Page 48 of Fire Island
EVIE
The sounds of tinkering echo from the now-open shed near the tree line. Cal’s been in there for days. With no lamp to polish to a shine every other day and his lighthouse first responder duties on hold for the next few months, I’m pretty sure he’s bored to death.
The chance to restore his Indian is a very welcome blessing.
Selfishly, I can’t wait to see him on it.
Maybe he’ll let me ride with him sometime... But I understand the connection the bike has to Ava. So I won’t get my hopes up about it.
I wander the greenhouse every day under his strict instruction, harvesting what I can. It takes everything I have to pretend I’m learning all this grow-your-own-food knowledge for the first time. I listen as he talks about the lighthouse duties and how, as a first responder, he has daily maintenance and checks. That on top of his chores, he’s usually kept busy.
Now, not so much.
He’s counting down the days until Emmett comes back.
I’m not. I’m perfectly content in my delusional bubble.
The rest of the world can stay the hell away.
Gravel moves behind me, and I turn back from watering the long row of summer crop salad varieties.
“Can you give me a hand?” Cal says.
I place the water can on the edge of the bed and turn back. He’s covered in grease, a cloth tucked into the waistband at the hip of his jeans. The faded, old blue T-shirt he’s wearing highlights his toned chest and bulky arms. His hair is messed up, and a streak of grease covers his cheek. He takes my breath away.
I compose myself before closing the distance between us.
“May I?” I ask, searching those gorgeous blues for any sign of recognition.
He swipes at his face with a hand, smudging the grease. “Shit.”
“Here, let me,” I offer, pulling the rag from his hip.
His lips part like he’s about to object. I rub the cloth over the grease, getting most of it off. “Better, but still not clean.”
He stands stunned, hands hanging by his sides.
I pray the frozen moment means memories have started piling up in his head. And this is him viewing each, one after the other, realizing who is standing right in front of him.
He shakes his head and diverts his eyes. “Sorry. Could you help me with the bike? Need smaller hands.”
My hope dies in my throat, my gut plummeting like it did the moment Iris told me Cal had lost three years.
“O-of course, um, just let me...” I walk outside and suck back the emotion burning the bridge of my nose. Heavy footsteps catch up with me, and I lose a breath.
I can do this.
I can.
Hell, I lived through days of thinking the man behind me was dead.
Nothing will ever compare to the devastation that brought.
“Over at the shed. I need small hands to tighten a bolt,” he says to my back.
Small hands.
Huge stupid damn heart.
