See you around.”

No farewell for Tim.

Tim gave the briefest of nods to Lucy, a silent 'Let's go', gathered the bags, and turned away. Kojo, as if sensing the end of the exchange, circled Lucy’s legs and trotted after his master. Lucy followed, glancing once over her shoulder. Chris was already speaking with another customer, though his farewell still lingered oddly in her ears.

---

They walked a while in silence, the bags rustling with each step, the cobblestones damp underfoot. Finally, Lucy ventured, “So… who was that?”

Tim’s mouth twitched, not quite forming into anything. “Hm? Oh. Sanford.”

“Do you know him as well as the Greys?” she pressed, glancing sidelong.

“No.” His tone was clipped, almost dismissive. “He lives here.”

Lucy studied him for another moment, but his gaze remained forward, expression unreadable. Kojo padded between them, ears flicking at the gulls wheeling overhead, oblivious to the tension his humans seemed to be cultivating.

---

They rounded the corner of a narrow lane and nearly walked straight into Jackson.

The librarian’s arms were full of brown parcels tied in string, his cap tipped against the wind. He halted with an easy grin, eyes warming when they fell on Lucy. “Was hoping I’d catch you. Library’s always closed Sundays- should’ve warned you.”

Lucy laughed lightly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “That explains it.”

“If you only needed to return your book, I could take it now,” Jackson offered, adjusting the parcels.

“I was hoping to exchange it for something new anyway,” she said. “I’ll come by tomorrow.”

“Perfect.” He balanced the parcels against his hip and fished one-handed into his coat pocket, pulling free a slip of paper and a stub of pencil. “Here- if you like, take my number. If you ever need to check if we’ve got something in stock.” His tone was easy, professional enough, though there was a gleam of something more companionable behind it.

Lucy accepted, smiling. She tucked the paper carefully into her pocket. “Thanks. That’ll help.”

Through it all, Tim stood just behind her, groceries in his arms, posture awkward. He didn’t interject, only shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his gaze wandering somewhere above the rooftops as though determinedly uninterested.

Jackson gave Kojo a fond scratch behind the ears before tipping his cap and excusing himself down the lane. Lucy watched him go, then turned back. Tim was already walking, the bags rustling against his side. She quickened her pace to match him.

---

Together, they started the path back toward the lighthouse.

Kojo bounded ahead, tail high, stopping now and then to glance back as if to make sure they followed. Lucy watched him, a small smile tugging at her lips, though her thoughts drifted elsewhere- Chris’s bright curiosity, Jackson’s friendly ease, and Tim’s unreadable silence. She found herself wondering which of them she understood least.

Lucy found herself oddly grateful for Tim’s silence as Chris’s questions still echoed in her mind. She thought of how easy it would have been for Tim to pry in the same way- asking why she was here, why two months, what she was running from. But he hadn’t. Not once since she’d arrived. He had taken her words at face value, let her book her stay without suspicion, and never demanded answers she wasn’t ready to give. In a strange, unexpected way, that restraint felt like the kindest gesture of all.

And with the gulls wheeling overhead and the lighthouse drawing taller against the horizon, the day folded neatly into its close, the market noise fading behind them.

Chapter Text

The sky had settled into the lavender hues of early evening, the kind where the sea seemed to drink up the last threads of daylight and the horizon blurred into a smear of rose and slate. Lucy sat curled on the patio couch, a blanket over her legs, her book heavy but comforting in her hands. The words tugged her along easily, but her mind wandered more often than she liked to admit, catching instead on the rhythm of the waves below and the occasional rustle of Kojo shifting beside Tim’s chair. Somehow, without ever saying it aloud, Lucy and Tim had settled into a quiet agreement to share the patio on evenings when the storms stayed away. He never asked her not to, never hinted that she was intruding on his space. so she stayed, grateful for the unspoken permission.

Tim, of course, wasn’t reading. He never did. He was leaning back in his weathered chair, one ankle crossed over his knee, gaze fixed steadily on the water like he was waiting for it to answer some question. His silence filled the air- not uncomfortable, not tense, but steady. Solid. The sort of quiet Lucy had grown used to.

The sharp trill of Tim’s phone cracked through it.

Lucy looked up, startled, as Tim pulled the phone from his coat pocket. His brows pinched, and after a beat he accepted the call, not moving from his chair this time. That alone caught Lucy’s attention- usually he retreated to the hallway or his room.

“Gen,” he said flatly. “Now’s not-”

The voice on the other end was faint but insistent, a woman’s, spilling words fast enough that Lucy couldn’t help catching some of them.

Tim’s jaw tightened. “I said no. I don’t want you meddling in this, alright? Just- ” He stopped, letting her speak again. His tone sharpened. “No. I don’t need you to bring anyone here. I mean it. And stop with the ‘dying alone’ nonsense.”

Lucy blinked, pretending to gaze more intently at her book. The tone was almost pleading under his gruffness, a rare shift in Tim’s usually even keel.

Then came the clincher- his voice lifted, a sharp edge she’d never heard from him before: “I’m not going to- look, Gen, just drop it. I don’t need you flying out here to set me up. I’m fine.”

The words hit the patio air and hung there.

Lucy chewed the inside of her cheek. The call stretched on, Tim repeating clipped replies, until finally he muttered a curt goodbye and shoved the phone away.

Silence returned, heavy now.

Lucy tried to swallow down her curiosity, but it pressed against her ribs. The way he’d spoken- it hadn’t sounded like a business call, or some random check-in. It had sounded personal. Intimate, even. And she couldn’t stop herself:

“Pesky ex?” she asked lightly, her eyes fixed on the page, forcing a casual tone she didn’t entirely feel.

Tim blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“The call. That voice. You sounded like…” She shrugged, eyes darting between Tim and the now blurred words in her book. “Like you were arguing with someone who knew you. An ex, maybe?”

For a long beat, Tim just stared at her. Then, to her surprise, he barked a soft laugh, shaking his head. “No.”

And nothing else.

Lucy waited, but he didn’t elaborate. No explanation. No reassurance. Just that flat denial.

She sighed, respecting the wall even as it frustrated her, and dropped her eyes back to the page. She wasn’t about to pry further- not if he wasn’t willing. Not when he never pried. Still, the question hung between them, thick as salt spray.

---

Two mornings later, Lucy tied her scarf neatly around her neck, tote bag slung over her shoulder with yet another book she owed Jackson. A library day. Finally.

She hummed to herself as she descended the stairs, already imagining the quiet comfort of those shelves, when the sharp clatter of metal and a low curse from Tim stopped her mid-step. Kojo bounded into the hallway, ears back guiltily, and in his teeth clamped what looked very much like the handle of a screwdriver.

“Kojo!” Tim barked, striding in, exasperation written all over him. He retrieved the mangled tool, inspecting it with a sigh.

Lucy raised her brows, biting back a laugh. “He break something?”

“Broke the only screwdriver I use for tightening the stair railings.” Tim lifted the bent thing in demonstration, voice thick with exasperation. “Now I have to get a new one in town.”

Lucy leaned against the banister, smiling slyly. “Sure. Or maybe you’re just making up excuses to walk with me.”

The effect was instantaneous- Tim’s ears actually went pink. He scoffed, looking away. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Her laugh bubbled out, warm and unrestrained. “Relax, tough guy. I don’t mind. Could use the company anyway.”

Tim muttered something under his breath, clipping Kojo’s leash as though to ground himself. But after a pause, he unclipped it again and pointed to the bed. “Not today. You’re staying. Consider it punishment.”

Kojo whined in protest, tail thumping, but obeyed, flopping onto the floor with theatrical defeat. Lucy giggled as Tim grabbed his coat.

“Cruel,” she teased.

“Necessary,” he countered, pulling the door open for her.

---

The village lay bathed in pale winter light, the chill wind cutting sharper now that the storms had passed. Their boots crunched against the gravel, silence stretched easy between them. Until Lucy noticed something curious.

The library sat directly ahead, its squat stone walls visible from the main road. But Tim, instead of keeping straight, veered onto a smaller side path, overgrown with nettles and moss, curving around the edge of town. At first, she hadn't noticed, but now that she was becoming familiar with the roads, it seemed obvious he was taking the long way around- intentionally. Interesting.

Lucy slowed, blinking. “That’s… not the library.”

“Detour,” Tim muttered.

Her eyes narrowed, amused. “A detour? To the place we can literally see?”

“The road’s better,” he said stiffly.

Lucy looked down. The stones beneath her boots looked identical to the ones on the other path. Level. Solid. “Really?” she drawled. “Because my eyes must be broken then, they look the same to me.”

“Not the same,” Tim insisted, a little too quickly.

Lucy grinned, curiosity sparking, and veered toward the straight path. “Guess I’ll risk it.”

Tim made a sound- half growl, half sigh- and followed, shoulders tense.

They hadn’t made it halfway before a shrill, sing-song voice cut the air.

“Tim!”

Lucy froze, turning in time to watch a figure emerge from the boutique across the street. Blonde, effortlessly put together in a dress that cinched neatly at the waist, the woman's heels clicked rapidly as she practically skipped across the cobblestones. Her hair bounced with practiced shine, and her lips stretched into a dazzling smile. Lucy could only compare her to a malibu barbie.

Before Lucy could blink, blondie flung her arms around Tim.

Lucy’s brows shot up. Tim stiffened under the embrace, barely raising a hand in return, his smile thin at best. "Ashley."

“You didn’t tell me you were coming into town today!” Ashley gushed, voice pitched high enough to grate faintly on Lucy’s nerves.

Lucy tilted her head, biting back the laugh rising in her throat. Watching Tim- stoic, immovable Tim- being practically ambushed was… entertaining.

Ashley yammered on, words tumbling, until finally she seemed to notice Lucy hovering at Tim’s side. Her smile faltered, her eyes flicking up and down Lucy with barely disguised curiosity.

“And who’s this?”

Tim sighed, already weary. “This is Lucy.”

Ashley’s attention shifted. “She’s staying with you?” The question was directed at Tim, as though Lucy herself were invisible.

“Yes,” Lucy said smoothly before Tim could answer, her tone bright but edged. “At the lighthouse,” she adds, just because she can.

Ashley blinked, faltering, before plastering the smile back on. Huh. She gave Lucy the barest polite nod, before turning back to Tim. “Well, I’ll let you get on, but you know where to find me.”

The farewell was aimed entirely at Tim, her lashes fluttering once before she sashayed back into her shop.

Lucy exhaled, realizing her jaw had tightened. Something ugly and inexplicable had knotted in her chest watching the exchange- a pang she didn’t want to name.

Tim caught her watching and rolled his eyes. “Library?” he prompted, already striding forward.

Lucy smirked, shaking her head, and followed. But inside, her thoughts were anything but amused. That woman- Ashley, with her golden hair and easy familiarity- flashed in her mind, unbidden. For a moment Lucy wondered if she had anything to do with those half-heard phone calls, with the way Tim had bristled when she’d teased him about dating. It was a fleeting thought, brushed aside almost as quickly as it came, but it left a faint, unsettled ripple in her chest. Knowing Tim, she wisely chose not to ask.

---

By the time they reached the library steps, Lucy’s pulse had steadied again. She adjusted her scarf and turned to Tim. “You don’t have to wait for me. I’ll be with Jackson a while.”

Tim only nodded, gripping the grocery bag tighter. He looked faintly relieved, as though one less conversation to endure was a gift.

Inside, the library was quiet, dust-moted light spilling through tall windows. Jackson appeared from behind a shelf, grin broadening at the sight of her.

“Lucy!” He bounded over, warm as ever. “Back again already? Is it that bad, living at the lighthouse?”

Lucy laughed, shrugging. “I wouldn't say it's bad. Just quiet, is all.”

Jackson tilted his head, smirking. “Quiet is one word for him. Broody’s another. Mysterious. Is he always like that?” So they were talking about Tim, not the lighthouse.

She hesitated, then shook her head. “Not always. At least not now. It's... tolerable once you get to know him”

Jackson blinked. “Really? 'Once you get to know him'? He only moved here maybe… four, five years back? Hasn't opened up to a soul.”

Lucy’s brows rose. “Really?” She contemplates asking who Ashley was, but decided against it, seeing how direct she might come across.

Jackson laughed, leaning against the counter. “He keeps to himself. Only ever shows up when the Greys need help. Never joins the festivals, the fairs. Nothing.”

Lucy listened, absorbing every word. Jackson’s surprise when she mentioned Tim letting her help at the lighthouse was genuine, his brows lifting almost comically high.

And that’s when it struck her- Tim had let her in, even in small ways, in ways he hadn’t with anyone else. She’d painted furniture with him. Sat in silence on the patio with him. Walked side by side into town.

Maybe he hadn’t said much. Maybe he hadn’t said anything at all. But he’d let her close.

Closer than he let anyone else.

Lucy smiled faintly to herself, a thought settling like a stone in her chest. For a man who lived in silence, his trust spoke louder than anything else.

Chapter Text

Lucy settled into the familiar worn-out couch on the patio, the cushions soft beneath her as the salty sea breeze teased loose strands of hair around her face. The horizon stretched endlessly, waves rolling lazily towards the cliff below, glittering with the morning sun. The light filtered through the clouds in a gentle, amber haze that seemed to set the entire lighthouse aglow. The distant call of gulls punctuated the rhythmic lapping of the waves, and for a brief moment, Lucy felt the rare, unshakable sense of calm as she sat, the patio soon turning into her favorite escapade at the lighthouse.

She was sprawled across the couch, a book open in her hands, but she wasn’t really reading. Her eyes flicked over the words intermittently, though her attention was elsewhere, on Tim. He wasn’t sitting today, nor had he taken to the worn wicker chair across from her. Instead, he leaned against the balcony railing, restless, shoulders stiff, pacing in small loops, fingers drumming against the wood as though each movement helped him sort through some invisible puzzle. Every so often, his gaze flicked toward the ocean, distant and contemplative, yet there was a tension there, a nervous energy that made him more tangible, more… real.

Lucy shifted slightly, keeping the book propped in front of her face as a shield, watching him from behind the pages. She pretended to study the words carefully, letting the silence stretch, yet she felt her curiosity steadily building.

Then, unexpectedly, Tim’s boots scraped softly against the floorboards as he walked in her direction. He stopped right in front of her, feet planted firmly, and she could see that his posture was stiff, the way his hands fiddled absentmindedly with the hem of his coat. For a second, he said nothing, and the unusual quiet between them was almost… awkward. Lucy lowered her book slowly, just enough to look up at him, one brow lifting in an unspoken question.

Tim hesitated. His voice, usually clipped and controlled, was lower than usual, a shade uncertain. “My sister will be visiting,” he said finally, the words carefully measured. “She’ll be staying at the B&B for a few days.”

Lucy’s brow furrowed slightly, confusion knitting her features. She blinked once, then again, unsure why he felt compelled to tell her this.

Tim exhaled, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck before continuing. “I got into this mess a while ago. She- she’s the sort that tries to set people up. I didn’t want that for me, so I lied. I told her I was dating someone here.” He paused, gaze flicking away momentarily, as if admitting it aloud made him even more exposed. “Now she’s coming- she’s going to see for herself that I lied. I thought about it, and… since she knows most of the people in the village already, it’d be hard to fool her. I was… wondering if you could… help me. Pretend to be… dating me. Or, you know… something like that. You’d be… my excuse.”

What?

Lucy blinked, caught off guard. That was, by far, the longest string of words she’d ever heard Tim Bradford speak at once. Her head tilted slightly, her mind processing the magnitude of the request and connecting the dots he hadn’t even paused for. She studied his face as he waited, watching for a reaction.

The hesitation in his eyes, the almost imperceptible tightness of his jaw, the way he kept fiddling with his coat- it all painted a picture she hadn’t seen before. Tim wasn’t desperate. Not really. He was anxious, a little vulnerable in a way that made her stomach tighten.

He seemed to sense the pause, the silent evaluation. “You don’t have to,” he added quickly, stepping back, hands raised slightly as if to ward off refusal. “I can try to find someone from the village, maybe…”

The mention of the village made Lucy’s mind immediately go to Ashley- the blonde boutique owner, all warmth and overly eager smiles that grated at her sense of observation. She sputtered a little, “Well… I mean… if it’s someone else…”

Tim hesitated, caught mid-thought, and Lucy realized that she was suddenly committing herself- not entirely by her own plan, but because she trusted him, even in this bizarre, implausible request. She swallowed, took a breath, and said softly, “Okay. I’ll… do it.”

Tim nodded briefly, a flash of gratitude in his otherwise unreadable face. “Thank you,” he muttered, before turning on his heel and heading inside- not running, but moving with that purposeful, brisk gait.

Lucy leaned back against the cushions, a mix of amusement, nerves, and a surprising thrill coursing through her. What just happened. Kojo, lying near her feet, mirrored her expression, ears perked and head tilted as he watched the door swing closed. A small, almost conspiratorial silence settled around them.

---

Later that night, the kitchen was awash in the warm glow of overhead lights. The faint scent of herbs mingled with the cooler aroma of the ocean seeping in from the open windows. The routine was familiar- Lucy chopping, Tim stirring, washing, scraping- but tonight there was a tension in the quiet. Their earlier conversation still lingered, unspoken but undeniable.

Lucy suddenly broke the silence. “I want to make a cake,” she said, voice light but resolute.

Tim paused to look at her, an eyebrow raised, interest piqued despite himself. “A cake?”

“Yes. You have an oven that works perfectly fine, don’t you?”

He nodded slowly, wariness in his expression.

“I might have burned down a kitchen or two in my time, but baking has always been my thing.” She gave him a small, mischievous smile, dusted with flour on her cheeks and smudged on her hands from previous kneading.

Tim’s brow furrowed slightly, briefly feeling worried about his kitchen. After a beat, he said, “We probably have all the ingredients you need. If not, we can get them from the village.”

Both grimaced subtly. Tim’s mind briefly flicked to Ashley, Lucy’s to Chris. Unspoken memories of the earlier encounters. Then they shrugged almost simultaneously and resumed their tasks, with Kojo weaving around their legs as if supervising, occasionally sniffing for errant spills.

---

Much to their relief, the pantry contained everything needed. Tim hesitated, then handed over the supplies to Lucy, retreating to prepare the guest room. He left her and Kojo to their baking adventure, and the small kitchen became a scene of organized chaos- flour dusted over the counters, streaks of batter along Tim's unused apron that hung comically off her frame, and her braid slightly loosened from the constant motion.

By the time the front lobby door clicked open, a woman’s voice called out, startling them. Kojo bolted toward the sound, ears up, tail wagging. Lucy followed, hastily trying to wipe the flour and batter streaked across her arms and apron. Standing there was a tall redhead with two boys at her side, bags in hand, equally surprised to see them.

The boys immediately crouched, reaching for Kojo, who happily accepted their attention, slipping around Lucy’s legs as she adjusted her oversized apron.

The woman finally broke from her initial surprise. “Oh… is Tim here?” she asked, voice carrying both warmth and curiosity.

“He is,” Lucy replied warmly, stepping slightly aside.

Before she could say more, Tim appeared in the doorway, seemingly out of thin air.

His expression was unreadable, eyes briefly softening as they fell on Lucy. For a split second, it looked like he might laugh at the chaos in front him- the flour, the smudges, Kojo’s batter-dipped snout- but his gaze quickly shifted, imagining the potential disaster still scattered across the kitchen counters.

The boys spotted him immediately. “Uncle Tim!” they yelled in unison, running forward.

Tim crouched to scoop them up, his face breaking into a soft grin, one that Lucy had rarely seen outside of the comfort of the lighthouse. The boys’ energy was infectious, and for a brief moment, the tension from the patio, the cake, and the impending visit seemed to melt away.

When he stood, the woman spoke again, teasingly. “So, what? No hug for me?”

Tim rolled his eyes but complied, walking up to her and leaning down to embrace, his smile betraying him. Lucy stood quietly to the side, absorbing the scene- the ease of their familial rhythm, the way Tim softened with them, the gentle authority he carried even in playfulness.

Tim finally stepped back, clearing his throat once he finds both women now looking at him expectantly. “Lucy, meet my nephews, Tyler and Noah,” he said, nodding at the boys who waved shyly. Then, shifting to the woman, he added, “And my sister, Genny Bradford.”

Lucy’s stomach flipped slightly as she processed the revelation. A mix of intrigue, anticipation, and the faintest twinge of nervous excitement washed over her.

Oh. Crap.

Chapter Text

The lobby had barely fallen into silence when Lucy blinked herself back into the present. She plastered on a smile, shook off the little voice in her head, and stepped forward, arms opening.

“Oh, welcome!” she said brightly, drawing the tall redhead into a half-laughing hug.

Genny chuckled, returning the gesture warmly. When they broke apart, Lucy turned toward Tim, narrowing her eyes at him with a look that undoubtedly translated to you could have warned me.

“You didn’t tell me she’d be coming today,” she whispered through gritted teeth, just loud enough for him to hear.

Tim’s mouth tightened, brow ticking upward as he leaned closer to her. “That’s because she didn’t tell me she’d be coming today.”

Overhearing their conversation now, Genny grinned sheepishly. “I told him I’d fly in the day after tomorrow. Last-minute change of plans. Decided to head in early.”

Lucy’s pulse jumped. The fake dating thing.

She remembered it all at once, the patio, Tim’s restless pacing, his nervous half-speech about needing her help. She shifted instinctively, moving closer to his side, not too close, but enough to be ready in case his sister started asking questions right away.

But before anyone could comment, a sharp ping sounded from the kitchen. Lucy’s eyes went wide. “Crap.”

She bolted.

By the time Tim caught up, following her into his usually pristine kitchen, the sight nearly stopped him cold. Behind him, he felt Genny take a step back bracing for impact, mumbling a small oh.

His counters- his sacred, perfectly aligned, always-spotless counters- were dusted with flour like a fresh snowfall.

Smudges, handprints, and… pawprints trailed across the surface. Pawprints? His gaze darted further. The butter bell wasn’t fully closed, butter smeared across its side. The sugar jar was out of place, traces of sugar still stuck to the lid. Bowls he kept organised by size were now stacked precariously, as batter drips from them, trailing across the floor.

In short, it was chaos. If he hadn't been just a floor above the kitchen for the last few hours, he could have easily been convinced that a storm had somehow managed to find its way inside his kitchen.

And at the center of it all stood Lucy, mitts on her hands, pulling a cake from the oven. She spun around and froze when she saw them- Tim’s horrified expression, his sister lingering just behind him, taking it all in.

“I- I’ll clean it up,” Lucy blurted, words tumbling over themselves as her face flushed. “I promise, it’ll be spotless, I swear.”

Tim barely heard her. He was still cataloging every crime against order, every stray spoon and sticky spot. But then his gaze landed on her again- flour smudged across her nose and cheek, braid nearly undone, apron shielding her from stains. His apron. Her hands flapped as she apologized, voice breathless, cheeks pink with embarrassment.

Something in him… shifted.

Weirdly enough, he realized he wasn’t angry. Not even close.

“Um,” he said finally, voice low. “Yeah. That’s fine.”

Lucy froze, oven mitts hanging in midair. Her eyes widened at him, surprised, but behind them, Genny looked even more stunned. She’d known her brother her whole life, knew how obsessive he was about order, especially in a kitchen. And here he was, shrugging it off like it didn’t matter.

Tim cleared his throat, spine stiffening again. “I’ll help you with the bags,” he muttered to his sister before she could say anything, leaving Lucy standing in the middle of her storm.

---

By the time he returned, Genny and the boys were settled in their rooms. The house was quieter again, the kind of quiet Tim always preferred, and he found himself wandering back to the kitchen.

Lucy’s back was to him, shoulders moving as she wiped down the counter, each swab more meticulous than the last. She worked methodically at her own pace, though flour still dusted her hair, and the place smelled faintly of sugar and vanilla.

He watched for a moment, silent, before stepping forward. Without a word, he reached past her and put the sugar jar back in its exact place.

Lucy stiffened at first, then glanced at him with a nervous look. “Look, I know you didn’t say anything in front of your sister because you’re supposed to convince her we’re… dating,” she said cautiously, “but I really am sorry. Kojo got into the leftover batter and... it all went downhill from there.”

Tim blinked at her, brow furrowed. What?

Then he remembered. The patio. The lie. Right. He shook it off, saying simply, “It’s fine.” For a moment, Lucy looks like she's about to persist but the gentle tilt to his tone seems to ground her as she nods to herself.

Leaning back on the counter behind them, his gaze flicked to the far end. A cake sat there, perfectly risen, steam still curling up in swirls.

"Your cake looks good,” he said after a beat.

Lucy froze infront of him. A beat of silence. “What?”

He realized instantly how it sounded, clearing his throat. “The cake. I meant the cake you baked looks good.”

Her face broke into a grin, as she turned to face him, pride flooding in. “Thanks. It’s my Nana’s recipe. I used to make it with her when I was little.” She grew more animated, sponge soaked with soap dripping around the sink as she talked. “I wanted to give some to the Greys too. I even made frosting, but I was going to leave a piece without, you know, since you don’t like sweet.”

That made him look up. His chest tightened unexpectedly. She’d remembered?

Lucy didn’t catch his expression- she was already back to rambling, filling the space with warmth he hadn’t realized he’d missed until now. He kept quiet, letting her voice wash over him, the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself.

---

Later that evening, the three adults sat outside while the boys tumbled in the damp grass with Kojo. The storm had cleared, leaving the air sharp and damp, the horizon streaked with fading purple light, waves crashing with soft force below them.

Genny licked the last of the frosting from her fork. “This cake is incredible, Lucy.”

Lucy beamed, proud. Tim, sitting beside her, didn’t even notice the faint smile tugging at his lips as he watched her glow.

Genny noticed, though.

They both look at her at the sudden stiffled noice that comes after she'd eyed them with suspicion. One look at her expression is all Tim needs to know what's to come.

“Oh my God. Is she the one you told me you were dating?”

Regardless, Tim choked on his tea. He sputtered, coughed, and set his cup down with a sharp clatter. Lucy’s eyes snapped to his, wide with alarm, and before either of them could think, she instinctively leaned over, her hand moving in gentle circles across his back.

The gesture, however, only seemed to make things worse. Tim was seized by a fresh fit of coughing, while Genny merely sat back, watching with quiet patience.

Then Tim turned to Lucy and gave her the smallest, sweetest smile she’d ever seen. “Yeah.”

Lucy swallowed, nerves buzzing, but she managed a quick nod, as if to vaildate Tim's word.

Genny leaned back, stunned. “No offense, Lucy, but I thought he was talking about an imaginary girlfriend.”

Lucy chuckled, tension breaking. “I can assure you I'm not imaginary.”

They both watches Genny as her curiosity sharpened. “So how long has this been a thing?”

“Genny,” Tim warned, but Lucy was already placing her hand gently over his on the armrest. The contact jolted them both, electricity sparking in the simple touch. Still, she smiled easily. “A little while now.”

Tim’s fingers twitched, then closed lightly over hers, returning the squeeze. Lucy gulped.

Genny studied them both, eyes intensively scanning every little jerk and then- surprisingly- she softened. “Well. I’m glad. It’s about time, Tim. You’ve been hiding under a rock these past few years.”

A breath they hadn’t known they were holding slipped out at the same time. Lucy’s laughter rang light and genuine, while Tim only groaned. “Genny.”

The evening drifted on, the boys’ laughter carrying across the yard, the porch lit by the amber glow of lanterns. It felt almost… normal.

---

Later, after dinner, Genny retreated upstairs with the boys, exhausted from travel. Tim appeared to be notably stiff as they engaged in their post-dinner routine, finishing the dishes quickly and disappearing upstairs. Lucy was left tidying the last few things before realizing how late it had gotten.

She slipped into the second-floor hallway, steps quiet against the wooden floorboards- when suddenly a hand shot out, pulling her into a room. The door clicked shut.

Her heart leapt into her throat. She spun, breathless, about to scream bloody murder- until she saw Tim. Tim??

“What the hell, Tim?!” she whisper-shrieked, pressing a hand to her chest.

He stood stiffly, face unreadable. “We need to talk.”

“You couldn’t have asked me to walk into the room instead of dragging me in like some serial killer?” she hissed.

He ignored her completely, gesturing at the bed. “Sit.”

She glared but obeyed, perching on the edge. He sat too, shoulders tight, eyes fixed forward.

It was then Lucy noticed where they were- his room. Plain, clean, every corner arranged just so. Very Tim. She remembered the last time she'd been here, listening to that phone call- not one of her finest moments- but now it felt different, heavier, as if a thick blanket had been layed on top of it all.

Tim started speaking before she could. “I don’t want to push you. Or blur any lines. With this whole… thing.” His voice was lower, rougher, like he had to force each word out.

"It’s fine. I want to help you," Lucy cut him off softly, voice less frantic now. "After all, you are letting me stay here for practically nothing.”

He paused. “Right. To return the favor.” Something in his tone sounded almost disappointed.

Lucy tilted her head. “I mean… we’re already friends. It’s the least I can do.”

At that, his brow arched. “Friends?”

She shrugged. “Yeah. Aren’t we?”

He gave her an odd look but let it go, though his expression said otherwise, and continued, “That’s actually what I wanted to talk about. Us being… uncomfortable. Genny’s going to notice. If we’re stiff around each other, it’ll give it away.”

Lucy stared at him blankly, waiting for more. “Okay… and?”

He shifted, visibly uncomfortable, eyes dropping. “If she finds out, theres no point in us playing pretend. So- maybe we should practice. I don’t know. Holding hands. Or something.”

Lucy bit her lip to keep from smiling. He looked so adorably gruff, trying to be serious while fidgeting like a schoolboy under her gaze. Without giving him time to change his mind, she reached across to his lap and grasped his hand.

His head shot up, startled.

“Well?” she teased lightly. “Happy?”

He rolled his eyes, trying- and failing- to hide the blush rising on his cheeks.

Lucy giggled, studying the way his larger hand wrapped around hers. “Hand holding isn’t going to cut it, you know. Couples do a lot more than that.”

Tim smirked faintly, shaking his head. “What, you suggesting we practice kissing now?” He laughed under his breath, clearly joking.

But Lucy didn't laugh and they both froze. The air shifted.

His eyes met hers, wide, uncertain. "Um. I'm- I'm sorry I shouldnt have-"

Lucy cuts him off with a simple shake to her head, although she's not too certain at what she's saying no to.

For a beat, neither moved. Lucy’s heart hammered, watching Tim's gaze shift from her eyes to her lips. His gaze shifted back with a slight tilt to his eyebrows- a silent request of permission.

Lucy could only nod, words failing her completely. Before they knew what was happening, he leaned in, brushing a tentative kiss against her lips. Light. Testing.

Lucy blinked, absorbing it. Right. They were supposed to be practicing. Her mind however seemed to be unaware of the fact, as embarrassment pooled hot in her chest. They stare at each other for a minute too long.

“That’s it?”

Tim's jaw clenched, scoffing in defence. “If you're going to judge me-”

She cut him off, hand fisting in his shirt as she kissed him again- longer, deeper. This time he responded, steady and sure, pulling her closer as heat flared between them. They lost track of time, need for air, the kiss unraveling into something neither of them could deny. Something that could maybe explain the flutter of feelings that had been making appearances for the past few days.

Until.

“Tim, can I borrow your-”

The voice froze.

The door cracked open. Genny stood there, stunned, as Lucy and Tim jolted apart, the realisation of what had just happened sinking in.

Chapter Text

The silence clung to the room long after they’d pulled apart. Lucy’s breath still caught in her chest, her skin warm with the memory of how close they had been. Tim hadn’t moved much- arms stiff, jaw set- but he wasn’t holding her anymore nor meeting her eyes. She shifted her weight, uncertain, the distance between them suddenly heavier than the waves outside.

For a fleeting moment, she thought maybe she should step back further, build a wall of her own before she let herself trip again. But then- an unwelcome reminder- this was supposed to look convincing. They were supposed to be a couple, not strangers who had wandered too close to a line they weren’t meant to cross.

Genny’s gaze flicked between them, amusement tugging at her lips. She leaned back into the doorway, clearing her throat. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Lucy forced her shoulders straighter, heat rising to her cheeks. “No, it’s fine. I should- uh- I should be heading upstairs anyway.”

Genny tilted her head, curiosity sparking like kindling. “Oh? You’re not… staying in Tim’s room?” Her tone was light, teasing rather than invasive, like she was testing the air.

Lucy froze. The words lodged somewhere between her ribs.

So maybe they should have worked more on their backstory and less on the practicing. She had no script for this. Her mind tripped over itself, searching for an answer, and came up empty.

Thankfully, Tim’s voice cut through at last, even and calm. “We’re taking things slow.”

Lucy’s eyes darted to him in surprise, just for a second. When he turned toward her, she looked away quickly, as though burned by the weight of it. “Right. Um. Goodnight.” Her voice cracked halfway, but she didn’t linger- she slipped out into the hallway, heart pounding like it wanted to sprint ahead of her.

She had just reached the top of the stairs when Genny’s voice floated after her, muffled but clear enough: “Didn’t look slow to me.”

Lucy winced. A beat later, Tim’s groan followed, low and exasperated. She shut her door quietly, pressing her back against it as her skin tingled from where Tim's hands had been barely minutes ago, trying to steady her breath.

---

If the lighthouse could’ve swallowed him whole, he might’ve let it. His sister’s eyes were still on him, sharp and knowing in the way only family could be. He could feel heat crawling up his neck, the flush he couldn’t quite fight off no matter how many years of military discipline he carried.

He wasn’t sixteen anymore, and this wasn’t some schoolyard crush- but being caught like that, with Lucy so close, rattled him all the same.

“What do you want, Genny?” he muttered, folding his arms.

“Relax,” she said with a smirk, standing and brushing imaginary lint from her sweater. “I was looking for a charger. Can’t find mine.”

Tim exhaled, a little too fast. He moved to pull open the drawer, dug out his own, and handed it over. “Here.”

She accepted it with a sweet smile far too innocent to be believable. “Thanks, big brother. And don’t worry, I have my earplugs ready-to-go.”

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath as she breezed out of the room. He stood in the empty silence for a long moment before dragging himself to change into warmer clothes, Kojo padding at his heels with his usual easy loyalty.

In bed, the storm’s groans pressed against the windows. Tim lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, thoughts turning circles he didn’t want them to. They hadn’t done anything- nothing that counted wrong, anyway. But the feeling of her so close, the sharp cut of her intake of breath, the way she’d looked at him cradling his jaw just before pulling away…

It was too much for it to be nothing.

He forced his jaw tight, smothered the flicker of warmth in his chest, and rolled onto his side. The lighthouse creaked, Kojo sighed against the blankets, and eventually, sleep pulled him under- though not before he admitted to himself that something had shifted, whether he wanted it to or not.

---

Morning broke soft and gray, the sea stretching calm and endless under a sky painted in muted tones. The storm had moved on, leaving the cliffs washed clean and glistening with the sea-breeze.

Breakfast had shifted from their kitchen nook to the porch. The small table was abandoned now, traded for the long wooden one that looked out over the horizon. Genny settled at one end, the boys bickering over toast, Kojo already stationed beneath their chairs for inevitable scraps. Lucy sat opposite Tim, her smile light and easy again, though the undercurrent between them hummed all the same.

Tim passed the plate of bacon down the table. The boys slipped pieces to Kojo when they thought no one was watching, though Tim’s raised brow betrayed he’d noticed. He didn’t call them out, though, the twitch at his mouth gave him away.

Lucy’s eyes softened as she watched him, taking in the way his expression grew smooth. She hadn’t expected this- the simple comfort of sitting here, with people, with warmth she didn’t have to chase.

“I’ll need to head into the village today,” Tim said at last, setting his mug down. His gaze flicked briefly to Lucy, a teasing edge threading his voice. “Since someone used up most of my flour and eggs.”

Heat flushed her cheeks as she ducked her head. “I was… experimenting.”

“Uh-huh.”

The smallest twitch of his lips almost counted as a smile.

Genny leaned forward, chin resting on her hand. “You know, I’ve never actually been to the village.”

Lucy blinked. “Wait, really? You’ve visited before though, haven’t you?”

“Briefly.” Genny’s tone sobered. “The boys’ dad never wanted me to stay long. Two days, maybe. We’d just walk the beach, then head back.” Her shrug was too casual, but Lucy caught the abhorrent shadow behind it, one she knew all too well. “But things are different now. We’ll be here through Christmas.”

Lucy’s heart tugged at that. She glanced at the boys, then back to Genny. “Well, in that case- we're going today! You can’t miss it. I’ll show you around.”

Tim gave a low grunt. “It’s not exactly Disneyland.”

Lucy ignored him, already grinning. “You’ll thank me later.”

---

The road into Stonington curled away from the cliffs, winding through damp grass still sparkling with yesterday’s rain. Kojo trotted faithfully beside them, pausing every so often to shake salt from his fur or chase an invisible scent in the wind.

By the time they reached the village, the day had softened into something calmer, the storm’s harsh edges smoothed away.

Lucy slowed her steps, her breath catching as her eyes swept the narrow cobblestone streets. The Christmas decorations had begun to appear- nothing bright, nothing loud, a reminder it was December. Garlands of evergreen draped across doorframes, dotted with ribbons faded just enough to look timeless. Candles flickered in shop windows, their glow warm against the gray daylight. A tree in the square stood simple but proud, strung with delicate strands of light that blinked like stars caught too close to earth, their warm glow flickering off of the wet stones.

It wasn’t gaudy. It wasn’t rushed. It was… gentle. The kind of Christmas she used to dream about as a child, the kind she’d never had. The kind she could never find in LA. No frantic parties, no trophies or report cards passed off as holiday cheer. Just warmth. Quiet. Belonging.

Her throat tightened, unexpected. She smiled anyway, forcing brightness into her voice as she pointed out the bakery, the library, the shops. Genny’s boys darted ahead, tugging at her hands, and she laughed, letting them lead her toward the heart of it all.

Tim cleared his throat behind them. “Half an hour. I’ll meet you at Fisherman’s Row.”

Lucy waved him off without turning. “Got it!”

---

He didn’t find them where he’d asked them to be.

Kojo’s ears pricked first, head lifting. The dog gave a sharp bark, then another, and Tim followed his line of sight down the street.

There they were. Genny, the boys, Lucy- standing at the edge of a small square, faces tipped upward. They were staring at a row of Christmas trees leaned neatly against the grocer’s wall, fresh-cut pine filling the air with a sharp, sweet scent.

Tim felt the weight of it before they even turned.

“Should we get one?” Lucy asked, eyes wide with the curiosity of a child, voice lilting with hope.

He stopped short, arms folding. “We don’t celebrate Christmas at the lighthouse.”

Three heads turned to him at once.

Lucy gasped theatrically, pressing a hand to her chest. “What do you mean you don’t celebrate? That’s- that's criminal. You live in a lighthouse, Tim. It’s practically begging for stockings and fairy lights.”

“Lucy-”

“At least for the kids,” she pressed, and this time her glance wasn’t subtle. One quick flick of her eyes, and suddenly the boys were staring at him too- pleading, wide-eyed.

Kojo whined, as though he’d joined the conspiracy.

Tim turned to Genny for backup. She only shrugged, smiling faintly.

He exhaled through his nose. “Fine. Go ahead.”

The cheer that erupted nearly startled him. Lucy clapped her hands, the boys dove for the nearest tree, and Genny was already discussing ornaments with a vendor. Tim, meanwhile, found himself roped into carrying half the square home.

By the time they left, he had a not-too-small, not-too-big tree balanced under one arm, bags of decorations weighing down the other. Genny trailed behind him with a smile, the boys darting around his legs, while Lucy floated ahead, her laughter spilling bright into the winter air. Kojo trotted proudly at his side, a small box of bells clamped delicately in his mouth.

Tim tried to scowl. Really, he did. But something about the sight of them, mostly the sight of her- the sheer joy painting her face, brighter than the garlands strung across the square- unraveled him in ways he didn’t want to name.

For the first time in years, the lighthouse wasn’t just his lone fortress on Christmas. It was theirs. And though he’d never admit it, the weight of the tree under his arm felt lighter than it should have.

Chapter Text

The lighthouse felt fuller than it had in years.

Bags of tinsel and a tree leaned against the lobby wall, their pine scent already threading through the air, blending with the warm antique scent of the lighthouse. After lunch, Genny had offered again to help with the dishes, but the boys were restless and begged to go down to the beach. She had relented easily, Kojo trotting at their side as they disappeared down the cliff path, laughter carried on the wind.

That left Lucy and Tim alone in the kitchen, their buffer from this morning, now dissapeared.

The room hummed with silence, broken only by the clatter of plates, the steady drip of water from the tap. Lucy dried a bowl slowly, her hands moving on autopilot. She was the chatterbox by nature, always filling silence before it stretched too long, but now- now she couldn’t bring herself to say anything. Her throat was tight, nerves buzzing beneath her skin.

Her thoughts kept returning to last night, to the closeness they’d shared, the air stretched so taut between them it had no choice but to break. The memory pressed hot against her ribs, equal parts embarrassing and impossible to forget.

The words slipped out before she could stop them. “About last night-”

Tim’s voice cut across hers, low but not unkind. “You don’t have to say you’re sorry.”

Lucy stilled, blinking at the back of his head as he continued to stack bowls. His tone wasn’t sharp. If anything, it was gentle, leaving no space for her to fumble apologies she hadn’t wanted to make anyway.

She nodded once, swallowing hard, bravery fading as quickly as it had sparked. Silence returned, only the clink of silverware filling it. A few minutes passed before she tried again, softer this time.

“I mean… I guess it worked,” she murmured.

Tim turned his head, brows knitting. “Worked?”

Her grip tightened on the dish towel. “Genny practically saw us kiss. Even if it wasn’t- well, intentional. She’s probably plenty convinced we’re together. So maybe…” She trailed off, shrugging. “Maybe we don’t even need to practice anymore.”

Something flickered across his face then- so fast she almost doubted it. The smallest crease of what appeared to be disappointment before it smoothed away, tucked back under the steady calm he always carried.

Lucy’s chest pinched. She didn’t like the sight of it, didn’t like the thought that he might… mind.

“We could still work on our backstory,” she offered quickly. “You know- how long we’ve been dating, little details. Just in case.”

That earned her a faint smile. The corners of his mouth lifted, almost hidden but enough. They found themselves talking after that, spinning threads of a fake history between them, the tension unraveling into something lighter. Their hands moved in rhythm- her drying, him stacking- until the kitchen gleamed again, and the silence no longer pressed so heavy between them.

---

By nightfall, the lighthouse lobby was alive with activity.

The boys chattered as Tim helped them steady the tree, his large hands careful against the rough trunk. Genny unwrapped a bundle of stockings, spreading them across the fireplace mantel, while Lucy wrestled with a garland near the far wall.

She rose onto her tiptoes, stretching her arm as far as it would go, the end of the greenery clutched in her hand. The hook she was aiming for glinted just out of reach.

“Come on,” she muttered under her breath, straining. Her toes wobbled against the floorboards, her balance threatening to slip. She looked back at Genny- behind her occupied with the stockings- and honestly, she felt more embarrassed than anything to even consider asking for help.

She tried again, biting her lip, willing herself higher. For a moment, the garland nearly looped over- only nearly.

Next thing she knew, she faltered, stumbling back and braced herself for impact.

Before she could fall, a presence loomed behind her. A steady wall, close enough to anchor her without touching. A steady and warm wall.

A hand reached past her shoulder, plucking the garland easily from her grip and securing it neatly onto the hook she’d been fighting with.

Lucy blinked, startled, turning her head.

Tim stood there, a single brow raised, expression unreadable but the smallest spark of tease glinting in his eyes. He stepped back immediately, giving her space again, as though he hadn’t just appeared out of nowhere to rescue her dignity.

Her cheeks flushed hot. She offered a sheepish smile. “Thanks,” she mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer- just tilted his head, that hint of amusement still in place, before turning back toward the tree.

Lucy lingered a beat, embarrassed but strangely warmed, before following him to where the boys waited. Genny joined them, stockings now in place, her smile soft as she watched the small family-like scene unfold.

“Shall we do the tree now?” Tim asked, voice steadier than he felt.

The boys erupted with eager nods, diving for the heap of ornaments.

What followed was chaos of the gentlest kind. Glittered baubles, paper stars, wooden figurines- the boys handed them out, Lucy and Genny helping secure them while Tim adjusted branches to make space. Kojo circled them all, nails clicking against the floor, tail wagging as the sound of bells made him paw curiously at the air.

Lucy’s laughter spilled easily, bright against the low rumble of Tim’s occasional chuckle. Genny teased her brother when he insisted an ornament was crooked. Tyler carefully hung a bell as Austin dropped two onto the same branch, grinning proudly when no one corrected him.

It was warm. It was noisy. It was family.

At last, the only thing left was the star. Austin, the youngest, cradled it in both hands before toddling over to Tim, raising his arms high.

“Up,” he said simply.

Tim blinked down at him, a soft smile taking over his features. Then, without hesitation, he scooped the boy up, settling him easily on his arm. Austin’s small fingers reached, wobbling the star into place at the very top of the tree.

Lucy’s breath caught, her chest swelling with something she didn’t want to name. Adoration, maybe. A flutter that felt dangerous but impossible to deny.

When the star was set, they all stepped back. Genny plugged in the lights, and the tree glowed to life. Soft, golden strands wrapped the pine in warmth, ornaments glinting like tiny captured suns.

The boys gasped, awe spilling from them in a chorus of “ooh”s and “aah”s. Tim couldn’t help the laugh that slipped from him, quiet but real. He looked down, intending to share it with someone, and found Lucy.

Her eyes were fixed on the tree, face aglow, expression filled with such raw, unguarded wonder. Maybe not having all this sooner, was criminal.

---

Dinner that night was heartier than their usual fare. A roast sat at the center of the table, surrounded by bowls of mashed potatoes, roasted carrots, and buttered rolls that Lucy had insisted on baking. It was a day that called of a feast, in her words. Genny laughed as the boys devoured their portions, Kojo lingering underfoot for scraps.

Afterward came hot chocolate- rich, warm, topped with a few marshmallows Lucy had found tucked away at the back of the pantry. Again, she insisted Christmas required it, and no one argued.

The warmth carried with them as they cleared the table. Tim stacked plates in his arms, heading toward the kitchen. It was then that he noticed it- something dangling from the archway above the door.

He stopped, brow furrowing. A sprig of mistletoe, perfectly placed.

“Alright,” Tim said flatly. “Who did this?”

Turning slowly, he caught Genny’s eye. She was balancing dishes of her own, her expression far too innocent.

“What?” Genny blinked, widening her eyes. “It’s Christmas decor.”

Tim’s stare didn’t budge.

Before he could retort, Tyler piped up behind them, curiosity sharp. “What is it?”

Genny brightened. “Mistletoe,” she explained cheerfully.

Recognition dawned across the boy’s face, followed quickly by mischief. “Ooooh. Then it’s perfect for Austin- Austin has a crush on Lucy!”

Tim nearly dropped the plates. He turned sharply, eyes narrowing. “He has a what now?”

Austin’s face went crimson, his small fists balling at his sides. “I do not!” he whined, glaring at his brother.

“Yes, you do,” Tyler pressed, grinning. “You told me she was really pretty. And that she probably doesn’t even have girl cooties.”

Lucy choked on a laugh, clapping a free hand over her mouth. “Oh, Austin…” she managed between giggles, her heart melting at the boy’s mortified expression. For a fleeting second, she caught the resemblance- the furrowed brows, the stubborn little scowl that so closely mirrored Tim’s own when he was displeased. Only on Austin, it was softer and the sight tugged another laugh out of her before she could stop it.

“Don’t!” Austin protested, but Tyler was already nudging him forward, shoving him gently until he stood frozen beneath the mistletoe.

Austin’s wide eyes flicked from the ceiling to Lucy, as though the world had ended in the span of a breath. He stood stiff, too stunned to move, too swallowed by this new concept that pressed on him.

Lucy couldn’t hold back her laughter now. Gently, she set the plates in her hands onto Tim’s pile, brushing past him as she crouched down in front of Austin.

“It’s alright Austin, I think you're very cute too,” she said softly, and before he could flee, she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

His face turned scarlet. For a beat, he just stood there, stunned. Then he broke into a shy smile and bolted, hiding behind his brother as everyone burst into laughter.

Everyone but Tim.

His scowl was stubborn, his mutter low. “I don’t like this.”

Without waiting, he turned and disappeared into the kitchen, plates clattering louder than necessary as he set them in the sink.

Behind him, Lucy and Genny laughed harder, unable to help themselves.

Chapter Text

The boys were sent upstairs with promises of stories and an extra goodnight from Kojo, who padded up behind them as if he, too, belonged tucked in with the warmth of blankets. When the echo of their chatter faded, only the creak of the lighthouse and the low hum of the storm outside remained.

In the kitchen, Lucy stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, water warm on her hands as she rinsed plates. Genny leaned against the counter, cloth in hand but barely using it, while Tim scraped the last scraps into the bin, his jaw still set in the same scowl he’d carried since the mistletoe debacle.

Lucy and Genny shared a glance over his shoulder- an almost conspiratorial spark- and the corners of Lucy’s mouth twitched with a laughter she bit down hard.

Genny was the one to finally break. “You’re really going to sulk all night because my son has a crush on your girlfriend?”

Tim froze, shoulders stiff.

“He’s too young to be having crushes, is all,” he said gruffly, not turning around.

Genny scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Please. He’s a Bradford, Tim. What do you expect? If I remember right, you were head over heels for Debbie Gibson at the ripe age of four.”

Lucy’s laugh burst out before she could stop it, unceremoniously loud and sudden. She clapped a wet hand over her mouth, but it was too late. The sound bounced against the walls, sharp and delighted. When Tim turned, his face flushed red, looking more like Austin had under the mistletoe than the composed man he pretended to be.

“Debbie Gibson?” Lucy gasped between giggles, doubling over the sink.

Genny grinned like she’d been waiting for this all night. “Oh, you don’t even know the half of it. He used to sing Only in My Dreams around the house nonstop. Every single shower. And one Halloween—” her eyes sparkled, her voice dropping as though delivering a secret- “he dressed up as her. Mom’s heels, makeup, the works.”

The clang of metal against porcelain rang out as the forks slipped sharply from Tim’s hand into the sink. His back went rigid.

“I’m going to bed,” he said, voice flat, not looking at either of them. And then he was gone, footsteps echoing up the narrow staircase until they vanished entirely.

The air he left behind felt different- thinner, heavier- like the weight of something unspoken had been dropped between them. Lucy blinked at the space he’d just filled, towel limp in her hands, before glancing at Genny.

“Did we… push him too far?” she asked carefully.

Genny sighed, turning back to the counter. “He does that sometimes. Builds a wall. It’s easier than letting anyone climb over it.”

Lucy nodded slowly, though the explanation didn’t ease the knot in her chest. She dried the last of the plates, while her thoughts still snagged on the sudden hardness in his tone, the sharpness in his retreat.

By the time they finished, the lighthouse was quiet again. Lucy lingered at the bottom of the stairs, torn between the familiar path to her own room and the one leading to his. She hesitated, chewing her lip, before turning toward the latter.

---

Tim lay flat on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling above him. The storm’s howl threaded through the shutters, rattling them against the glass like insistent hands. Kojo had curled on the rug at the foot of his bed, already lost to sleep, but Tim’s mind refused him that mercy.

The image of Lucy’s laughter wouldn’t leave him. Nor would the memory of Genny’s words- her voice teasing but cutting sharper than she knew. He’d learned long ago how to fold moments like that into silence, how to tuck them away until they dulled. But tonight the silence pressed heavy, the edges refusing to smooth.

A knock came at the door, soft against the storm.

Tim closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. He didn’t move. Genny, he thought. Come to apologize, to poke, to pry. He didn’t want it, but he also couldn’t quite tell her no.

“It’s open,” he muttered, not shifting from his place.

The door creaked, and when he finally turned his head, it wasn’t Genny.

Lucy slipped inside, the faintest crease between her brows, her smile missing. Concern shadowed her features as she closed the door gently behind her.

“Can we talk?” she asked.

Tim pushed himself up, confusion flickering. Of all people, he hadn’t expected her. “You don’t need to apologize,” he said quietly, already forming the words, "I'm the one that ruined the night."

She shook her head walking closer. “You didn’t ruin anything,” she said, voice soft, steady. She hesitated, then stepped closer, her gaze searching his. “I just… wanted to ask if you’re okay.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Lucy perched carefully on the edge of the bed, not too close, not too far. Tim sat straighter, staring past her toward the darkened window where the storm blurred the horizon, rain dancing on the glass.

He took a deep breath. The words fought against his throat, heavy, locked down by years of silence. But Lucy stayed there, still, waiting- not pushing, not filling the silence like she usually did. Just waiting.

“Our dad was abusive,” he said at last.

The words landed like a stone between them. Lucy’s eyes widened, shock flashing across her face. Tim blinked, startled by the sound of his own voice, the fact that he had let the truth slip free after all this time.

She opened her mouth- “You don’t have to-”

“I want to,” he cut in quickly. His voice was rough but certain. He looked at her now, the concern etched clear in her face, and oddly enough, found he didn’t mind. He wanted her to know.

“You said that we’re friends, right?” he added after a beat, the corner of his mouth twitching faintly.

Lucy frowned, confused by the sudden shift. “Of course.”

“Friends can tell each other things like this.” His words softened, carrying a kind of plea, and this time she nodded with more confidence, her answer a gentle yes.

Tim drew in another breath, eyes fixed on the floor. “That Halloween Genny talked about,” he began, voice low. “When dad found me in mom’s heels and scarves- he hit me. Hard. Knocked me off my feet. I was four, maybe five.” His jaw tightened. “Mom only spoke of the costume. Not the rest. Genny was too young to remember at all.”

A small sound escaped Lucy- half gasp, half broken hum. She didn’t know what words could possibly fit here. None would.

Silence stretched again, thick with the weight of what he’d said. When Tim finally looked up, her eyes were still on him, wide and full of worry, a reflection of the pain he carried but never voiced.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, though his voice faltered, and his eyes shimmered faintly in the low light.

Lucy’s heart shattered. Her chest ached as his eyes kept fluttering with emotion.

Without thinking, she shifted closer, her hand brushing lightly against his arm. “Come here,” she whispered, opening her arms.

His gaze flicked to hers, startled, but at the nearness, he didn’t pull away. Slowly, hesitantly, he leaned into her.

The embrace was simple- nothing more than arms wrapped around each other- but it carried more weight than either of them would admit. Lucy held him tight, steady, as his head rested near her shoulder. She heard it then- not quite a sniffle, but a shaky breath that trembled out of him, breaking the careful composure he’d built.

She didn’t let go.

Outside, the storm raged, waves crashing against the cliffs, wailing across the meadows. Inside, the lighthouse held its protective silence around them, a fragile, flickering haven against the dark.

Lucy closed her eyes, her throat tight, and simply held on.

When Tim finally eased back, he didn’t look at her right away. His gaze fell to the floorboards, jaw tense as though he wished he could erase history. But his shoulders were lighter, his breath steadier, and for a fleeting second she saw the boy he must have been once, before the weight of everything had pressed him into steel.

“Thanks,” he murmured, voice low, almost unwilling to disturb the moment.

Lucy gave him a small nod, the ache still caught in her chest. She wanted to say something more- that he wasn’t alone, that he didn’t have to carry it all- but the words felt too fragile, too easily broken at the moment. So instead she rose, her hand brushing briefly against his before slipping away.

At the door, she glanced back. Tim had leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, face caught in shadow. But there was a softness there, a glimmer of trust that hadn’t been there before.

She carried that image with her as she stepped into the hallway. Outside of his room, the draft met her again, the storm's sharp whistle cutting through the windowpanes, and for the first time she thought maybe she understood why Tim had stayed in this lonely lighthouse, why he’d chosen a place where the walls could hold secrets until someone was ready to open them.

Upstairs, she lay awake long after the wind began to settle, the warmth of his embrace still pressed against her skin, refusing to fade.

---

They never spoke of that night again. Not because it had never happened, but because the silence it left was more comfortable than words. Lucy carried it quietly in her chest, a gentle ache softened by memory, tucked beside the folds of her affection. After witnessing Tim’s vulnerability, seeing the child he had once been through a sliver of honesty and quiet pain, her heart had grown softer in ways even she wasn’t entirely aware of. She found herself noticing the small ways he softened around her, the rare flickers of warmth hidden behind habitual reserve, and it left a quiet ache she didn’t mind harboring.

Tim, for his part, returned to their usual rhythm effortlessly. No lingering tension, no heavy shadows in his gaze. He was very Tim- as usual quietly commanding, yet with just enough teasing spark to keep Lucy on her toes. And Genny, never one to hold a grudge, had slipped back into her usual banter with him, punctuating their shared moments with laughter, small jabs, and the effortless teasing that reminded Lucy of a puzzle slowly falling into place.

Even the boys, ever perceptive, sensed nothing amiss. Kojo padded at Tim’s heels as usual, his tail sweeping the floor like a metronome marking the heartbeat of the lighthouse. It all seemed perfect.

A week later, a ripple of excitement stirred through the lighthouse. Mrs. Grey, having discovered that Tim’s sister and her children were now residing at the BnB, insisted- politely but relentless- that they all come over for dinner. The logic was unassailable- Tim was practically family, the boys had never been properly introduced, and any excuse to gather around warmth and food was an invitation that no one in Stonington could refuse.

Tim grunted in his usual understated way when Lucy mentioned it. “I’m bringing something?” he said, eyes narrowing, though the corner of his mouth twitched with amusement.

“Of course,” Lucy said, excitement lacing her voice. “We can’t show up empty-handed.”

Tim muttered under his breath, “I suppose I can offer something.” He disappeared into the kitchen for a few hours, emerging with a few small bundles wrapped neatly in parchment: a few of his homemade herb-flecked chicken pies, the crusts still warm, golden, and fragrant. He couldn't help but smirk faintly as Lucy slipped in a sprig of holly under the paper, 'for decoration'.

Genny laughed, and Lucy’s grin stretched wide.

---

The Grey house sat cozily in the center of its yard, lights spilling from the windows onto the stone path. As they pushed open the gate, Lucy and Genny’s laughter spilled into the crisp air, carrying the scents of the lighthouse kitchen with them. Mrs. Grey appeared instantly, arms opening wide to envelop the two women in a warm embrace.

“Oh, you brought too much!” she gushed, eyes lighting up as she took in the parcels in Tim's hands behind them. “You girls didn’t need to do all this!”

Tim muttered something under his breath as he stepped alongside her, carrying the pies. The ones he made. “I always forget who was here first,” he said quietly, a wry note in his voice as he tried to keep up with the flurry of greetings.

Mrs. Grey chuckled, shaking her head. “You’ll always be my favorite, Tim.” She reached out to tug him into a quick hug, scratching Kojo briefly behind the ears when the dog jumped up to greet her. Tim rolled his eyes, muttering a smart-ass comment about “favoritism,” which drew a hearty laugh from Mrs. Grey.

Her gaze swept to the little boys clinging to Genny’s skirt. “And who are these little angels?” she asked, kneeling slightly to meet their wide eyes. Her voice softened, brightened, and carried a warmth that made Lucy’s chest ache with affection. She scooped them both up in quick succession, laughing as Tyler squirmed to remain free and Austin clung tightly to her apron strings. “Absolutely adorable! My, my, I see where Tim gets it from!”

Mr. Grey appeared behind her, arms crossed but his smile betraying him. “Looks like you’ve been replaced, Timothy,” he said, voice raised just enough for the three adults with him to hear. Tim rolled his eyes, shoulders sagging with mock defeat, while the group laughed around him.

---

Inside, the house was warm, fragrant with the smells of roasting vegetables, simmering fish chowder, and the faint sweetness of freshly baked bread. The table was set with mismatched plates and silverware, lending a homey, unpretentious charm that made Lucy feel immediately at ease.

Everyone gathered around, settling into their chairs as Mrs. Grey ladled generous portions of chowder into bowls. The boys were quick to shove bread into their mouths, the warm scent mingling with their laughter. Lucy and Genny passed dishes along, while Tim’s smirk surfaced as Mrs. Grey’s sharp eye caught the boys making muffled “mmm” sounds through stuffed mouths.

“Is it good?” she asked.

“Mm-mm!” Austin managed, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk, while Tyler nodded eagerly, both of them grinning at the adults’ laughter.

Mrs. Grey chuckled, returning the empty bowl to the counter. “You’re going to have to slow down, dears, or you’ll burst before dessert!”

Conversation flowed naturally. Mrs. Grey asked Genny gentle, thoughtful questions about the boys- school, hobbies, favorite stories- while Lucy chimed in, adding little anecdotes about the lighthouse, the fog, the cliffs. Tim occasionally offered a dry quip, his tone teasing as he corrected exaggerated statements or offered clever commentary about the boys’ antics.

“So, Lucy,” Mrs. Grey asked, folding her hands on the table, “how did you come to be at the lighthouse?”

Lucy glanced at Tim briefly, who raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt. Part of her wanted to share the truth with them- the same people that made her felt like she belonged somewhere- but she hesitated. It was too soon. She explained simply, the words soft, about the her needing to get away from home for a while and the arrangement with Tim to help around the BnB. Genny added small details with humor, teasing Tim lightly about his apparent penchant for letting Lucy boss him around. Tim shot back with a scoff but no actual response, drawing more chuckles around the table.

Mrs. Grey’s gaze softened as she turned to Tim. “The bake sale is coming up. You'll be there, yes?.”

Tim gave a small nod accompanied with a smile. “Of course. Happy to help with anything you need.”

Lucy and Genny exchanged surprised glances, leaning closer as Mrs. Grey recounted tales of the annual Christmas fair at the village, Tim setting up tables, manning the stall, and keeping everything in line at her bake sale every year. Their admiration and curiosity were apparent, their eyes shining as they realized this side of Tim existed- quiet, steady, yet unexpectedly social.

“Well,” Mrs. Grey added, “if you’d like, girls, you can help me this year.”

Genny raised a hand, polite but firm. “I’ll probably make the food inedible. Burn it to ash. Maybe I can help with the cleaning instead...?”

Lucy laughed, while Mrs. Grey’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, don't worry dear, there'll be plenty to do. You’ll still be very helpful.”

Lucy’s grin widened. “I’d love to help with the baking!”

Mrs. Grey’s attention shifted back to Lucy but before she could say anything, Tim scoffed to himself, loud enough for everyone at the table to notice. Lucy eyed him, sensing a challenge. "What?"

Tim looked up at her, raised an eyebrow as if he was about to state the obvious. "Luna will need far more help than just than Genny if you're anywhere near the flour."

Genny snorted as the Grey's joined in on the laughter, watching the two exchange snark comments filled with nothing but affection disguised by tease.

---

The rest of the meal passed in a comfortable rhythm- laughter, small debates over seasoning, the boys’ insistence that dessert should come first, and Tim’s enlightened commentary about overindulgence. Each plate cleared left the table warmer, more full- not just with food, but with an unspoken sense of family. Mrs. Grey rose briefly to hand Kojo his share from the kitchen, slipping back inside to watch the boys excitedly nibble at sweet confectioneries she had set aside as the adults continued their conversation. Even Tim, ever reserved, allowed small cracks of humor.

The house itself seemed to hold them close. The fireplace’s low roar mingled with the rain outside, casting golden light across the worn wooden floors. The walls still smelled faintly of herbs, baked bread, and the lingering tang of the sea.

By the time the last crumbs were cleared and the bowls returned to the kitchen, Lucy leaned back in her chair, the firelight painting a soft glow across her face. She glanced at Tim, his expression softened now, Kojo curled at his feet in a quiet contentment. In that glow, Lucy allowed herself to rest, a gentle smile brushing her lips as she realized that family didn’t have to be born of blood. Sometimes, it was built slowly, quietly, in shared moments, warm hearths, and the soft echo of laughter that lingered even after the storm.

The Grey house, with its cozy rooms and open hearts, had become more than just a host for dinner.

Chapter Text

The Sunday market lay folded between the sloping streets, which curled lazily toward the sea. By the time they arrived, the fog had already begun to lift, dragging its silvery fingers through the air as though reluctant to surrender the morning. A sharp, wintry breeze swept beneath the tangle of Christmas lights strung overhead- the kind of chill that only visits when the holidays are near. It had been a few days since their dinner at the Greys’. Tim, joined by the girls, had promised to help Luna gather supplies for the bake sale that loomed in the weeks ahead.

Tim walks a few steps ahead, a basket hooked easily in one arm, another slung over his shoulder. His expression carries that focused frown he wears when he’s counting prices under his breath. Behind him trail the three women, the uneven cobblestone turning their laughter into a light, musical echo. Lucy’s carrying the grocery list, Genny’s carrying conversation, and Mrs. Grey- without even trying- carries the mood, humming some old hymn between remarks about produce.

Ahead of them, the kids dart in and out of the crowd like minnows, Kojo trotting close behind, tail sweeping the damp air. They don’t go far- Tim’s occasional glance keeps all three of them tethered to an invisible leash.

The market itself feels alive- baskets spilling over with apples still cool from storage, jars of amber honey glinting on wooden shelves, the crisp scent of baked pastries rising warm and sweet through the fog. Vendors call out soft greetings as the little group passes, and Tim stops to barter at nearly every stall.

Lucy pretends not to smile when he gets into it with the butcher again.

“You said three for a pound last week,” he argues, brow furrowed.

“Three for you, five for everyone else,” the man replies, folding his arms. “Inflation, Tim.”

Tim sighs through his nose. “Since when has this town bothered with the economy?”

“Since the pigs traded slop for gourmet,” the man says, grinning.

Lucy slides an extra coin into Tim’s palm before he can retort, her tone light. “We’ll take the chops. Thank you.”

Tim glances at her, something between exasperation and quiet fondness crossing his face, before moving on to the next stall.

---

At the greengrocer’s, Lucy lingers over a crate of pears. “These look good,” she murmurs, picking one up and pressing her thumb gently into its skin. “Firm. Sweet.”

“Oooh like me,” Genny says behind her, making Mrs. Grey laugh loud enough to turn heads.

Lucy rolls her eyes, dropping the pear into Tim’s basket as he passes. “You’re the first half of that sentence,” she says dryly.

“Rude,” Genny gasps. “And inaccurate. Being around Tim is starting to rub off on you.”

Tim doesn’t comment, but his mouth twitches slightly, proud, as he moves toward the bakery stall. The rhythm between them- light teasing, easy movement, quiet familiarity- draws a few warm glances from passersby who’ve seen them here before. They look like a family, or close enough to pass for one.

The list in Lucy's hand is nearly complete by the time they reach the last stall for the day. They chat a bit longer than planned with the sweet old gentleman selling honey as he insists they sample his newest batch, a golden, clover-scented sweetness that Lucy swears could heal a wound.

It’s the kind of morning that feels steady and unhurried. Ordinary in the most beautiful way. Which is probably why the shift hits so sharply when it happens.

They’re halfway between the baker’s tent and the small produce corner when Tim freezes mid-step.

Lucy nearly bumps into him, startled, her brow creasing. “What-?”

He mutters it so low it takes her a second to catch. “Shit… shit, shit, shit.”

Her heart stutters. She follows his line of sight before she can stop herself- and there they are.

Ashley.

And Chris.

Standing by the vegetable stall, easy and comfortable in each other’s company, talking as though they’d known each other for years. Lucy’s pulse hitches. Wait. Chris and Ashley know each other? Her brain fumbles over it before belatedly landing on the obvious answer- of course they do. This town doesn’t let anyone stay strangers for long. Everyone knows everyone. Still, the thought leaves a sour taste.

But that doesn’t stop the quick, cold dip in her stomach.

For weeks, she and Tim had silently agreed to avoid that one road- the one where Ashley’s boutique sits, all glass windows and white trim after their encounter. It wasn’t a spoken of. Just the kind of understanding that grows out of shared discomfort. They’d both made peace with pretending that particular corner of the town didn’t exist.

Yet here she is. Inescapable as ever.

Ashley’s coat is a pale taupe, perfectly pressed- her hair, seemingly untouched by the sea breeze, gleams like it’s in on a secret. Chris leans casually against a crate of oranges, smile easy, eyes bright.

Beside her, Tim hasn’t moved. She can feel the tension rolling off him like static. For him, it’s not just the sight of Ashley that makes him swear under his breath- it’s the inevitable storm he knows is seconds away. Ashley has already spotted them, grin widening like someone who’s just found the last piece of gossip she’d been missing.

And then there’s Chris. His gaze has shifted, landing squarely on Lucy. It’s not jealousy that stirs in Tim- obviously not- but something adjacent, something uncomfortable he doesn’t want to name.

Lucy and Tim both stand rooted to the cobblestone, breath caught between fight and flight. Genny and Mrs. Grey slow to a stop just behind them, the laughter fading. Ahead, the kids notice the pause and turn, confusion flickering in their faces.

Ashley’s voice reaches them first, bright and cutting through the noise. “Good morning Tim!”

Right. Of course, only Tim existed in her line of vision.

Tim exhales sharply, the sound almost a growl. He adjusts the basket in his arms- a flimsy excuse to keep his hands full, to avoid any possibility of her usual half-hug.

“Morning,” he manages, tone clipped.

Chris straightens, his smile softening when he sees Lucy properly. “Hey,” he says, a hint of awkwardness creeping in. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Lucy nods once, her throat too tight for anything more. She stares down at the grocery list like it suddenly became urgent to check whether they still need butter.

Ashley tilts her head, eyes moving lazily from Tim to Lucy, then to their baskets. “I haven’t seen you at the market in a while,” she says sweetly, directing it to Tim. “Thought you’d stopped shopping altogether.”

“Busy,” Tim mutters.

“Too busy for fresh produce?” she presses, smile too wide.

Lucy’s fingers tighten around the paper in her hand. Her chest prickles, that slow churn of irritation bubbling under her ribs. She tries not to look at Chris, who’s shifted closer now, watching her quietly.

She tells herself it’s fine. That she doesn’t care. That it doesn’t matter. But her stomach doesn’t seem to listen.

Then- like a switch flipping- she remembers Genny standing just behind them, watching. Genny, who still believes she and Tim are together. In the lighthouse, it’s been easy- shared chores, quiet dinners, a kiss stolen under the guise of cover. Genny had stopped questioning it after walking in on them once, though the teasing never ended. But here, in public, she’s suddenly aware of how still she must look. How exposed.

Without thinking, Lucy shifts her hand. It lands on Tim’s bicep- firm, steady, grounding. Her fingers rest there lightly, the gesture casual enough to pass, yet deliberate enough to be seen.

Tim’s head turns, surprise flickering through his expression. For a heartbeat, he forgets Ashley’s question mid-sentence, feeling the warmth of her fingers through the multiple layers of clothing. The faintest shade of pink edges up his neck before he clears his throat. Lucy observes as Ashley’s eyes follow the movement, her smile thinning, gaze sharpening. Success.

Lucy forces her own tone level, her words brief, bordering on dismissive. “We should get going,” she says. “We’re running late.”

Ashley blinks, the friendly veneer faltering for just a moment. “Of course.”

There’s a flicker- almost amusement- crossing Tim’s face, but he doesn’t add anything. Lucy doesn’t look at either of them again. She shifts her grip on Tim’s arm, steering him forward through the narrow space between the stalls.

They’ve almost made it past when Chris calls out.

“Lucy?”

She halts. So does Tim. The sound of her name hangs there, cutting through the market chatter. Slowly, she turns, her hand still resting where it was.

Chris looks uneasy now, one hand shoved into his pocket. “Will I see you around the stall anytime soon?” he asks. “Or… at the market?”

There’s a beat of silence.

Lucy meets his eyes. Her expression doesn’t shift. “No,” she says simply- quiet but clear enough to carry. No smile, no soft edge. Final.

Then she turns back, tugging Tim along without another word. Behind them, she hears Genny’s low whistle, the amused snicker she’s trying- and failing- to muffle.

Mrs. Grey, ever the optimist, calls a cheerful goodbye to Chris and Ashley as if nothing awkward has happened at all.

By the time they’re clear of the stalls, Lucy’s pulse has steadied. The air feels cooler, thinner, as though the fog itself decided to take pity and lift.

Tim doesn’t speak, though she can feel him glancing at her now and then, the ghost of a smirk hiding behind his restraint.

She pretends not to notice, still clutching the grocery list that now looks more like a prop than anything useful.

Somewhere ahead, Kojo barks, snapping the tension in half.

And Lucy, despite herself, exhales something close to a laugh. Maybe Genny was right about Tim having an influence on her.

---

They’d dropped off the goods at the Greys’ on their way back from the market- baskets of sugar, flour, butter, and a few jars of honey Mrs. Grey swore was the secret to every good bake. Genny had insisted she stay behind to help Luna sort through them, corralling the boys in the kitchen before they could steal spoonfuls from the sugar tin.

Tim had promised to come back for them after prepping for lunch, and so it was just him, Lucy, and Kojo heading down the narrow lane toward the lighthouse.

The world had shifted since morning- the stormy haze replaced by a kind of heavy calm. The fog still clung to the cliffs, curling through the fields like smoke, but the light was stronger now, filtered gold through the drifting grey. The path was slick in places, puddles reflecting the soft sway of the sky.

Kojo trotted ahead, nose low, tail swishing lazily from side to side. Every so often he’d glance back to make sure they were still following, his dark coat glinting damp under the weak sun.

Behind him, Lucy and Tim walked in easy rhythm. The baskets had been lightened by what they’d dropped off, yet the silence between them felt heavier than before- not uncomfortable, exactly, but charged. Lucy could still feel the heat of the market clinging to her skin, her pulse occasionally catching whenever she replayed Ashley’s too-bright smile in her head.

Tim walked with his usual steady gait, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, gaze flicking to the sea where gulls circled low over the waves.

For a while, the only sounds were their footsteps and the distant crash of surf. Then, abruptly- almost without realizing she was speaking- Lucy said,

“Who exactly is Ashley?”

Her voice came out sharper than she intended, cutting through the quiet.

Tim blinked, looking over, caught off guard. “What?”

Lucy immediately looked away, pretending to adjust her scarf. “You know,” she said, too casually. “Ashley. From the market.”

There was a beat of silence- and then, slowly, amusement flickered across his face.

“You mean,” he said, his tone a drawl, “the woman you just scared half to death?”

Lucy turned on him, eyes widening. “I didn’t scare anyone. She looked like she wanted to climb into your basket.”

Tim hummed, clearly unconvinced. His mouth twitched. “Right. You definitely didn’t scare off Chris either.”

She stared at him, scandalized- then broke into a reluctant laugh. “Oh, shut up,” she muttered, bumping his shoulder as she walked. “I was trying to keep Genny from asking questions.”

That made him pause, confusion creasing his brow. “Questions?”

“About us,” she said simply, like it should’ve been obvious.

It took a second- and then he gave a quiet, “Oh.”

The sound was small, but something about it made Lucy frown. The air shifted again, like a door closing somewhere far away.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “You sound disappointed,” she teased, trying to lighten it, but her voice came out softer than she meant.

Tim’s lips curved, barely there. “I’m not.”

Lucy wasn’t sure she believed that, but she let it go. They walked in silence for a few steps, the road curving gently toward the cliffs. Kojo barked at a seagull that swooped too low, shaking off the tension that hung between them.

Then Lucy spoke again, her voice brighter this time, deliberately playful. “Either way, I should’ve told Ashley off the first day we met her.”

Tim’s brow lifted. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Lucy said, gesturing with a hand. “Did you see the way her face turned when she saw Kojo? Like she’d just spotted a demon in fur.”

That earned her a real smile- not the small half-curve, but the quiet, genuine one that softened the lines of his face. “She does that with everyone she can’t control,” he said.

Lucy huffed, clearly satisfied that she’d made her point. “Good thing she can’t control you then.”

“Or you,” Tim replied easily.

The words sat between them, simple but heavier than they sounded. Lucy looked away first, cheeks warming. “Oh I’d love to see her try.”

Tim chuckled under his breath- that low, unguarded sound that made something flutter behind her ribs.

They walked on, steps syncing up again. The road narrowed as it neared the cliffs, the air cooler, thick with salt. Kojo had slowed down now, circling puddles instead of barreling through them, his fur shining under the golden mist.

Lucy adjusted the strap of the basket against her hip, glancing sideways at Tim. “So… you really don’t like her?”

Tim looked faintly amused, like he wasn’t sure how this had turned into an interrogation. “Ashley?”

“Yeah.”

“No,” he said simply. Then, after a beat, “She talks too much.”

Lucy grinned despite herself. “You don’t say.”

“She once cornered me for thirty minutes about curtain fabric,” he added, shaking his head. “And that was after I told her I didn’t even own curtains.”

Lucy burst out laughing, the sound echoing down the fog-damp lane. “God, you poor thing.”

He shot her a sideways glance, mock-dry. “Thanks for your sympathy.”

“Oh, it’s there,” she said, still smiling. “Buried deep, somewhere under all this second-hand embarrassment.”

Tim’s mouth twitched again- the kind of smile he never gave easily but couldn’t quite hide around her. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just walked, his gaze softening as he watched her from the corner of his eye. Lucy felt it- that quiet pull that had started weeks ago, the way he looked at her sometimes when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. It made her heart race in a way she didn’t want to analyze.

To distract herself, she knocked her hip gently against his. “Come on, lighten up. You look like you’re walking to your own execution.”

Tim blinked, surprised by the contact- then let out a quiet laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

They fell into silence again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. It was… easy. The kind that came with understanding, with the soft edges of something unspoken but safe.

By the time the lighthouse came into view, the fog had thinned to a pale veil over the cliffs. The sea stretched wide and silver below them, sunlight breaking through in shards. Kojo trotted ahead, barking once as if to announce their return. Lucy’s hand brushed against Tim’s when she adjusted the basket again, and neither of them pulled away.

Midday light spilled over the path, turning the wet stones gold. Lucy glanced at Tim, his profile sharp against the sea, and smiled quietly to herself. Maybe this- walking home with him, teasing and bickering and knowing exactly when to fall into silence- felt more like peace than anything she’d known in a long time.

The fog might never lift completely here, but somehow, it didn’t matter.

Chapter Text

By the time the week rolled toward the village bake sale, the air around Stonington had shifted. The fog rolled in thicker each morning, smudging the line where sea met sky. The wind that came in off the cliffs had turned damp, smelling faintly of salt and pine sap. It was the kind of weather that clung to your sleeves, that made you light the stove a little earlier and pour the tea a little stronger.

Genny had assumed at first that the small sniffles coming from Austin were just that- sniffles. an ordinary cold. The boy had spent every spare hour outside since they’d arrived, turning rocks over, chasing Kojo through puddles, testing how deep the mud could really go before Tim caught him and scolded him back to the porch. A runny nose was practically a medal of honor for someone his age.

But by the third night, when he’d woken her in the middle of the dark with a trembling hand and a whimper before throwing up everything he’d eaten, her stomach had dropped. The village was quiet at that hour no cars, no dogs barking, only the sound of the tide below the cliffs. By the time morning crawled over the horizon, the color had drained from her face too, Austin feverish, pale, and limp in her bed. Genny came down the stairs looking like the living dead- hair in a frazzled bun, eyes shadowed, moving on pure caffeine and maternal instinct.

Tim had taken one look at her and said, “Go back to bed before you collapse,” he’d said, with the tact of a man who’d been awake all night too She’d tried to protest, half-heartedly muttering about having things to do, but he’d folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. Genny lasted two seconds before surrendering.

So she went- reluctantly- while Tim stood in the kitchen with his sleeves rolled up, a pot of chicken soup simmering on the stove.

Much to his dismay, Austin turned out to be a miniature version of himself- stubborn to the bone. The worst of the sickness had passed by morning, but now the boy flatly refused to eat. The soup sat untouched, steam curling faintly against the light.

Lucy had been walking past, a basket of folded laundry in hand, when she caught Tim’s voice drifting from the boys’ room- softer than usual. She slowed, curiosity tugging her steps until she reached the open door.

She leaned against the doorway, unseen for the moment. Tyler was asleep in the far bed, exhausted from his brother’s midnight crying. Austin was half sitting, half sinking into his pillows, cheeks flushed pink and eyes glassy. Tim sat beside him, the bowl of soup balanced in one hand, spoon in the other.

“C’mon, Austin,” Tim coaxed, his voice a low rumble. “You have to eat something. Just a little, huh?”

Austin’s face scrunched like he’d been offered poison. He shook his head, lips pressed stubbornly tight.

Lucy had to bite back a laugh. She lingered in the doorway for a heartbeat longer before finally stepping inside.

“Need a hand?” she asked, teasing.

Tim jumped a little, not having heard her come in. “Didn’t see you there.”

“Clearly.” She crossed the room and sat beside Austin’s bed, opposite him. “You’re losing the battle, huh?”

He sighed, muttering, “He’s worse than I was.”

“That’s impressive,” she murmured, taking the bowl from him. “Mind if I try?”

Tim gave her a skeptical look but handed it over anyway. “Be my guest.”

Austin sniffled, eyes widened, his flushed face turning a shade pinker at having Lucy's attention now.

Lucy stirred the soup slowly, her expression thoughtful, like she was about to share a secret. “You know,” she said, keeping her eyes on the bowl, “when your Uncle Tim wasn’t looking, I slipped a magic leaf in here.”

Austin blinked, startled. “Really?”

“Mhm.” She nodded solemnly. “It’s from a special plant. Gives people superpowers to get better faster. But-” she lifted the spoon to show a floating green leaf, “-you have to finish all the soup for it to work.”

Austin’s mouth fell open slightly in wonder.

Tim leaned in, squinting. “Magic leaf? That’s a-”

Lucy shot him a warning glance sharp enough to slice through steel.

He swallowed the rest of his sentence. “-a… very rare kind of leaf.”

Austin’s eyes widened even more, staring at the bay leaf. “Wow.”

Tim looked away, pressing his lips together to stop a laugh.

Lucy raised the spoonful of soup to Austin’s mouth, and to Tim’s astonishment, the boy leaned forward obediently and took the bite. He chewed, swallowed, then opened his mouth for more.

From the side, Tim gasped- genuinely- as Lucy wiped the corner of the boy’s mouth with a napkin like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Traitor,” he whispered under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear. “I used to change your nappies, man, and you pick her?”

Lucy burst out laughing before she could stop herself. Austin blinked between them, not quite sure what was funny but glad the mood had lightened.

Tim tried to look offended, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him. The faint scowl turned into a quiet smile that softened his whole face.

She fed him another spoonful, then another, telling him all sorts of ridiculous stories- about enchanted gardens and sleepy dragons, about how the leaf’s powers only worked on brave boys who didn’t make a fuss about the taste.

From the corner of his eye, Tim watched her- the way she spoke with easy warmth, how the corners of her mouth lifted when Austin laughed through his sniffles. The room that had felt heavy moments ago now felt lighter somehow.

By the time the bowl was half-empty, Austin’s eyelids were drooping, his stomach finally full. Lucy set the bowl aside and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, whispering something soft. Tim watched in silence, the ghost of that earlier smile still hovering.

Tim shook his head, still smiling faintly. “I can’t believe that worked.”

“Magic leaf works every time,” she said lightly.

For a moment, the room was still- the only sound was the waves breaking faintly against the cliffs. The light through the curtains was dim and golden, and Lucy, with her soft voice and steady hands, looked like she belonged exactly where she was.

---

The same week- barely a day after Austin’s fever had finally broken and he was back to chasing Kojo around the kitchen- Tim caught it.

It started small. A cough here. A sniff there. Then, by the time he showed up for dinner that evening, he looked like he’d gone ten rounds with the flu and the flu had won by knockout. His eyes were bleary, his nose pink at the edges, and his voice came out like gravel dragged across sandpaper.

He plopped himself into his chair, shoulders slouched, and muttered something about being fine- which fooled absolutely no one.

“Fine?” Genny echoed, raising an eyebrow as she poured tea. “You look like death in sweatpants.”

Tim only gave a weak scowl, too tired to argue.

“Go to bed,” Genny said firmly, the tone of someone who’d dealt with his brand of stubbornness for decades. “We’ll bring your food up.”

“I’m fine,” he tried again, rubbing his temple.

“Sure,” she muttered, shoving his shoulder lightly as he stood. “And I’m the Queen of England.”

Lucy bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

Tim grumbled something under his breath- definitely not English- but didn’t resist when Genny guided him toward the stairs, muttering all the while about how Austin had been less difficult.

---

By the time Lucy and Genny carried the tray of soup up later- after the kids were fed and Kojo had been let out into the fog-damp yard- the lighthouse was quiet. Only the sound of waves and the faint creak of floorboards filled the silence.

Tim’s room was dim, a single lamp burning low by the nightstand. He was half-buried under his blanket, eyes closed but clearly not asleep. His hair stuck up in the wrong direction, and there was a faint crease on his forehead, the kind that came with pretending he wasn’t miserable.

Genny set the tray down on his bedside table with the gentleness of someone used to sick men and their dramatics.

“Alright, soldier,” she said dryly. “Soup’s here.”

Tim cracked an eye open. “Thanks.”

Genny put the back of her hand to his forehead, ignoring his weak attempt to swat her away. “You’re burning up,” she declared.

He groaned. “I’m dying.”

Lucy snorted. “Didn’t you just say you were fine?”

“I was fine,” he muttered, turning his face into the pillow. “Now I’m dying.”

Genny rolled her eyes and looked at Lucy. “He’s all yours,” she said, standing. “I’ll go make sure Tyler and Austin haven’t set the kitchen on fire.”

Lucy blinked. “What?”

“You fed Austin, didn’t you?” Genny smirked. “Seems only fair you handle this one too.”

Before Lucy could protest, she was gone, the door closing softly behind her.

Tim peeked one eye open again. “You don’t have to-”

“Save it,” Lucy interrupted, already taking a seat on his bed. “Sit up.”

He hesitated, blinking at her. “You’re serious?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

He sighed but obeyed, pushing himself up against the headboard. The blanket slipped down his arms, and she noticed his shoulders looked smaller somehow- less indestructible, more human.

Lucy stirred the soup, steam curling around her fingers.

“Open up,” she said in the same calm, bossy tone she’d used with Austin.

He squinted. “You’re not gonna tell me there’s a magic leaf in it, are you?”

“Depends,” she said, feigning innocence. “Would you eat it faster if I did?”

He huffed a laugh that turned into a cough, pressing his wrist to his mouth.

Lucy waited, then spooned up a small portion and held it out. Tim looked at her for a long moment before leaning forward to take it, the faintest smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“See?” she said softly. “Not so bad.”

“Not yet,” he mumbled. “Give it time.”

“Genny was right, Austin was much better.”

They fell into a rhythm- Lucy feeding him a few spoonfuls at a time, Tim pretending he didn’t appreciate it while clearly doing just that. The quiet between them wasn’t awkward. It was the kind that hummed softly, like the waves hitting the rocks below.

After a while, Tim looked at her sidelong. “So no magic leaves for me?”

Lucy grinned, fishing in the bowl until she found a floating bay leaf. She lifted it out with the spoon and said, “Oh, ye of little faith.”

That earned an actual laugh- rough and short but real- and she couldn’t help laughing too.

“Careful,” she teased. “Wouldn’t want to waste your last breath on sarcasm.”

He smirked weakly, eyes half-lidded. “If this is my last meal, at least it’s made with magic.”

She rolled her eyes but the warmth in her chest said otherwise.

When the bowl was nearly empty, Tim leaned back, exhaling through his nose. His voice had gone quiet, heavy with sleep. “You really don’t have to take care of me just because Genny's there, you know.”

“I know,” she said softly, setting the bowl aside. “But I want to.”

For a moment, neither spoke. The lamplight painted everything in shades of gold — his tired face, her loose hair, the steam fading from the bowl.

“Thanks,” he murmured finally, eyes fluttering shut.

Lucy smiled faintly, pulling the blanket up over his chest. “Sleep, tough guy.”

Kojo snored softly at the foot of the bed, tail twitching. Outside, the fog had thickened into velvet, wrapping the old lighthouse in a cocoon of quiet warmth. Inside, there was nothing but the sound of the sea, the crackle of the lamp, and the steady rhythm of breathing- two people who’d never quite planned to care for each other, doing exactly that anyway.

Chapter Text

The island seemed to know what time of year it was.

After weeks of relentless winds and sideways rain, the weather had finally softened its edges, the air turning crisper but gentler, the storms making way for brighter skies and slanted beams of winter sun. It was as if even the sea had decided to settle for a while, stretching quiet and glassy under the pale morning light. The kind of stillness that made you think the island itself was waiting for something.

In this case- the annual Christmas Fair.

For a week now, the little village had been quietly transforming. The main street that usually smelled faintly of salt and engine oil now carried the mingled scents of cinnamon, butter, and woodsmoke. Wreaths appeared on every weathered door, tinsel clung stubbornly to window frames, and someone had even strung fairy lights across the fence by the post office- uneven, yes, but bright enough to make the whole street look a little less lonely.

Lucy had never seen the island like this.

She and Genny stood outside the Grey’s cottage early that morning, the sea air nipping at their noses and the promise of chaos ahead. They’d volunteered- well, been volunteered- to help Luna Grey bake enough pastries and bread to feed half the island and possibly a small invading army. Inside, the kitchen already smelled like heaven. Mr. Grey had already left for the market square to get the stall sorted before the sale ahead.

“Morning, girls!” Luna called, her tone cheery and warm as always. She had her sleeves rolled to her elbows, flour streaking the side of her face like war paint. “You’re just in time. Hope you brought strong arms and better patience.”

Genny grinned. “We brought both Mrs. Grey, and Lucy even brought Tim's apron. Very professional.”

Lucy rolled her eyes but tied it on anyway, earning a pleased nod from Luna.

“You two can start with the pastry mix,” Luna said, handing Lucy a bowl nearly the size of her torso. “And for heaven’s sake, call me Luna, not Mrs. Grey. Makes me sound like I should be knitting in a corner somewhere.”

“You don’t knit?” Lucy asked, already elbow-deep in flour.

“Only when I’m angry,” Luna said with a smirk. “Last time I ended up with a scarf long enough to strangle a man. Wade took that as a warning.”

Genny snorted, nearly choking on laughter, while Lucy tried, and failed, to keep a straight face.

“So, you’ve lived here all your life?” Genny asked once the laughter died down, voice laced with genuine curiosity.

“Born, raised, married, and probably buried here one day,” Luna replied easily, dusting her hands off. “The island keeps you. Some leave, sure, but most of us end up finding our way back.”

Lucy smiled faintly at that, her hands working rhythmically through the dough. She couldn’t tell if it sounded comforting or terrifying.

They fell into a steady rhythm after that- Luna mixing, Genny cleaning up, Lucy rolling and cutting shapes into perfect little pieces. Every so often, Genny or Luna would throw in a teasing comment, mostly aimed at Lucy, who seemed to attract mockery like sugar attracts ants.

“So,” Luna said at one point, slyly, “how’s that lighthouse of yours? Hopefully still standing after the last storm.”

“Barely,” Lucy replied. “Tim’s been patching leaks for weeks. I’m just there for moral support.”

“Moral support,” Genny repeated, smirking. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

Lucy threw a piece of dough at her. It missed by a mile.

By the time they were done, the counters were stacked with trays of golden pastries and Christmas bread dusted with sugar. The kitchen looked like a battlefield of flour and laughter, and none of them seemed to mind.

---

The next morning dawned brighter than anyone could’ve hoped for.

They’d managed- somehow- to load all the baked goods into Mr. Grey's old truck. It rattled and complained all the way to the village square, but it got the job done.

The square itself looked almost unrecognizable.

Brightly colored stalls lined the cobblestones, each decorated with ribbons, pine branches, and lights that flickered in the early sunlight. The air was alive with chatter and the smell of freshly baked bread mingling with roasting chestnuts and coffee. The harbor, usually silent and nearly forgotten, was alive too- a handful of boats docked nearby as visitors from neighboring islands came ashore, drawn by the promise of sweets and song.

Christmas spirit- if there ever was such a thing- had arrived in full and Lucy was mesmerized.

Lucy, Genny, and Luna worked together to arrange their stall. Rows of pastries glistened under the weak sun- fruit tarts, iced gingerbread, sugared buns, and loaves wrapped neatly in twine. Genny was all efficiency, arranging things like she was running a small empire, while Luna cheerfully handed out samples to anyone who passed.

Tim, meanwhile, had taken it upon himself to “make sure the stall’s steady.”

Translation: fix every hinge, check every nail, and stand there looking quietly competent while pretending not to notice Lucy watching him. Outnumbered by the ladies this year, he claimed he won't have much to do with the food.

He’d also agreed to keep an eye on the boys- Tyler and Austin- while Genny and the Greys ran to pick up a few last-minute supplies.

Big mistake.

The boys had been buzzing since sunrise, too much sugar and too much excitement running through their veins. Tim had told them three times to stay close, and for a while, it seemed like they were listening. Until they weren’t.

It happened fast- one moment, laughter, the next, a thud and a sharp cry.

Tim spun around to see Austin sitting on the cobblestones, eyes wide, lower lip trembling, a small scrape on his knee already turning pink.

“Oh, for-” Tim muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

Before he could even take a step, Lucy was already there.

She knelt beside the boy, her voice soft and low. “Hey, hey, what happened? Took a tumble?”

Austin sniffled, nodding miserably.

“Oh no, that's definitely a battle wound,” she said, mock-serious, inspecting his knee. “You’ll live, I promise.”

Tim stood back, arms crossed, watching as Lucy somehow soothed the kid in under thirty seconds. She tore a bit of fabric from some leftover wrapping, wet it with a splash of water from a bottle, and gently cleaned the scrape. Austin’s tears dried almost instantly, replaced with wide-eyed admiration.

“There,” she said, smiling. “Good as new. Braver than your uncle, even.”

“Hey,” Tim said, feigning offense.

Tyler snorted. “She’s right, though.”

Lucy grinned at him, and for a brief second, Tim forgot how to breathe.

Austin clung to her after that, small hands gripping her coat like she might vanish if he let go.

“I’m starting to think he’s milking this for your attention,” Tim muttered later, as Lucy adjusted one of the pastry trays with Austin perched against her hip.

“Shh,” she said, not looking at him. “He’s wounded.”

“Barely.”

“Still.”

Tim shook his head, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Tyler caught it, of course, and smirked knowingly.

---

By the time Genny and the couple returned, the stall was running smoothly again- Lucy chatting softly with a few neighboring vendors, Austin still glued to her side, and Tim pretending to be occupied with some imaginary problem in the table’s hinges.

When Austin spotted his mother, he immediately pointed to his knee, letting out a dramatic little whine. “Mama, look! Lucy fixed it!”

“Oh, did she now?” Genny said, biting back a grin.

Lucy blushed, half laughing, half embarrassed.

Tim only muttered, “Told you,” under his breath, earning a light shove from her elbow.

The rest of the morning carried on in a blur of warmth and laughter, the kind that settled in your chest and refused to leave. And somewhere between the scent of sugar and sea air, Tim found himself looking over at Lucy again- sleeves rolled up, hair falling loose, smiling like she belonged there all along. For once, he didn’t bother pretending not to.

Chapter Text

The village square was a burst of warmth against the pale fog that lingered over the island that morning- the weather had decided to behave for the annual Christmas fair. Lanterns hung between the old brick buildings, flickering like captured stars under the thin veil of fog. Garlands draped from one stall to another, dusted with glitter that caught the faint sunlight. The air smelled of Christmas- sweet enough to make anyone stop and breathe deeper.

By noon, the crowd had thickened. Families wandered from stall to stall, arms full of steaming drinks and paper-wrapped pastries. Laughter rolled over the cobblestone, tangled with the sound of bells, chatter, and carols from the church choir in the distance. Luna Grey’s stall stood near the center- a warm, busy blur of reds and golds, with a banner that read 'Grey’s Bakes & Blessings'.

Lucy and Genny moved in perfect sync behind the counter. Lucy arranged gingerbread houses while Genny tied ribbons onto small bags of sugar cookies. Mrs. Grey- Luna, as she insisted everyone call her- worked the crowd with easy grace, handing out mince pies and good cheer in equal measure. Tim, meanwhile, had taken it upon himself to make sure the stall didn’t collapse under the pouring crowd. He tightened ropes, secured boards, and stacked boxes in the back with Wade, a silent guard against the tide of customers.

Everything was perfectly serene in its own way. At least until Chris showed up.

Tim saw him before Lucy did. Tall, with that self-satisfied smile that had grated on him since the day they met. He strolled up to the stall with both hands shoved into his coat pockets, looking like someone who’d shown up purely to be admired.

“Hey, Lucy!” Chris greeted, voice bright over the crowd. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.” His determined stride as he pushed through the crowd and reached their stall told Tim otherwise.

He watched as Lucy turned, caught off guard- but her polite nature kicked in before her hesitation could show. “Oh- hi! Chris. Yeah, I’m helping Luna with the stall today.”

“Everything smells amazing,” he said, leaning closer to the table. “You make these yourself?”

“Some of them, yeah,” Lucy said, smile widening a little. “The fruitcake’s Luna’s secret recipe, though. You’d love it- she soaks the fruit in brandy for days.”

Chris chuckled, and for a moment Tim forgot how to breathe.

He was standing just behind her, sleeves rolled to his elbows, flour on his wrist from where he’d carried the boxes earlier. Watching Chris lean in- the way Lucy’s eyes brightened as she spoke- something ugly and unfamiliar started to crawl beneath his ribs. Chris didn't deserve her smile.

Jealousy wasn’t an emotion he liked admitting to. He didn’t do jealousy.

But there it was, hot and tight and sour, coiling in his chest.

He busied himself by straightening the baskets, muttering something about inventory that no one heard. Lucy kept talking- her voice rising just slightly above the hum of the crowd- and Tim found himself cataloguing every man who lingered longer than necessary at the stall. The group of tourists by the honey stand, the farmer who’d stopped by for bread but left with a grin, the young guy who asked Lucy for directions even though the signboard was right behind him.

By the time Genny returned with Luna after a supply run, Tim’s jaw was set like stone.

“Are you okay?” Lucy asked softly later, when the rush had calmed.

“Fine,” Tim said, a bit too fast.

“You’ve been quiet,” she pressed, concern crinkling her brow. “Usually you’d at least make fun of Genny’s sales pitch.”

He gave her a half-hearted smile. “Guess I’m out of material.”

“Tim,” she said again, voice firmer now. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, his eyes flicked toward the corner where Chris was still hovering by another stall, chatting with a group of men- though his gaze kept drifting back toward her.

Lucy followed his glance, then looked back at Tim. “Oh,” she said softly. “Is this about Chris?”

“I said I’m fine,” he replied, tone sharp enough to cut the air between them.

Her brows drew together. “You’re clearly not.”

“God, you talk and talk-” The words left him before he could stop them, low and bitter, laced with exhaustion and something else he didn’t want to name. "-don’t you ever stop?"

Lucy froze.

He hadn’t yelled. The fair was too loud for anyone else to hear. But she heard- every word, every edge of irritation that cut deeper than he’d meant.

And it was like the air changed around them.

Her face fell- just slightly, but enough. A flicker of hurt passed through her eyes, so quick most wouldn’t catch it. But Tim did. He felt it like a physical ache in his chest.

Lucy swallowed, the corner of her mouth twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Right,” she said quietly. “I’ll… stop talking then.”

Before he could say another word, she turned back to the stall, busying herself with stacking tins that didn’t need stacking.

Tim stood there, still, the noise of the fair blurring around him. The taste of regret hit almost instantly. He’d seen that look before- that shuttered silence, the way her shoulders drew inward like she was trying to disappear. Only this time, it hit him harder, because it was his words that had hurt her.

He wanted to take it back. Every word. Every tone.

But she wouldn’t meet his eyes again for the rest of the afternoon.

---

She shouldn’t have cared that much.

He was tired. They all were. The fair had been chaotic, the crowd relentless, her cheeks hurt from smiling so long- but it wasn’t the exhaustion that made her chest sting.

It was the reminder.

The last time she’d heard words like that- talk too much- it had been from his mouth too. Only then, he’d been talking about Ashley.

“I don’t like her,” he’d said, weeks ago. “She talks too much.”

And Lucy, in that moment, had been foolishly grateful. Grateful that it wasn’t her. Now, she wasn’t so sure anymore.

She stole a glance at him as he adjusted the ropes on the tent, his brows drawn, mouth tight. By sunset, her throat burned from holding it all in.

---

The fair wound down slowly. The light softened into gold, the fog settling again as people packed up their goods. Laughter faded into tired chatter. The square, once bursting with noise, now hummed with the quiet of satisfaction and leftover warmth.

Genny offered to walk the boys home, promising to get them cleaned up and fed while Lucy and Tim stayed back to pack the remaining boxes.

It was quieter now- just them, the fading glow of lanterns, and the soft crunch of boots over gravel.

Tim stacked trays in the back of the truck, the air between them thick with everything unsaid. Lucy tied ribbons that didn’t need tying.

Finally, he broke the silence.

“Lucy.”

She looked up, surprised by the sound of her name.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he said, voice low, rough around the edges. “Earlier. At the stall.”

She exhaled, the breath clouding in front of her. “It’s fine. We were all tired.”

“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “It’s not fine. You didn’t deserve that.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes flicking down. “Then why’d you say it?”

He sighed, hand raking through his hair. “I don’t know. All those guys talking to you- I didn’t like how easy it was for them. How you smiled back. When I said it, I meant if you'd stop talking to them.”

“I was being polite, Tim.”

“I know,” he said, frustrated. “I know that. You didn’t even notice, did you? The way they were looking at you?”

She blinked, taken aback. “What? No. I- God, I really didn’t.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Didn’t think you did.”

The silence stretched again, softer this time.

Then Lucy tilted her head, her tone quiet but firm. “You don’t get to pick who I talk to, you know.”

That hit harder than she meant it to.

He nodded once, slow. “I know.”

Something flickered across her face- guilt, maybe. She stepped closer, voice gentler now. “But… thanks. For watching out. I didn’t realize half of them were- well, whatever they were doing.”

He looked at her then, really looked, and some of the tension in his shoulders finally eased.

“That's what friends do.” he said softly.

They shared a small smile- hesitant but real. The kind that carried both apology and forgiveness without either of them saying the words.

As they loaded the last box, the fog thickened again, curling around the stalls and the dim glow of lanterns. Somewhere down the pier, someone started humming a carol.

Lucy pulled her scarf tighter around her neck and glanced at Tim, who was watching her with that same quiet, unreadable expression.

“Come on,” she said, voice light again. “Let’s go home before the fog eats us.”

He chuckled, the sound low, warm- and maybe, just maybe, a little bit like hope.

---

The fog had grown heavier by the time they left the square. The laughter and chatter from the fair faded behind them, replaced by the low hush of waves hitting the distant rocks. The lanterns that lined the road flickered weakly, their light barely cutting through the mist. It was that hour between evening and night when the world went soft- when sound carried farther, and even the sea seemed to whisper instead of roar.

Lucy walked beside Tim, her boots crunching against the damp gravel. Neither of them spoke for a while. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable exactly. Just… delicate. Like if she breathed too hard, it might shatter.

Her hands were tucked into her coat pockets, the cool air brushing against her cheeks. The mist made everything feel closer, quieter. Even the moonlight seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once, turning Tim’s profile into something gentler- softer than the man she’d seen snapping ropes and stacking crates hours ago.

He slowed his pace once, glancing at her. “You’ve been quiet.”

Lucy blinked, caught off guard. “Oh.” She forced a small laugh. “Sorry, I guess I’m just tired.”

He didn’t buy it. She could tell by the slight tilt of his head, the way his eyes lingered on her face.

Then she saw the moment it clicked for him- that quiet realization flashing across his expression, like a light turning on in the fog.

“Lucy,” he said softly. “Hey.”

She hummed in response but didn’t look up.

“ You know I didn’t mean it. What I said earlier.”

She stopped walking. The fog curled around them, muting the rest of the world. “I know.”

“I really didn’t,” he said again, voice lower this time. “You don’t… talk too much. You talk just enough.”

That drew a faint, surprised laugh out of her. “That sounds like something you’d say to Austin.”

He smiled- just barely-but it reached his eyes. “Then I’ll rephrase. I... like when you talk.”

She turned to look at him then, really look at him. His hair was messy from the wind, his coat collar damp with mist, but his eyes- steady and blue- were painfully sincere.

“Even when I don’t stop?” she asked, teasing now, her voice still quiet and surprised.

“Especially when you don’t stop,” he said, without hesitation.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The fog swirled around their feet, the faint light from the distant lighthouse cutting a pale line through the darkness. Lucy could hear the soft crash of waves below the cliffs, the gentle creak of a boat rocking somewhere out of sight.

She started walking again, slower this time, her shoulder brushing his as she did. “You know,” she said lightly, “most people would beg me to shut up after an hour.”

“Yeah, well,” Tim said, glancing down at her with the ghost of a smile, “I’m not most people. Plus I learned not to, the hard way.”

That made her grin- wide and real this time. “That’s true.”

They walked on, the silence now filled with something warmer. The path wound upward toward the cliffs, where the lighthouse beam swept lazily across the sea. Every few seconds, its light found them- two faint figures on the narrow road, their shadows stretching long and thin behind them.

Lucy looked ahead, the sight of home glowing faintly through the fog- the lighthouse standing tall, a steady pulse of light cutting through the grey. It looked almost like it was waiting for them.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” she asked suddenly.

“Of what?”

“The fog. The quiet. The same view every day.”

He thought about it for a moment. “No. It’s peaceful. Predictable.”

“Predictable’s nice,” she said softly. “But sometimes it’s lonely, too.”

Tim looked at her then, the corners of his mouth tugging upward just a little. “Not anymore.”

Her breath caught, just slightly. She didn’t reply. Didn’t need to. The warmth that bloomed in her chest was answer enough.

The rest of the walk passed in easy silence. Lucy found herself talking again- not much, just small things. About the fair, about Luna’s pies selling out first, about how Genny nearly started a bidding war over gingerbread. Tim didn’t interrupt. He didn’t even pretend to be annoyed. He just listened, his hand brushing hers once, briefly, like an accident that wasn’t really one.

When they finally reached the lighthouse steps, the fog had thinned enough to reveal a faint shimmer of stars above the sea. Lucy stopped at the top, turning back for a moment. The island below was quiet now, dotted with a few last lights from the village.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” she murmured.

“Yeah,” he said, but he wasn’t looking at the view.

Lucy smiled faintly, tugging her scarf loose. “You really don’t mind, do you?”

“What?”

“If I never shut up.”

Tim huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head. “If you stop, I’ll probably think something’s wrong.”

Her grin widened. “Good. Because I was starting to think you’d go back to pretending I annoy you.”

“Oh no, you definitely annoy me,” he said, his tone deadpan- but the warmth in his eyes betrayed him.

She bumped her shoulder lightly against his. “I’d hate to lose my charm.”

The wind off the ocean swept between them, cool and salt-sweet. For a long moment, they stood there — two figures in the fading fog, bathed in the quiet rhythm of the waves below and the lighthouse light above. Lucy finally sighed, her voice a whisper. “Thanks for walking with me.”

Tim smiled, small and genuine. “You’d probably walk into a ditch without me.”

“Probably,” she admitted.

He turned toward the door, holding it open for her. “Come on. Let’s get you inside before you turn into an icicle.”

She laughed softly as she stepped past him, the warmth of the lighthouse spilling out to meet the cold. He smiled to himself as he followed her inside, the door closing behind them with a quiet thud. Outside, the beam of the lighthouse swept across the fog once more, steady and sure- like a heartbeat keeping time with the quiet rhythm they’d fallen into.

And for the first time that day since Chris' appearance, everything felt right again.

Chapter Text

Lucy’s amazement at the island only grew with each new day. Somehow, it had never looked more alive.

Garlands of evergreen wound around the lampposts like a soft, fragrant ribbon, and warm lights stretched from stall to stall, wrapped around lampposts, their glow spilling across the stones. A massive pine tree stood in the square’s heart- proudly imperfect, leaning ever so slightly to the right- but dressed to perfection. Its branches dripped with vintage ornaments, gold and red glass baubles, some chipped from age, others shining new. Someone had tied a lopsided red bow at the top, and somehow, it made the whole thing lovelier.

The air hummed with carols from an old record player perched at the center of it all, the faint crackle of its needle only adding to the charm. Lanterns flickered against the fog that rolled in from the cliffs, softening everything- the laughter, the chatter, the music- until it all felt like a dream made of candlelight and cinnamon. Lucy wasn't aware such Christmas magic existed outside of books and movies.

Kojo darted between legs, tail a blur, barking happily every time a child waved a sparkler too close. The boys, Tyler and Austin, chased after him, cheeks flushed red, their scarves unraveling behind them like ribbons. Lucy stood by the counter of small stall serving all sorts of delicacies, cheeks warm from the heat of her hot chocolate in hand. She felt part of it- the village and it's chaos.

And across the square, she caught sight of Tim.

He was moving towards her, one hand shoved into his coat pocket, his expression somewhere between amused and reluctant. He turned eventually, scanning the crowd- and his gaze softened when it landed on her.

He still couldn’t believe he’d agreed to come.

Tim Bradford, who avoided gatherings like they carried contagious cheer, was standing in the middle of a Christmas fair. But when Genny had suggested they go- and Lucy had looked up at him with those eyes that held too much light for him to ever say no- he’d found himself giving in.

And now, watching her laugh with the villagers, her hair catching the light from the tree, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

Lucy’s mind, however, wasn’t entirely in the present. As she passed a tray of cookies to a child with mittens too big for his hands, her thoughts drifted back- to just a few days before, when the fair preparations had first begun.

---

She’d gone Christmas shopping with Genny and Jackson- an unlikely trio that somehow worked. Genny had taken the lead, arm linked with Lucy’s, already declaring that Tim and the boys needed proper gifts this year.

By the time they reached the small shops lining the market street, they’d split up to search for their treasures. Lucy had wandered through aisles filled with handmade crafts- knit scarves, carved trinkets, jars of jam- the kind of simple, heartfelt things that made this island what it was.

For the boys, she’d found little wooden boats, hand-painted and charmingly uneven. For Genny, a cozy, floral-embossed wool scarf.

For Tim… well. The gloves had caught her first- sturdy, dark brown leather, lined with fleece. Practical and warm. Very Tim. She’d hesitated before buying them, unsure if it was too personal, then smiled to herself. He’ll pretend he doesn’t care, but he’ll wear them every day. Next came the sketchbook- simple, with a textured navy cover and thick pages that smelled faintly of paper and sea salt. She’d seen the way he sometimes stared out at the water, hands idle, thoughts far away. Maybe he’d fill it with notes, maybe with silence. Either way, it felt right and she simply couldn't pick between the two.

She was on her way back to meet the others when something in a shop window caught her eye- a glint of brass under the soft glow of lights.

A compass.

Old-fashioned, tucked in a velvet-lined box, its lid etched with faint waves and a sunburst at the center. When she stepped closer, she saw the tiny inscription around the rim-
“May you always find your way home.”

She didn’t think twice. The woman behind the counter had smiled knowingly as Lucy paid. “For someone who tends to lose his way?” she’d asked kindly. Lucy had just smiled back. “Something like that.”

---

Back in the square, the sound of laughter and the distant pop of fireworks drew her from the memory.

It was nearly midnight now. The tree glittered brighter as more lights came alive, the village slowly gathering around it for the countdown. Somewhere behind her, Genny was laughing loudly at something Jackson said, their conversation echoing above the hum of the crowd.

And now beside her, Tim stood- tall, quiet, hands in his coat pockets, his breath visible in the cold air.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” she said softly, almost mockingly, watching his profile.

He glanced down, a ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. “Didn’t think I’d be here.”

She laughed, the sound light, and for a moment, he let himself enjoy it- the sight of her cheeks pink from the cold, the sound of her joy woven into the carols.

Then, almost without thinking, she whispered, “This is my first real Christmas.”

He blinked, turning to her. “Your parents are atheists?”

She shook her head, still smiling, though there was a tenderness in her eyes that softened him instantly. “They were always working on Christmas. Sometimes we’d have dinner late and call it a celebration, sometimes they’d forget altogether. But it never… felt like this.” Her gaze lingered on the crowd- on the children, the laughter, the warmth. “It never felt together.”

Tim’s chest tightened.

He didn’t speak for a while, just watched her- the way her expression flickered between nostalgia and quiet wonder. Then, quietly, he said, “When I was a kid, Genny and I would make these paper snowflakes every year. They always looked terrible, but Mom would hang them anyway. She said Christmas wasn’t supposed to be perfect- just together.”

Lucy’s eyes lifted to him, soft and shining. “That sounds… nice.”

He nodded once, his voice low. “It was.” Then, after a pause, “Guess I’m lucky I get to have that again now.”

She didn’t reply right away- just smiled, the corners of her mouth trembling slightly. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Me too.”

The air between them felt different now. Close. The kind of silence that didn’t need filling.

And then the church bells began to chime.

The crowd erupted in cheers- Merry Christmas! echoing across the square- and Lucy and Tim turned back toward the lights, toward the laughter. But the moment lingered, tucked between them like a secret neither dared touch.

---

By the time they left, the fog had thickened, curling low over the cobblestones as they walked home under the fading glow of the street lamps. Tim carried a very drowsy Tyler in his arms, the boy’s small hand fisted in his coat, and Lucy walked beside him, clutching a tin of leftover cookies. Ahead of them, Genny carried Austin, fast asleep from exhaustion.

By the time they reached the lighthouse, Tyler’s head had fallen against Tim’s shoulder, and Kojo had already raced ahead, tail wagging furiously. Inside, the house was warm- a soft fire still glowing in the hearth, the faint scent of pine and sugar lingering in the air.

They moved quietly, setting down the sleeping boys in their room, then tiptoeing down to the small tree they’d put up a few nights ago- crooked and charming, much like the one in the village square.

Lucy placed her wrapped gifts under the branches, biting back a smile as she saw Tim do the same. Their fingers brushed briefly, and the touch lingered longer than either expected.

“Santa works late,” she whispered.

“Guess we do too,” he murmured back.

They both laughed softly, the sound swallowed by the hush of the lighthouse.

Kojo curled up by the fire as if keeping watch, and for a moment, the world outside didn’t exist. Just the faint sound of the sea, the flicker of the lights, and the warmth of being exactly where they were.

---

Christmas morning, Lucy woke to shrieks and muffled laughter downstairs.

Tyler’s delighted shout of “Santa came!” echoed through the hallways, followed by Austin’s squeal of discovery. She groaned softly, pulling the blanket over her face before deciding to go join the excitement. Heading down, she found Tim already awake- hair slightly tousled, a rare, easy smile on his face.

“Morning,” he said.

“Barely.”

They followed the sound of chaos into the living room, where the boys were already knee-deep in wrapping paper. Genny appeared moments later with coffee, looking far too awake for someone who’d been up past midnight.

Lucy sat cross-legged by the tree, watching the boys tear into their gifts with pure joy. She glanced at Tim, surprised when the boys unwrapped toys he must’ve bought quietly sometime she hadn’t noticed.

Soon enough, the adults were handed their own presents. Genny opened hers first- a scarf from Lucy and a delicate brooch from Tim, shaped like a daisy, its petals made from tiny seashells.

Lucy’s turn came next. Genny’s gift was a cozy cardigan, the kind of soft that made her melt a little. She was still admiring it when Tim held out a small box.

Her brows furrowed. “You got me something too?”

He shrugged, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “Guess so.”

She opened it, taken aback although she knew she'd done the same for him- and her breath caught.

Nestled inside was a delicate necklace, a silver chain with a small pendant shaped like a crescent moon. Simple, elegant. Very her.

“Oh, Tim…”

“It’s not much,” he said quickly, almost defensive, but his eyes were searching hers.

“It’s perfect.”

Their gazes held- longer than they should’ve- until his voice came low. “Want me to put it on?”

She nodded once, wordless.

He stepped closer behind her, brushing her hair gently over her shoulder. His fingertips grazed her skin as he placed it, a spark spreading through her skin. She forgot how to breathe.

And then-

“Uncle Tim,” Austin piped up, tugging at his sleeve. He looked down at the little boy before moving to pick him up.

“Do you like Lucy?”

Lucy froze, still standing in the same position they were as she turned to face Tim.

Tim blinked. “What?”

Austin frowned, pointing an accusing finger at Tyler. “He said you like her, so she won’t like me back.”

Genny snorted, choking on her coffee.

Tim shot her a look before turning to Tyler who merely shrugs. Sighing, he turns back to the boy in his arms, his voice caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement.

“You better listen to your brother,” he said finally before taking a quick glance at Lucy.

Lucy couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out, though her heart thudded hard against her ribs. His tone wasn’t direct- but it wasn’t not either. She knew he said it for Genny’s sake, but a small part of her hoped it meant something more. As the laughter carried on around them, she felt her cheeks flush, a smile tugging at her lips.

Before the moment slipped away completely, she reached under the tree. “Actually,” she said softly, “I have something for you too.”

Tim looked surprised as she handed him the small, neatly wrapped box.

He eyed her softly as he opened it slowly, layer by layer- the gloves first, then the sketchbook- and finally, his eyes landed on the compass.

He turned it over in his hands, thumb brushing the etched sunburst. “This is…” He looked up, eyes flickering with something unreadable. “Lucy.”

“I saw it in a shop window,” she said quietly. “It reminded me of you. I know you don’t get lost easily, that's more on-brand for me but… I thought maybe it could remind you where home is.”

He stared at her for a long moment. Then, softly- almost to himself- “Guess I already found it.”

The words hung there, warm and fragile, before Genny’s voice cut through again- bright and teasing- about breakfast and burnt toast.

Lucy smiled, brushing her fingers over the compass in his hand one last time before turning to help.

Kojo barked once, circling the tree. Three new chew toys lay among the wrappings- one from Lucy, one from Genny and one from Tim.

Two extra gifts. The lighthouse was filled with more than just a few extra gifts this year.

Chapter Text

The morning came slow. Not in the lazy way the days at the lighthouse sometimes did, but with that kind of Christmas hush that made the world feel softer. Light spilled through the thin curtains, warm and golden, finding its way across the main hall- over stray ribbons from the opened gifts, over Kojo’s tail curled like a comma near the fire, and over the small, lopsided tree that looked almost proud of itself.

The house smelled faintly of warm spices and something buttery from the kitchen. Lucy leaned against the counter, still in her flannel pajamas, holding a chipped mug between her palms. The boys had already run themselves breathless tearing through wrapping paper, and now, the soft murmur of cartoons filled the space. Tim was beside her, hair damp from a shower, sleeves rolled up as he buttered toast with the kind of precision that made her smile.

“Cereal and toast for Christmas breakfast,” she teased lightly, her voice still rough from sleep. “Truly the feast of kings.”

Tim smirked, spreading another neat layer across the bread. “Hey, I made sure we had the fancy butter this time.”

She arched a brow. “The one that says imported?”

“The very same.”

Lucy laughed quietly and reached for the coffee pot, pouring herself another cup. There was something almost tender in how ordinary it all felt- the clink of cutlery, the occasional spark of the fire, Tim’s quiet hum as he moved around the kitchen. He passed her a plate without needing to ask what she wanted on it.

They ate near the window, the ocean stretching out in its winter calm beyond the cliffs. The boys’ laughter drifted from the next room. At one point, Austin came barreling in, plastic airplane in hand, already demanding batteries, and Tim, deadpan, muttered, “Santa’s workshop is closed until further notice.”

---

By midday, the lighthouse had settled into that in-between quiet that always came after morning chaos. Wrapping paper had been cleaned up- mostly- and Kojo now lay sprawled across the rug, one paw lazily draped over a small chew toy with a bow still stuck to it.

Lunch was simple- leftover roast from the day before, warm bread, and a salad that Tim claimed was “too green to be festive.”

The afternoon passed gently. The boys took their new toys down to the small stretch of beach below the cliffs with Genny, Kojo bounding along after them. Lucy watched from the porch, mug in hand, her hair pulled loosely back. The wind carried laughter up toward the lighthouse- that bright, unfiltered kind only kids could make. Tim came to stand beside her, his shoulder brushing hers as he slipped his hands into his jacket pockets.

“They’re gonna crash by six,” he said.

Lucy smiled, eyes still on the water. “Good. Maybe we’ll get to eat dinner without someone asking if gravy counts as soup.”

He chuckled lowly. “That was you last week.”

She gasped, mock-offended as if she wasn't the one to bring it up. “It was one time.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward- it was the kind that breathed, soft and steady. The sea murmured against the rocks below, the sky already deepening into a violet haze. Lucy felt it again- that quiet pull she’d been trying not to name.

“Tim?” she said softly.

He hummed in response.

“Thank you. For… this.”

He turned slightly, studying her profile. “For what?”

She shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. “For letting me in. For making this feel like home.”

Something flickered across his expression- something unspoken, deep, and warm. He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at her for a long moment before saying quietly, “You did that, Lucy, not me.”

Her chest tightened. She turned away, blinking quickly, pretending the wind had gotten in her eyes.

---

By the time evening rolled around, the lighthouse was alive again. Surprisingly, the boys hadn’t crashed; if anything, they only grew more excited for what was to come- the Grand Christmas Dinner. At least, that’s what Lucy called it.

Luna had dropped by earlier with more cookies than anyone could possibly eat, and Lucy had caught the knowing grin she shot Tim when she saw the necklace resting lightly against Lucy’s collarbone. Lucy pretended not to notice. They’d invited the Greys to join them for dinner- it only felt right to have everyone gathered under one roof.

The Greys arrived just after sunset- arms full of dishes and wrapped tins, the sound of Luna’s laugh echoing down the hall before she even stepped inside. Soon, the outdoor porch was filled with the low hum of conversation- Wade and Luna sitting facing the open ocean, laughing about something Tyler had said, while Tim tried and failed to get Austin to sit still long enough to finish his food. It was loud, joyful, the kind of cozy chaos that wrapped itself around you like a blanket. The table groaned under plates of roast chicken, mashed potatoes, vegetables, and bread rolls still warm from the oven.

Wade insisted on carving the chicken while Genny kept refilling everyone’s glasses, and Lucy found herself squeezed between Luna and Tim, both equally guilty of sneaking seconds before anyone else had finished their firsts.

“Bradford, I swear, I blinked and half the potatoes were gone,” Luna accused.

Tim gave her a deadpan look. “I was hungry.”

“You’re always hungry.”

Lucy stifled a laugh, nudging him with her elbow. “She’s not wrong.”

“I'm a growing boy, I need my carbs.”

The laughter that followed was the kind that left her cheeks aching.

"So,” Luna said suddenly, leaning forward with that particular grin that meant trouble, “You finally got your Christmas miracle, huh Timothy?”

Tim looked up from cutting Austin’s food. “My what?”

She tilted her head, mischief glinting in her eyes. “You know- the Christmas miracle. The heartfelt moment. The realization that life is full of love.”

Tim stared back, too lost to comprehend. Wade chimed in, chuckling as he reached for the breadbasket, “In your case, she means Lucy.”

Lucy nearly choked on her sip of water as Genny started laughing. “Mr. Grey!”

Wade only shrugged, utterly unbothered. “What? We're just calling it like we see it.”

Genny laughed, delighted. “Oh, come on, Lucy, don’t tell me you didn’t see that one coming. The way he’s been looking at you since breakfast-”

Tim cleared his throat, the faintest shade of pink dusting his ears. “I think the bread’s burning.”

“The bread is not burning, it's right here on the table.” Luna said, amused.

Wade grinned and leaned back in his chair, that fatherly, good-natured smile spreading across his face. “Don’t worry, son. We’re just teasing. But if you ever decide to make it official, you’ll have my full blessing.”

Lucy caught the faint flush that rose each time Tim’s eyes met hers after that.

---

Later, when the dishes were cleared and the fire had burned low, the evening softened. The boys had fallen asleep on the couch, Genny draped a blanket over them, and the Greys were finishing their tea, swapping stories about old precinct Christmases.

Lucy leaned against the doorway, watching Tim as he listened to Wade talk-  that same quiet steadiness in his posture, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. The firelight caught in his eyes, softening everything about him.

He looked up then, meeting her gaze across the room.

And there it was again- the quiet gravity of something that had been building for months, steady and patient, hidden with a blush.

Lucy didn’t move, didn’t speak. She just smiled- small, private- and he smiled back, that slow, careful kind of smile that felt like it belonged only to her.

Outside, the wind shifted, carrying the sound of waves crashing against the cliffs. Inside, the world had never felt warmer.

---

The clock on the mantle had ticked past ten when the Greys finally began to gather their things. Luna fussed over the boys, pressing kisses to both their heads, while Wade clapped Tim on the shoulder with a warmth that only deepened the fine lines at the corners of his eyes.

“You did good, son,” he said with a nod toward the kitchen, where Lucy was laughing softly with Genny over a half-finished pot of tea. “Didn’t think I’d ever see this place look so… lived in.”

Tim smiled, a quiet huff of breath that was half amusement, half disbelief. “Guess I’ve had help.”

Wade’s eyes followed his to Lucy, who was now wiping her hands on a dishtowel, her hair falling loose around her shoulders. The older man’s grin turned knowing. “Yeah. I figured as much.”

Lucy walked them to the door, hugging Luna and promising to visit soon. The air outside had turned crisp again, the sea breeze carrying a faint salt tang through the open doorway. When the Greys’ car lights finally faded down the cliff road, the lighthouse fell into a softer quiet- not empty, exactly, but settled.

Genny had already taken the boys upstairs, her laughter faintly echoing as she tried to herd them into pajamas. Kojo padded back into the living room and dropped heavily near the fire, sighing the way only dogs could.

Lucy came to stand beside Tim, arms folded lightly, gaze drifting toward the window. The moon hung low over the water- a silver coin caught in motion- and the rhythmic hush of the tide against the Christmas fog filled the quiet between them.

“You know,” she said softly, “I don’t think I’ve ever had a Christmas like this.”

Tim turned slightly, watching her profile in the half-light. “You said that last night.”

“I know,” she murmured, smiling faintly. “But I think I meant it even more today.”

He studied her for a moment, his voice lower now. “What’s different?”

She shrugged, her hand brushing against the windowsill. “Everything feels… still. Like for once, I don’t have to rush anywhere. Don’t have to be anyone else.” She hesitated, then glanced at him. “Just here.”

The words settled in the space between them, soft and sincere.

Tim didn’t speak right away. Instead, he moved closer- not enough to touch, but enough for her to feel the quiet steadiness of him beside her. “You deserve that,” he said finally. “The peace.”

Lucy smiled at that- small, grateful- and turned back toward the fire. “I think we both do.”

For a long while, neither of them said anything. The wind whispered through the cracks of the old windows, the fire popped gently, and the distant sound of waves rolled beneath it all.

Eventually, Lucy spoke again, her tone lighter now. “You know Wade wasn’t wrong earlier.”

“About what?”

She tilted her head toward him, teasing. “You do already have your Christmas miracle.”

Tim huffed a quiet laugh. “Oh, yeah?”

She nodded solemnly. “Imported butter. Toast that didn’t burn. A dog who didn’t steal the chicken.”

He gave her a look, but his eyes were soft with amusement. “You done?”

“Not even close,” she said, grin widening. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you went back for thirds.”

Tim chuckled, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “You’re relentless.”

“Someone has to keep you humble.”

Her tone was playful, but when he met her gaze again, something shifted beneath it- quiet, unguarded, real. He didn’t reach for her, didn’t need to. The space between them seemed to hum with everything they weren’t saying.

Finally, Lucy took a small step back, smiling in that soft, knowing way of hers. “Goodnight, Tim.”

“Goodnight, Lucy.”

She turned toward the stairs, the hem of her sweater brushing against her legs, the faint glow of the fire painting gold along her hair. He watched her go, the corner of his mouth curving into a small, private smile before he turned back to the window.

Outside, the sea breathed slow against the rocks, steady and eternal- the sound of another Christmas ending, and maybe something new beginning.

Chapter Text

The 26th dawned much quieter. Christmas had left its soft echo in the house- empty mugs with cinnamon stains, half-folded blankets on the couch, Kojo staking his claim beside the silent, cold hearth. The kind of stillness that comes after a storm of laughter. The air felt heavier now, like even the walls knew it was almost over.

Genny’s suitcase sat open on the bed, half-packed with sweaters and gifts and stray candy wrappers. Lucy was folding one of her shirts when Genny sighed, flopping back beside it.

“Can’t believe I’m actually leaving tomorrow.”

Lucy smoothed the fabric, eyes soft. “Can’t believe it’s time already. Feels like you just got here.”

“Tell that to the laundry pile I’ve accumulated,” Genny groaned, rolling onto her side. “Feels like a whole month.”

Tim’s footsteps echoed down the hall- slow, deliberate, the sound of someone who’d already had too much coffee. He paused by the door, shoulder resting against the frame, arms folded.

Genny noticed his expression before he could hide it. “Don’t you start, old man. I’m not dying, I’m just going back to LA.”

“Mm.” Tim’s voice was dry, but his eyes softened. “You’ve been saying that for two hours.”

“Maybe I like the attention.”

Lucy snorted, setting another folded shirt aside. “You totally do.”

Tim’s mouth twitched- almost a smile. “I’ll believe it when I see the bags down at the dock.”

“Okay, grinch,” Genny shot back, sitting up. “You could at least pretend to miss me.”

He pushed off the doorframe, walking past them to the dresser. “Didn’t say I wouldn’t.” And that was the closest he’d come to admitting it.

Genny grinned and turned to Lucy. “You know... we need one last night before I go. You, me, Jackson- one final hurrah.”

Lucy looked up. “Final what?”

“You heard me. You and me have been stuck in cozy domestic mode. We need a girls' night out. Drinks, dancing, bad decisions.”

Tim glanced up, brow raised. “That sounds… reassuring.”

“Oh, relax,” Genny said, waving him off. “Jackson told me about this bar- out on that tiny island near the docks. Super vibey. People even come by boat.”

“Sounds like my kind of nightmare,” Tim muttered, turning toward the window.

“Good thing it's girls' night. You can stay and watch the boys.” Genny’s grin widened. “We’ll keep it tame. Promise.”

Tim didn’t answer right away. Oddly enough, he felt responsible for both of them. Something about the thought of the two of them, fueled by alcohol, didn’t sit right with him. But looking between them- Lucy’s hopeful smile, Genny’s spark- he finally exhaled. "Just don’t end up in the ocean.”

“No promises,” Lucy chirped, eyes glinting.

Genny laughed. “You heard the lady, big brother.”

Tim’s sigh was long, but there was that faint smile again as he turned for the door. “You both are trouble, you know that?”

“That’s what makes us fun, unlike someone,” Genny called after him.

---

By nightfall, the quiet of the lighthouse had given way to perfume, laughter, and the sound of heels on wooden floors. Genny looked effortless in a satin top and jeans; Lucy, meanwhile, had changed outfits twice and was currently arguing with Kojo about which shoes made her look “less like a librarian.” She hadn’t packed for a night out- more for a night in, the kind spent half-buried in blankets and bed rot. But in the end, she gave in and pulled on one of Genny’s tops.

Tim lingered by the kitchen island, pretending to read something on his phone. Every time Genny passed through, she’d shoot him a knowing look.

“You’re not gonna wait up for us?” she teased, slipping on her jacket.

He didn’t glance up. “Just text me when you’re on your way back.”

“Sure thing, Dad.”

Lucy walked in, breathless, tugging on her coat. “Okay, we’re good. Jackson’s already at the docks.”

Tim finally looked up. She looked… bright. Glowing. Maybe it was the shimmer of her earrings or the faint color in her cheeks. Or maybe it was that look she had- like she’d finally exhaled after holding her breath for weeks.

“Try to behave,” he said.

She smiled, wide and warm. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Genny clapped her hands. “Let’s move before I change my mind.”

Tim followed them out to the porch light, the night air crisp against his skin. He leaned against the railing, watching as they disappeared into the distance, their laughter fading down the path. The sound lingered long after they were gone.

---

The island bar was alive. String lights wound through palms, music pulsing from open windows. Tourists, locals, strangers- all laughing like old friends- drifted through the post-holiday haze. Salt rode the breeze, rum lingered faintly, and glasses clinked together in endless rhythm.

“Okay this is so my scene,” Genny said, scanning the room. “Lucy, you’re drinking something with an umbrella in it.”

Lucy grinned, already heading to the counter. “Make it two!”

Jackson waved them over from a high-top table, already half a beer in. He was wearing a ridiculous holiday shirt with tiny reindeer in sunglasses. “Ladies,” he greeted, arms wide. “Glad you made it. I was starting to think you’d ditched me for Netflix.”

“Netflix? We’re lucky if we even get decent reception out here,” Genny said, sliding in beside him.

Lucy returned with the drinks and slipped in next to them. She raised her glass, clinking it against both theirs. "To Genny- for being the life of every family gathering.”

“And to Lucy,” Genny added, “for surviving living with my brother.”

Lucy burst out laughing mid-sip. “Barely!”

They drank. They danced. They made fun of the guy trying to flirt with the bartender. Lucy swayed to the music, the world spinning in warm colors- gold, blue, pink. Someone handed her another drink. Then another. The laughter got louder, the floor softer beneath her feet. The, world less heavier on her shoulders than she remembered.

Jackson leaned in, a smirk playing on his lips. “You always this fun… or is it the magic juice?”

“Definitely magic juice,” Lucy giggled.

At some point, a man approached the table- tanned, smiling, asking if Lucy wanted to dance. Before she could answer, Genny stepped in, voice sweet but sharp. “She’s taken.”

Lucy blinked. “I am?”

“Yes,” Genny hissed. “By my brother.”

The guy lifted his hands. “My bad,” and wandered off.

Lucy stared at her drink, then at Genny. “You know what’s funny?” she said, eyes unfocused but smiling. “Everyone thinks we’re sleeping together. Me and Tim. But we’re not. We-” She squinted, swirled her straw. “We haven't even had sex!”

Genny nearly choked on her cocktail. “Lucy!”

Jackson leaned in, smirking. “Wait, you haven't?”

Lucy shook her head solemnly. “Nope. Not even once,” she added, punctuating it with a dramatic pout.

Jackson’s brows shot up. “Huh. Didn’t see that coming.”

“Why’s that shocking?” Lucy asked, genuinely curious.

Jackson laughed. “You two look at each other like you’re peeling each other off with just your eyes.”

Lucy started giggling as Genny started coughing almost spilling her drink. Then, like a switch, her tone softened. “He used to say I talked too much,” she murmured, staring into her glass. “My ex. Said I made him tired. Said I was… annoying.”

The table went quiet except for the distant bass of the music. Genny reached out, touching her hand. “Hey.”

Lucy blinked, the realization hitting her. She forced a smile, cheeks burning. “It’s fine. Totally fine. I’m fine. One less… one less bitch in my life.”

But there was that glassy shimmer in her eyes- the kind that made you want to hold her even when she laughed.

---

It was close to midnight when the door to the lighthouse creaked open again.

Tim was waiting. The fire had burned low, the boys long asleep, the wind outside a low hum, the sea breeze stronger than before. He heard the laughter before he saw them- Genny whispering, Jackson murmuring something about “sturdy stairs.”

Lucy stumbled through the doorway, almost falling flat on her face and, hair a little wild and... one earing in her hand? “Shhh,” she said loudly. “Everyone’s sleeping.”

“Not everyone,” Tim said from the couch.

She froze, blinking. He watched her worryingly sweep the room, unable to focus, until her gaze finally found him. Then a sloppy grin spread across her face. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he said carefully. “You smell like the bar floor.”

“That’s rude,” she slurred, swaying. “I smell like… Christmas cocktails.”

Jackson set down her other earring on the table. “She’s all yours.”

Tim sighed. “Lucky me.”

Genny winced apologetically. She didn’t seem nearly as wasted as Lucy- still walking straight, steps steady. “Your girl’s a lightweight,” she snorted, gesturing toward Lucy. “I’ll deal with my hangover in the morning.” Then she headed for the stairs.

He watched her walk upstairs and listened to the click of her door before turning to Lucy, who was trying to pet Kojo while wobbling. “You okay?”

“I’m great,” she said cheerfully. Too cheerfully.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Right. Bed.”

She nodded solemnly. “Lead the way, sir.”

She barely touched the steps- he had his arm around her shoulders, practically carrying her weight- all while Lucy clung to him, giggling at nothing, hands clutching onto different parts of his clothing every few seconds, eyes fluttering.

“You’re nice to me,” she murmured suddenly. “You’re so nice.”

Tim’s jaw tightened. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

“He wasn’t,” she said quietly. “He wasn’t nice. Not like you.”

He paused mid-step, unsure whether to respond, curious who he even was. The air between them shifted, quiet and heavy. He didn’t say anything- just helped her into her room, guiding her to sit on the bed.

“Shoes,” he said softly.

She kicked one off. The other landed halfway across the room. He crouched to pick it up, only to turn back and find her already lying down, tracing invisible patterns on the ceiling. Pulling her up, he tugged the blanket over her shoulders. She blinked up at him, smiling. He should have expected it. But he didn’t, and the next thing he knew, Lucy’s hands were on his shoulders as she pulled him down, and Tim went down too, barely catching himself before landing on top of her.

“Um-”

“Mmm… cozy,” Lucy hummed into his chest. “Cuddly and pretty? You- you’re like a dream."

He wanted to reply. But he knew she was too wasted to actually mean it. Instead, he snorted, trying to maintain his balance, patiently waiting until she finally loosened her grip. Regaining his posture, he watched as she still stared at him, mesmerized, as if she were looking at the stars.

“You’d never hurt me, right?” she whispered.

He froze. After a long moment, his voice came low and rough. "No. I wouldn’t.”

It didn’t matter who he was- Tim knew he’d never hurt her.

Her eyes drifted shut before she could hear it. Breath soft, hands curled near her face. Tim sat there a moment longer, watching her- the faint rise and fall of her chest, the way the moonlight brushed her hair. Something in his chest ached quietly, something he couldn’t name.

He reached out, tucking a stray strand behind her ear, then stepped back, letting the room fall into darkness as he switched off the light.

---

Morning hit her like a brick. Lucy groaned, eyes squeezed shut. Her head ached, her mouth dry, and the stubborn sunlight streaming in felt like a deliberate insult.

She mumbled to herself, sitting up- and instantly regretted it. The room spun. The memory reel started flickering. The bar. The dancing. The talking. Her eyes widened. “Oh no."

She stumbled to the bathroom just in time.

When she finally mustered the courage to leave her room- showered, semi-alive, wearing an oversized hoodie she’d found on a chair downstairs- she shuffled down. The smell of coffee hit first. Then the sound of voices.

Genny was perched at the counter, sunglasses already on indoors. Tim stood at the stove, flipping something that looked like eggs.

Lucy stopped dead in the doorway.

Tim looked up, a mixture of tease and amusement flickering in his eyes. “Morning.”

“Morning,” she croaked.

“Rough night?” he asked, sounding all innocent. As if he wouldn’t take the chance to give them hell about it.

“Define rough,” Genny muttered, clutching her mug.

Lucy fought the urge to sink into the floor as fragments of last night resurfaced, messy and half-forgotten. “I- did I… say something stupid?”

Genny snorted into her coffee. "Uh…”

Tim’s mouth twitched. “Define stupid."

Lucy’s eyes went wide. "You- you know-"

Tim watched her for a minute, amused as she tried to look anywhere but at him. Deciding she was tortured enough, he finally spoke up. “You told me I'm pretty. That’s all I’m willing to confirm,” he said, turning back to the stove.

The heat rose up her neck, face burning. “Oh my god.”

“Welcome to your hangover,” Genny said, sliding a glass of water toward her. “You were iconic.”

Lucy groaned, burying her face in her hands. But when she finally looked up, Tim was already watching her- something soft in his eyes. She couldn’t quite tell if it was amusement or something gentler.

Whatever it was, her heart skipped and fluttered, betraying her. She turned away fast, unsteady and unwilling to face the fallout.

Chapter Text

The sun rose with hesitant grace, as though the weight of parting held it back. The air still carried the faint echo of laughter from the morning- muffled, disjointed, but the mood shifted once breakfast ended. Suitcases waited by the door like punctuation marks, sharp reminders that time was up. Outside, the wind blew steady rather than strong, sending the grass swaying in its wake.

Upstairs, Genny packed the last of her belongings into her bag while Lucy knelt beside her, helping zip it shut. The silence was interrupted as Genny groaned into her sleeves.

“I swear the room’s still spinning,” she muttered. “This is karma for saying I could outdrink Jackson.”

“You did outdrink him,” Lucy said, voice rough from her own hangover. “You just lost the aftermath.”

Genny cracked a lopsided grin, hair an untamed halo around her face. “Yeah, well, that’s the last time I’ll be listening to myself.”

From the room next door, she could hear Tim helping the boys pack their bags. Yet even with the wall between them, she could feel that the ache of parting had already filled the lighthouse.

Lucy smiled faintly. “You could always stay longer. The boys wouldn’t complain.”

Genny groaned. “Don’t tempt me. But football camp’s next week. Gotta go back to reality, unfortunately.” She sat up again, rubbing her temples. “Ugh. Seriously, worst idea ever- drinking that much. Who’s brilliant idea was that anyway?”

“Yours,” Lucy deadpanned.

“Oh.” Genny squinted at her.

They both laughed softly, the sound filling the small bedroom in a way that made Lucy ache.

---

The Grey’s truck was waiting outside when they carried the bags down, the engine running, exhaust curling white against the morning air. They’d been sad to hear that Genny had to go but kindly offered to drive them to the docks.

They reached the boats sooner than Lucy would have liked. The wind off the sea was sharper here- salt, cold, and farewell all at once. She looked over and saw Tim talking with Jackson near the gate; he had come to bid Genny farewell, too.

Lucy’s throat tightened as Genny came up beside her, glancing toward them. “Didn’t think I’d get so attached,” Genny said quietly. “Leaving within a few days felt a little easier.”

She turned to Lucy and pulled her into a hug that was both tight and lingering. “Take care of Tim. I know it sounds cheesy, but he needs you.” She pulled back slightly, still holding Lucy by the arms, smiling at a face on the verge of tears as Lucy tried to stifle a cry. “And take care of yourself. Seriously- if he does anything daft, I’ll be back on the next boat.”

Lucy laughed, wiping away a tear that had begun to form. “Yeah, okay.” She turned briefly and spotted Tim in the distance, kneeling to talk to the boys- their laughter cutting through the cold.

Genny leaned back, eyes glinting as she noticed where Lucy’s gaze had fallen. “Text me, yeah? Just because I won’t be here doesn’t mean I shouldn’t get in on the tea.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” Lucy said rolling her eyes, though her chest twisted at the thought.

Then Genny moved to Tim as he walked up to them, arms spread in exaggerated formality. “C’mere, big guy.” It was the first real hug Lucy had seen them share. Tim almost hesitated, then gave in- arms wrapping around her with a quiet steadiness that made Lucy’s heart squeeze. He didn’t say much, just briefly closed his eyes with a low, “Take care, Gen.”

“You too,” Genny murmured. Then, teasing, “And maybe take her somewhere warmer next time. Thanksgiving in LA, maybe?” She shot a look back at Lucy, grin tugging at her mouth.

Lucy hesitated, caught between confession and letting the moment be. The truth- that they weren’t actually dating- felt out of place in the lightness of the goodbye. She looked up at Tim and found him mirroring her expression, a flicker passing in his eyes as he met her gaze. Instead, he spoke for both of them.

“Maybe.”

That was all Genny needed.

---

The boys approached, cheeks pink from the cold. Austin clutched a Christmas present nervously, while Tyler stood beside him, just as hesitant.

“You’ll come visit, right?” Tyler asked.

Lucy knelt down so they were eye-level. “If I can. But you have to promise to listen to your mom, okay? At this rate, she’ll be grey-haired the next time I see her!”

The younger one made a face. “Even when she says no dessert?”

“Especially then.”

They giggled and hugged her tight, leaving the faint smell of cookies and laundry detergent on her coat.

When it was finally time to leave, the Greys said their goodbyes as well. Jackson leaned down to squeeze Genny’s shoulder, and Lucy caught something about him promising to keep her updated with the “tea”.

They all stood at the dock as the boat pulled away, hands raised, voices carrying faintly over the water until they couldn’t anymore. The sound of the engine faded first, then the figures blurred into the horizon- and finally, there was only the sea. The water stretched farther than Lucy usually noticed. The sea seemed bigger now, its distance endless.

The Grey’s offered them a ride, but Jackson said something about having to run errands for his parents, already heading toward the village, and Lucy said that she and Tim would enjoy a walk. Tim didn’t argue.

The path back to the lighthouse was quiet except for the crunch of gravel underfoot. The wind stung, and Lucy tucked her hands into her pockets, exhaling a soft cloud.

“I miss them already,” she said. “Especially the boys’ giggles. It’s too quiet now.”

Tim nodded. “Yeah. Feels different without it.”

They walked a few steps in silence, the breeze howling a silent hymn, before Lucy tried to lighten the air. “At least your plan worked, though.”

He glanced at her, brows furrowed. “My plan?”

She smiled faintly. “Convincing Genny that we were actually together. Mission accomplished, right?”

Tim huffed a soft laugh. “Guess so.” Truth be told, he eventually forgot about it. Genny continued her teasing, but she didn’t press, and at some point, Tim stopped pretending. He couldn’t quite put a finger on when it happened.

After a brief silence, Lucy felt the mischief in his grin before she even turned to face him.

“What?”

His grin was pure smugness, sunlight at its peak highlighting every mischievous curve of his features. “Just- Genny told me something.”

Lucy tilted her head, brow raised. “What?”

She watched, helpless, as his smirk seemed to grow beyond reason.

“This morning. She said I was messing up big time if I wasn’t taking this-” he gestured between them “-seriously.”

Lucy blinked, uncertain. “What? Why would she say that?”

“Oh, because apparently you were complaining last night about how we weren’t sleeping together,” Tim dropped casually, eyes glinting.

Her jaw hit the gravel. “She didn’t.”

“She did.”

“I did not say that.”

“Oh no you certainly did- among other things..."

“Tim- oh my GOD” Lucy groaned, pressing her hands to her face to quell the flush creeping up her cheeks. “I think I need to be banned from alcohol forever.”

“Hey if you’re about to cry, don’t worry,” he chuckled behind her, slow and warm. “I told her I’d take it under consideration.”

Lucy snapped her head back up, her face twisted in comical horror as he laughed. She gave him a sharp elbow in the gut, her cheeks glowing with more than just the cold. “You’re insufferable.”

“Maybe. But that was good entertainment.”

“Glad my humiliation brings you joy,” she muttered, tugging on her sleeves.

He laughed again, a genuine laugh this time, and she couldn’t help but smile despite her embarrassment. The sound left her feeling an unexpected surge of warmth.

---

By the time they reached the lighthouse, the air had softened a little. The house stood quiet, the same yet not.

Lucy slipped inside, murmuring something about putting a kettle on for tea. Tim lingered on the porch, watching the fog thin out over the water. The light gently danced across the surface- not blinding, just steady, like a puzzle settling back into place.

But even as he stood there, he knew the quiet inside wasn’t the same quiet as before.

---

It didn’t take Lucy too long to notice it too. Late afternoon unfurled like supple silk- slow, deliberate, tinted with the pale orange wash of a winter sun slipping low. The day had folded itself inward after Genny and the boys left, the lighthouse echoing in ways Lucy hadn’t noticed before.

The table still had crumbs from breakfast. Two mugs sat by the sink, half-drunk. The air hummed faintly with the kind of quiet that only follows laughter- not empty, just too still.

As the light shifted to gold, Lucy found herself back on the patio after weeks. Ever since Genny had arrived, she hadn’t felt the urge to escape deeper into silence. The air bit at her cheeks as she stepped outside, a mug of tea warming her hands. The sea stretched endlessly beyond, slate-blue under the fading sun, and the wind tugged softly at her hair.

The patio bore traces of the last time she’d been here- a forgotten scarf on one chair, a pair of slippers she’d been looking for weeks, left by the door. Untouched in time. The chairs faced the horizon, one slightly pulled forward, just enough that Lucy could tell which one Tim always took.

She sank into the other. For a while, there was only the rhythm of the waves and the muted creak of wood beneath her. The laughter was gone, but it wasn’t silence she feared anymore. It was the after- the way stillness revealed what stayed when noise left.

Inside, she could hear Tim moving around- the sound of boots against the floor, maybe the clink of a mug. Then the door clicked softly open, and he stepped out, coffee in hand, followed by the soft click of nails as Kojo appeared behind him.

He didn’t say anything. Just joined her, easing into the seat beside her as Kojo mirrored his movements and lied down with a sigh. The wood shifted under his weight.

For a few breaths, neither spoke.

The sun hovered over the water, haloed in rose and amber. Somewhere far below, a gull’s cry cut through the quiet- brief, echoing, gone.

Lucy broke the silence first. “Feels strange, doesn’t it?”

Tim looked over at her. “What does?”

“This.” She gestured vaguely to the horizon. “The quiet. The light house. Everything.”

He hummed, thoughtful. “Yeah. Strange, but not bad.”

She nodded slowly. “It feels different this time. Not like when I first arrived here.”

He tilted his head, catching her tone. “Different how?”

Lucy thought for a moment, eyes on the water. “Before, the quiet felt… heavy. Like something’s always missing. Now it’s-” she searched for the word “-peaceful. But in a way that makes you feel it more.”

Tim’s mouth curved faintly. “That makes sense.”

They fell silent again. The waves lapped against the rocks in a rhythm older than both of them. A bird landed on the railing- small, delicate, feathers puffed up against the cold. Lucy’s eyes followed it as it hopped, head tilting curiously toward them. She smiled softly. “Guess we’re not the only ones who stayed.”

Tim chuckled under his breath. “Looks like it.”

She glanced sideways at him, the wind catching her hair. His expression was calm, but there was a faint weariness there too, softened by something else- something she couldn’t quite name.

After a moment, she said quietly, “You miss her, don’t you?”

He blinked. “Who?”

“Genny.”

He hesitated, then nodded once. “Yeah. She’s… a lot. But the good kind of a lot.”

Lucy smiled. “That’s one way to put it.”

Tim sipped his coffee. “She reminds me of what my life used to be like before I came here. The noise, the mess. The good parts.”

Lucy looked down into her tea, fingers tracing the rim. “You grew up in LA?”

“Yeah. Been a long time since I left.”

“So she’s your last real connection to that part of you?”

He considered it. “One of them.” His tone wasn’t sad- just matter-of-fact. “It’s weird. You think you’ll miss the city, the rush, but what sticks is the people.”

Lucy watched the sun slip closer to the horizon, its reflection flickering across the waves. “I get that,” she said softly. “I’m from LA too. I wanted to get away but the first few days, sometimes I missed it.” Tim hummed, a gentle tone of understanding behind it. “Not the city, just… the feeling of being part of something loud.”

Tim’s eyes flicked toward her, something unreadable in them. “Yeah.”

For a while, they just sat there, side by side, the cold biting at their knuckles. The bird stayed a moment longer, then took off- wings flashing in the light. The sound of it broke something fragile in the air, and Lucy exhaled, soft laughter slipping out with it.

“What?” Tim asked, half-smiling.

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s just… this view never looks the same twice. Kind of reminds me of us.”

He turned fully toward her now, curiosity warming his gaze. “Us?”

Lucy shrugged, cheeks pink from the wind. “I- I meant here. The lighthouse. You know. Not the same as before.”

Tim’s eyes softened. “No,” he said quietly. “Not the same.”

The sun met the water, orange spilling into pink, then silver shimmering across the depths. Lucy’s breath clouded in front of her, her mug now empty, hands still wrapped around it for warmth.

Neither of them moved.

Behind them, the lighthouse hummed- the faint sound of wind through its cracks, the heartbeat of something old and patient. A place that held stories in its walls- unchanged by the seasons on the outside, yet quietly transformed within.

Lucy turned to look at him one last time before the light slipped away. The air between them wasn’t heavy anymore- it was full, stretched thin like a held breath.

She realized it wasn’t absence or silence. It was awareness.