don’t mind the mess

My neat handwriting stopped midpage halfway through a sentence and below it, the pen strokes became heavy and almost violent. Jagged lines dug so deeply into the paper that I could feel the grooves with my fingertips. Some of the markings—because they didn't resemble any language I’ve ever seen— twisted into things I could only imagine were words or symbols. 

Whatever they were, they felt deeply and terribly wrong. 

I shut the notebook and like most things this island had forced me to confront, I decided not to think about it for another few hours.

Today was too important for Tom and Patricia.

I packed a small bag for the beach and swung by the Driftwood cafe for a coffee for my walk. It was almost enough to shake the disturbed feeling that lingered in my stomach from this morning. The beach was starting to fill when I arrived. It looked different from when Tom and I had a picnic here just days ago; filled with beach chairs and umbrellas of people waiting for the inaugural swim. 

I laid out a towel close enough to the small stage while still getting some sun. Tom made me promise I wouldn’t sit close enough to distract him, but he should have known me better by now. 

I could hear the subtle panic in Dale’s voice when they realized they couldn’t get electricity to the speakers all the way over here. Even when Tom arrived and freaked a bit (with more choice words than Dale used), I kept my identity hidden with the simple sunglasses and hat I wore.

But Tom was oblivious even as I stared at him from barely a couple yards away until he finally lowered the binoculars pointed out towards the lighthouse. It was hard to swallow my grin while waiting for him to notice. 

I waved, letting it break through. 

Tom’s face dropped; blank of the frustration he had with Dale but also blank of anything discernable as his eyes quickly drifted over me head to toe. It was like the plug behind his eyes was yanked out, and I had a hunch as to why, and my grin widened. 

“Nice day today.” Tom cleared his throat, looking out on the water. 

I raised my brows at him. “Tom.” I deadpanned.

He still didn’t look back at me. “Yep.”

My expression deepened more into suspicion, watching him struggle to refrain from looking back at me. 

“You’re acting weird.” I called him out teasingly. 

“No I’m not.” he answered so quickly it made me snort out a laugh. “You just look really…nice.”

Even Tom couldn’t resist, letting out a huff of nervous laughter as he rubbed the back of his neck where the redness crept up. I wanted to make fun of him even more, but Dale arrived in the corner of my eye with a microphone whose cord came from nowhere I could see. 

Finally, Tom had an excuse to peel away while I still chuckled to myself at how ridiculous he was being. 

Tom gave his speech and I listened intently, this moment being one of the only times I’ve really seen him in mayoral action . At its conclusion, I even made sure to cheer just a little louder than the rest of the beach but subtle enough that only Tom would notice and try not to break his composure. The music started and as he descended the stage, he started to remove his watch. 

“Do you mind holding this for me?” he asked.

“Why do you think I sat so close to the stage?” I retorted.

He let out a scoff of disbelief. “I can name at least two other reasons and one of them was not to get to hold the watch.”

I rested my chin into my hand once I took it from him, hoping to hide the inevitable heat that rushed up to my face. It was only then that my eyes swept around, feeling someone else's stare, only to find that Rosemary was looking at me with disgust. I did a double take just to confirm.

“I’ve seen a lot of weird things in my day,” Rosemary said through the inhale of her cigarette. “But you two are by far the worst lovesick puppies I’ve ever seen.” 

That wasn’t quite meant as a compliment either if I had any guess.

I wordlessly redirected my attention to the water as Tom started his swim. I had my camera ready to go, standing at the edge of my towel to get a few snapshots of the water and the crowd itself. It was such a silly tradition, but I admired the way he went through with it, no questions asked. When I lowered my camera to get a good look at him out by the buoy and his wave back to land, I was even feeling a little prideful myself.

But a small, dark shape poked out from the water just on the other side of the buoy. It could have been a trick of the sunlight shimmering on the ripples of water. It could have been nothing but my own eyes growing tired of me. 

I urgently lifted my camera to try and zoom in as much as I could, but whatever I saw was gone and Tom was paddling back to shore. 

The closer I looked though, his motions seemed frantic. My legs carried me forward as he neared the shore out of instinct. Then, I heard the thrashing in the water and my heart lurched to my throat. But as soon as I weaved around a small group in front of me, the Sheriff was already helping him stand. 

My eyes drifted down to his leg where a small scratch was now embedded in his calf and my head snapped back up to his face.  Tom was white as a ghost, even for New England standards. He started for the stage and walked right by me.

“Tom—“

But he didn’t hear me and I turned to quickly follow in his steps, his watch still in my hands. He was disappearing towards the treeline now and I worriedly glanced back at my stuff, only hesitating a second before I decided to follow him.

“Tom!” I called again.

The sand turned into a blend of dirt and pine needles on the small path to the parking lot. I finally caught up to him as he reached his car. 

“I’m sorry.” Tom sharply breathed. “I’m sorry.” 

He opened his trunk to reach for a towel, and it gave me a good opportunity to look at his leg. 

“What the hell happened?” I asked. “Are you okay?”

Tom moved with uneven movements as he dried himself off. I stood there feeling absolutely helpless. I’ve never seen him like this before, not even when we spent that night at the inn. 

“Nothing. I’m fine.” he answered briskly, running the towel over his face and briefly pausing. “I—I just have to go do something.”

He couldn’t look at me and before, I assumed it was because we were flirting a bit but now, I knew something was off. This wasn’t something I could easily break through.

“Can I help? You’re bleeding, Tom–” I winced, looking at his leg. 

Tom took off the long sleeve swim shirt he wore, and against my better judgement, I felt a little flustered and looked to the ground. When I peaked though, I saw a bandage falling off his arm revealing another scratch just before he could throw on another dry shirt. My heart sank. 

“Alright, that’s enough,” I frowned, voice coming out sharper than intended. I felt a slight tinge of guilt as he briefly shut his eyes in defeat. “What is going on? What made this the point where you start keeping secrets?” 

That got his attention; his shoulders sagged and for a second, I thought he might tell me. I felt pathetic begging for an ounce of his honesty or even just a sound of acknowledgement. This wasn’t how I normally was and for him to drive me to that point was teetering on the edge of the supernatural occurrences here. 

“I’m sorry.” 

The hope deflated in me. “That isn’t an answer.”

“I know.” he sighed, jaw working through the tension that built. “I promise I’ll find you at Patricia’s cocktails later.” He didn’t even seem convinced of that answer himself. 

I couldn’t fully believe it either.  With how hastily Tom got into the drivers side and peeled off without so much as looking back, I was stuck with the weight of the pit forming in my stomach. 

I didn’t even get to give him back his watch.

Wyck’s conversation with me yesterday echoed in my conscience as I packed my things from the beach. I would never agree with him or his opinions towards Tom, but for some reason when one terrible feeling caught me off guard, the rest of them rushed in.  I wanted to believe something else was going on. Or maybe I was too strung out from reality that I missed the obvious sign that Tom may just want to put distance between us. 

For the first time since coming here, I felt shut out from this island. 

~

The Salty Whale was almost entirely deserted, save for me, Rosemary, Ruth, Dale, and the town’s one and only doctor apparently. Patricia’s choice of decor with the small stick figures made up of twigs and tied with twine was—well, it was a choice. 

I tried to go into the kitchen to offer help, only catching a glance of the mess by the fruit bowl before being utterly distracted by Patricia’s head piece. 

“No! You can’t be back here!” Patricia yelped, hands waving as she rushed towards me. “You have to be out there because all the good looking people will see you and know this is where the party is!”

“Alright, alright!” 

I wanted to urge her to come out from the kitchen, since I didn’t imagine Ruth or the doctor would be interested in dancing with me. But I knew it would be futile. As I took a seat at the bar, the kitchen doors burst open again, this time with Patricia carrying a tray of food. Her eyes were wildly scanning the rest of the room, and I pulled one of the barstools out of the way before she could knock into it.

“Also, I called your stupid boyf—I’m sorry, he’s not stupid—but I called Tom and he didn’t answer. Rang all the way to voicemail.” Patricia scoffed, arms flopping down to her sides. “So there’s that.” 

I spun in my seat, trying to track her as she paced back to the kitchen. “Wait, Patricia—!”

But she already disappeared before I could finish my sentence. I gave up, sighing as I faced the bar again, with nothing but me and my glass of wine to fill the void. Rosemary exited the kitchen through the wooden door that didn’t seem to stop swinging on its hinges, her eyebrows raised high in her forehead. 

“I can’t do anything right today.” she sighed.

“You’re telling me,” I muttered, sipping my wine. “Patricia not letting you help anymore?” I asked her.

She indulged me and took a seat at the open barstool next to me. “I tried to raise my concerns.” Rosemary began, meeting the bartender halfway with a drink he already made for her. “Why don’t you go back there? Maybe tell her to go easy on the punch?”

I shook my head while mid sip of my wine.  “Nope. She insisted I stay out here because I can attract good looking people apparently.”

I wish that were true, but the one person I wanted here had no signs of showing up. My eyes drifted up to the clock above the kitchen door, showing it was half past seven. The emptiness grew and I looked back down at the bar top with a frown.

“Oh, stop pouting.” Rosemary scolded, her voice nearly giving out. “Loftis won’t be coming.”

I narrowed my eyes on her. “How do you know?” 

I felt a little brash now that I admitted I was pouting and that he was the reason. But Rosemary’s certainty threw me off even more. 

“Because he’s gotta hide from the Sea Hag.” she said like it was obvious, picking up a handful of peanuts. “If he follows the rules and stays hidden for the next seventy two hours, his wounds will heal and she’ll lose his scent.” 

“Oh my god.” I sighed, forehead falling into my hands. 

Just when I thought there would be a sane and logical reasoning –such as Tom simply not being interested anymore– Rosemary takes the Wyck route. At this point, I was already planning out when I’d pack my bags and hit the ferry early tomorrow morning. But that instinct felt hollow, unfinished from the small chance Rosemary might have been right. It was a small speck of belief, one that could be snuffed out if I thought about it any longer. 

“Or Tom isn’t ready to date and that’s just that. There doesn’t need to be some ghost story made up for everything.” I retorted, snuffing out that belief.

Rosemary shook her head, pulling out her back of cigarettes and started to make way to the exit sign in the back. “Loftis has never been ready to date.” she scoffed.  “Not like he’ll get the chance to try if he’s dead though.” 

“Jesus Christ, Rosemary!”  I gawked, watching as she glided out for her smoke break. “That isn’t helping!”

By Patricia’s third time bursting from the kitchen, looking more frantic than the last, I finally jumped up from my seat, trying not to think of Sea Hags or being rejected. I never even thought my dating life would come to saying those things in the same sentence. People slowly started to trickle in and the music started to play. An ad played over the song though, and I immediately spotted her ready to rip Dale's throat out. 

“Patricia,” I said calmly, placing my hand on her shoulders. “I will use my log in. No ads. No worries.”

A smile wrenched its way onto her face, and finally, she nodded in agreement, before returning to draw in more guests. Dale looked a bit offended when I took over the computer to login to my account, but Patricia was more my priority right now. Someone here needed to have a good night and it ought to be her. 

“I don’t know how you can keep a straight face when she has that thing on her head.”

I looked up from the computer and sighed. Patricia’s headpiece had yet to actually scare anyone off, I suppose. 

“I am being a good friend.” I answered shortly. “And because Rosemary apparently tried to tell her and it didn’t go well.” 

Dale resumed his DJ activities but not before calling my name again.  

“You left your camera on the beach by the way,” he said, eyes on the computer while he held out my camera. 

My eyes widened slightly and I grabbed it, trying to remember when I even managed to forget it. I aggressively thanked him a dozen times before I made my way back to my seat at the bar. I looked out at the space behind me as Patricia started to dance. I sighed to myself and hoped more people would arrive for her sake.

With another glass filled, I quickly turned on my camera out of curiosity to see how the photos turned out today. I wasn’t quite ready to dance, so I opted to take some more for the event tonight as well once I deleted a few. I mindlessly skipped through the pictures of the beach, the lighthouse, and the crowd that watched Tom–whose pictures made my throat run dry whenever they came up.

Maybe this was a bad idea. 

Just before I could switch back to start taking more, my eyes caught a slight discrepancy in one of the photos where Tom was out by the buoy. A smudge, maybe. I brought it closer to my face, eyebrows angled down in intense focus. I zoomed in with the settings, my blood turning thicker by the second. 

My lips parted to make way for the slightest gasp as I realized the smudge was in fact real and the shape of a face became clear within it; a head in the water that Tom’s face was clearly written in horror from. I skipped through each picture, the head sinking lower and Tom starting to paddle. 

How did I not notice these earlier?

Rosemary being right dawned on me with a sickening twist in my chest. I didn’t want to believe it, but  my heart was racing like the truth was already at my heels. Others started to trickle in, per Patricia’s haggling. But then Rosemary came back in from her smoke break, staring at the rest of the room with something close to disappointment– until she saw me and the crazy look in my eyes rushing up to her.

“Rosemary!” She jumped and she did not look like someone who easily jumped.  “What’s Tom’s address?” 

She sighed, shaking her head at me. “I know you’re new here, hun, but don’t go thinking you can just go take down a Sea Hag–”

“Rosemary!” I shrieked, the panic creeping down my limbs. 

“Alright!” 

Rosemary jotted down Tom’s address on a napkin. 

“It’s your funeral too,” was all she said. 

I took one glance at Patricia as more and more people arrived. I felt guilty leaving but at least I could do so knowing that her party started to kick off. If this were all some twisted story that turned out not to be real, then I’d leave tomorrow and never look back. 

I snuck out through the crowd which amassed quite quickly and outside into the nearly empty parking lot.  Cold air rushed inland and over my skin. I stood frantically looking around, the silence becoming more apparent save for the faint bass of Dale’s DJ set up. One hand clenched the napkin while the other still held my camera. My shoulders sagged and I let out a breath that appeared thinly in the air as my heart rate lowered.

“What the hell am I doing?” I whispered.

I felt silly the more I thought about it; I was chasing a ghost story. My years of interviewing, editing, and reporting unraveled in a heap of shreds before me and it left me momentarily defeated. I started to doubt everything these past few days. How could I believe the Sea Hag over any other plausible option?

But just as my mind started to spiral, a pair of headlights came veering up the road. I held up my hand to shield my eyes as the white truck skidded to a halt on the gravel parking lot.

It took my eyes a moment to adjust as I stepped out of the way, surprised to see Wyck behind the wheel. 

“Is Loftis here?!” he called out.

I frowned. “No. Let me guess, there’s a Sea Hag after him?”

“That’s old news, sweetheart. Get in!” 

My jaw hung open. I wanted to scold Wyck but I was more focused on blindly hopping in and going against my better judgement. Something shifted somewhere between my parking lot thoughts and Wyck arriving; I knew that everything I had seen this week was real. I even fought Tom about how real it was. I couldn’t stop fighting now when it put him in danger.

My silence must have been unnerving because I caught Wyck staring at me. 

“Starting to believe me?” he asked.

I suddenly became aware of how fast this truck was going and just how unsteady it felt over every bump in the road. The turns made me clutch the sides of my seat. 

“I’ll let you know when we get there.” 

Wyck started to talk about the Sea Hag and how its hunt happened in the first place. I half listened, my heart beat racing in my ears. 

The quaint house with a simple porch light came into view as we turned down a long driveway. Everything looked ordinary; his car in the driveway, curtains drawn, and not a single thing out of place. I didn’t know what I expected, honestly. But Wyck threw his truck into park, my body rocking with the sudden motion, and he jumped out. 

Wide eyed, I frantically followed with a slight delay, leaving the truck in time to see him grabbing a shot gun from the bed of the truck.

“Oh my god,” I muttered.

I looked into the bed of the truck, grabbing the most reasonable object I could find in the darkness of the island, coming up with a baseball bat. I tried to mirror Wyck’s intensity as he carried the shot gun towards the house, keeping it clutched and raised ready for any sudden movements. 

“Alright, whatever you do, stay behind me, ya hear?” Wyck asked.

“Got it.” 

The front door was locked, and Wyck peaked through the windows as we made our way around the back where the door opened on the first try.

“That fucking idiot,” Wyck scolded, shaking his head.

We entered the house and my own heartbeat stilled for a minute to take in the silence. I looked around at everything that seemed in place, but Wyck found something else: wet footprints on the ground. My blood cooled. 

It was real. 

Wyck spared nothing to being stealthy, marching past the footprints until we reached the carpet and lost their track. My knuckles ached with how tight I clutched the bat, ready to swing around every corner. Wyck took the living room while I went on the opposite side of the house.

As I neared the stairs though, I heard a shuffling sound from the hallway that led behind them. 

“Wyck…” I cautiously announced.

The door was cracked into the lit room, exposing black and white tile with a new set of wet foot prints leading in. I heard a sloshing sound that made my stomach churn and I gravitated towards it.

I lifted the bat, ready to swing as I neared the doorway. 

My heart thundered in my chest as I poked my head in, exploding at the sight of a ghastly, molted figure with long wet hair. It froze, midway into the bathtub, making the breath catch in my lungs. But for some reason, it paid no mind to me as it resumed its motion. My breath shuddered the moment it decided to ignore me.The gripping, icy feeling I had in my nightmare the other night screamed at me once more. I loathed how familiar it felt and I had to consciously remember I could move—and that I could swing. 

“Get away from him!” my voice tore through with my swing. 

My blood rushed as I released all my strength into the impact, but the Sea Hag did not budge. In fact, it took my mind too long to register the fact that her jaw was now hanging, barely attached by the soggy, molted skin of her face.  My own jaw dropped, and I forgot how to do anything as the Sea Hags gray eyes locked on me. I could have hit a block of clay and did more damage. 

But Wyck emerged in the doorway in seconds, shotgun raised. 

“Hey!”

The gunshot popped, severing everything within my senses for a split second. It was like a reset button that left my ears ringing and muscles rigid with the bat still clutched in my hands. 

Where the Sea Hag once stood as a whole being had instantly become nothing but water and dirt at the floor and the tub. Tom sprung up from the tub, the sounds of his choked air finally reaching my ears as the ringing faded. 

I was so relieved to see him there but it barely gave me the strength to lower the bat even in the slightest. My heart wasn’t pounding any less, my breaths becoming more shallow. 

Everything started to catch up to me and even as Wyck helped Tom out of the tub, I couldn’t move. Tom was drenched, covered with the remnants of a Sea Hag that I didn’t know existed until today. 

“Why is this happening?” Tom asked in defeat towards Wyck. 

Wyck didn’t have much of an answer that Tom couldn’t figure out for himself. But they both looked at me and I could feel their stares. I wanted to say something or move, but everything from my throat to my knuckles felt locked up.

“Hey…” Tom croaked. 

It wasn’t until his hands, albeit shaky, reached my arms to lower the bat, that I felt tears swell up in my eyes. Tom’s sorrowful mask became blurry to me. I relinquished my stillness and let the bat fall to the ground, but with that came everything else. 

Tom’s face sunk, brows furrowing over the sadness in his eyes.  

“I’m so sorry,” Tom pleaded in a whisper, hand coming up to the side of my face. 

I fought the tears from spilling. I bit on the inside of my lip, my breaths becoming slightly more uneven than the last and it racked my entire body. I wanted to tell him it was okay and that he had no reason to apologize, maybe add that I wanted to apologize too, but the minute my lips parted something much more indignant crept up my throat. 

I couldn’t look up again. I took a deep breath that shuddered my entire frame.

But when Tom’s arms came around me, despite his sleeves sopping wet with whatever remained of the Sea Hag, tears silently flowed down my eyes. 

“No, it’s okay.” I finally managed, trying to laugh through it. “I’m fine. You’re fine. I’m being ridiculous!”

I looked up to the ceiling to keep more tears from coming, but Tom pulled back, face twisted up in both awe and confusion. His hand lifted to my jaw, thumb striking away the last of my tears.

“You’re not being ridiculous.” Tom shook his head. “I shouldn’t have put you in this situation.” 

“You didn’t.” Wyck interjected, startling the both of us. “She came running out of the Salty Whale already figuring out what was going on. I just found her at the right time.” 

Tom did a double take, looking back at me and I weakly smiled, lips faintly trembling still. I could see the guilt he carried still, but Wyck impatiently stood by the door. 

“As sweet as this is, we have another problem.” 

Someone was frantically calling out over the walkie Tom had in the hallway, and while I couldn’t hear the exact words, something bad happened at Patricia’s cocktails. There were also several voicemails from the Reverend. 

We didn’t waste another second lingering in the house after that. 

Tom’s hand stayed firmly in mine as we headed out to Wyck’s truck. The tires ripped against the dirt path as we got back on the road back to the Salty Whale. All of us were silent, no one daring to announce their theories as to what may have happened. But as we rounded a corner, the headlights immediately caught a figure in the road that made all of our hearts jump at the same time.

“It’s her.” I said quickly, immediately recognizing her dress.

“Patricia!” Tom called out the window.

She turned around, and the look in her eyes shook me to my core. I didn’t wait before opening the door to jump out and meet her as she walked towards the truck. 

“Are you alright?” I asked her frantically.

She shook her head, her stare long drifting away, as if she were looking through me. 

“Something bad happened at the party. It went wrong.”

I glanced back at Tom and Wyck, brows furrowing at them, unsure of what to do. But Wyck leaned forward. “You can file that under ‘deal with it the fuck later’” he shrugged. 

My lips parted slightly. That wouldn’t have been my first choice of words, but it seemed like the only way to get through with her. Tom and I exchanged a look, both understanding as we ushered Patricia to squeeze into the truck with us. It was a little tight, but something told me Patricia needed that right now. I worriedly looked over at Tom and then back at her, the drive silent except for the road itself. 

They headed to the church out of concern for the Reverend. 

“Do you want to go back to the inn?” Tom asked.

My head whipped over to face him. I even felt Wyck and Patricia’s gazes follow mine and Tom’s eyes widened, backing off as he leaned back against the door.

“There is no chance I’m leaving your side at this point.” I affirmed.

Tom gulped and nodded. “Alrighty, then.”

The church sat atop a short hill, the outdoor lights just barely framing the building and lighting the entrance. When I slid out of the truck, I stopped and stared at it for a moment as a chill ran up my spine. It was quiet; not even the wind or the cicadas could be heard from the surrounding forest, as if something had scared them too. But we marched on, Tom and Wyck taking the lead. Of course, it was empty, as churches often were in the middle of the night, and the lack of answer from calling out the Reverend’s name started to make me a little more uneasy.

The four of us crept into his office where dozens of papers were scattered around, some pieces catching the flames of a barely lit fire. 

It was like an animal tore through every inch of the room. 

I didn’t know what I was looking at anymore than they did. Tom walked around the desk with Wyck. I was unsure of where to even take my next step with how cluttered the floors were. Behind me, the door creaked shut. As I glanced around the desk, studying what I could from the lamplight, Tom’s face caught me off guard. 

His eyes locked on something behind me. Wyck and Patricia caught on too.

When I turned around, I gasped, my bones jumping out of my skin as I backed into the desk at the sight of Reverend Bryce hanging from the door. It was more jarring how little it struck me at first. Out of everything I’ve seen this week, I think my mind was finally numb to the horrors that started to pile on top of each other. Everything turned to white noise as I stared, none of us able to break away.

I had a feeling that this wouldn’t be the last time we were in this room.

~

The Sheriff came and medics took the body of Reverend Bryce. Patricia hid from Bechir to avoid being questioned about what happened tonight at the party. 

I shouldn’t have been surprised when I heard that a grimoire was behind the disaster her evening was. It explained a lot. It wouldn’t dawn on me until later though that Rosemary probably didn’t try hard enough to steer Patricia away from whatever she was doing after witnessing the set up. 

Tom spoke with the sheriff while I sat in the back of Wyck’s truck at the bottom of the hill. My dress hung low at my ankles that swayed in the air over the truck bed. Behind me, Patricia was hiding under a wool blanket. 

“I think there’s a spider in here.”

“Shh.” I whispered. 

“Oh, not a spider,” she whispered back. “But I found some scotch.” 

“Gimme that.” 

Patricia’s hand peaked out through the blanket, the bottle in hand. I looked at it carefully in the reflection from the lights outside the church. As I studied it, Wyck was coming back from the medics after helping them retrieve Reverend Bryce. In his calloused age, I could see that this was starting to get to him a bit too. 

“Is this stuff any good, Wyck?” I asked. 

He narrowed his eyes, most likely wondering where I found that, but then took it from my hand to also give it a good look–and a good sip. 

“It’s good.” Wyck seethed. 

Sighing, I threw back a sip and almost gagged the moment it burned through my esophagus. I coughed, but it only made the pain in my chest worse. After today though, I think it was warranted to remind me I was real and this wasn’t all just one big nightmare. 

Speaking of, as the Sheriff finally pulled away with his lights flashing furiously atop his truck, Tom walked back towards me in the shadow it left. Even in the night as the lights started to pull further away from him, I could see the darkness under his bleary eyes. He was still a little damp, but it seemed to be the least of his problems.

Tom took a deep breath as he finally stood before me. I quietly waited, looking up at him with an impossible task of finding the right thing to say. 

“God, you must be freezing.” he sighed.

I was subconsciously rubbing my arms, which were exposed in the dress I chose to wear. But I shrugged, realizing it was more of a habit at this point than the cool nights of Widows Bay. 

“It’s fine. I am–” I dropped off, my eyes losing focus on the lawn. “I’m fine.”

Tom’s hands reached out to my shoulders, taking over the comforting habit I was too tired to keep up with. 

“Would now be a bad time to say how beautiful you look and how sorry I am that I didn't make it tonight?”

I tried to pull back my laughter, my grin drilling into my cheek. 

“It’s never a bad time to call a girl beautiful,” I remarked. “But you would be stupid to try and apologize for that with everything that’s happened.” 

Tom nodded remorsefully, also realizing how ridiculous he sounded. “You’re probably right. But still. I blew you off earlier–”

“For good reason.” I interjected, eyes softening up at him as the panic started to write itself back in him. “If you told me then why you were so set on getting out of there, I don’t think I would’ve believed you. I already convinced myself you were just trying to end things up until I checked my camera earlier.”

Immediately, his hands stopped at my shoulders and his brows angled, looking  at me like I was crazy. 

“Are you kidding me?” Tom questioned. “God, I’ll be lucky if I can beg you to still stay at this point.” 

The thought of leaving was a mere whisper in my thoughts after everything that’s transpired. But even if I tried to think about it, it felt impossible to leave. I couldn’t picture a path that didn’t end with me staying and helping them out with whatever was happening. 

I shook my head. “You won’t have to. I’m not running away just yet.” 

Tom was about to speak, but the blanket started shuffling behind me. 

“You know–” Patricia popped up. Tom immediately jumped back from me, a gasp stealing the breath right from his lungs. “It’s probably best you didn’t come or else I would have gotten you two possessed as well.”

Tom was clutching his chest, and all I could do was laugh. It was a laugh stemmed from delirium at this rate, but something that eased the bundle of nerves that sat in the pit of my stomach nonetheless. Patricia nervously tacked on a laugh, but Tom was still catching his breath. 

“How long were you under there?!” he cried. 

“Since the Sheriff got here.” she answered. 

I picked up the bottle again for one last swig and held it out to Tom with a grimace etched on my face. 

“I think you need this too.”

Tom didn’t hesitate. Neither did Patricia. We sat there for a little while longer in silence while Wyck continued to talk to the paramedics until they pulled off as well. This place would be a full blown investigation site by tonight, or at least early morning if we’re considering the island’s timing. Before we could all hop back in though, Tom’s hand reached for mine and I looked back, following the subtle tug.

“Yeah?”

He looked me in my eyes. “I-I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go back to the inn.”

I tilted my head at him. “I’ll be fine, Tom.”

“I know, but–” he sighed, clenching his jaw over the words that he seemed to be mulling over. “You could stay with me. I just think it would be much safer until we figure out what’s going on.” 

It was a sweet gesture. One I almost said yes to because he was right; it would be much safer. But one thing rose up with a warning sign in my mind. 

“I won’t.” I smiled feebly. “Because if I’m going to be sticking around, I don’t want to intrude on what is your son’s home too and be sprung on him like that. I would hate that if I were his age.” 

Tom was momentarily caught off guard, and I could see the way his gaze shifted to the ground that he didn’t think of that right away himself. He was trying to think of a back up, but I was already going to make up my mind that the inn would just be better for now. 

“She can stay with me.” Patricia chimed in.

I glanced back, seeing a hopeful smile work its way onto her face. 

“I actually really like that idea,” I agreed, looking back at Tom.

A look of exasperation befell him but he couldn’t help but agree either. He nodded and we squeezed back into the truck. But just as I hopped in, he paused at the passenger side and looked up at me. 

“What?” I chuckled, saving room for him to hop in.

“Nothing.” Tom shook his head, jumping into the truck. “I’m just glad there’s at least an ‘if’ when you talk about sticking around.”

And out of all the terror my body has gone through this week, when I laid my head upon his shoulder, I still felt like I was where I was meant to be…even with Patricia and Wyck squeezed in too.

~

Even after I watched the desperation leave his eyes the moment that security footage didn’t show anyone else with us, I could see the way he was still on edge. Maybe we both just had such terrible dreams. But when Patricia arrived to pick us up and asked how the night went, we both curtly replied “fine” without a mention of our haunt.

I suppose that also made me complicit in brushing it under the rug.

The island was still in its early morning gloom by the time we arrived back to where I was staying, covered in a veil of gray and dewdrops across every surface. My mind was still in a haze, one filled with remnants of new years cheers and the heavy sound of the humanoid voids frequency. I didn’t even know how to carry on with my day after everything I had seen. I knew it to be true as much as I knew it did not make any sense. Those two beliefs refused to coexist.

It's what made it so difficult to watch Tom easily pretend nothing happened.

I couldn’t blame him though as much as the superficial stung hurt at first. I saw a mayor who knew how these stories grasped locals like Wyck and didn’t want it to interfere with tourism. This was something I could rationalize and fit nicely into my a pocket within my brain. It was a blueprint that followed many mayors and people of that sort, one I had learned in my years of journalism.

Reflecting on that first weekend I arrived, I was under the impression that Tom's overcompensation to keep me from hearing stories was just for the sake of sparing me from the locals.

I never imagined that those stories could be real.

I bid them a quick goodbye the moment Patricia put her car in park.

Sitting in the car made me realize just how restless my night was. Every step towards my lodgings grew heavier as they carried me through the door. It was quiet, save for the creaking of the old wooden stairs—until the bell over the door jingled again after I was already halfway up to my room.

Tom called my name.

I stopped at the top of the stairs, turning to see him tracing my footsteps as quickly as he could.

“Tom…" I tiredly drew.

My words froze him in place and visibly deflated him. Even though I planned to hide under the covers for a short while, the way his eyes pinched together gave him the slightest pout.

I sighed and bowed my head, signaling him to follow.

As I unlocked the door to my room, his presence loomed behind with a blanket of comfort that I didn't ask to feel, but welcomed all the same. Even as we stepped through the doorway, everything about him created a degree of warmth I didn’t know existed.

“I—I just wanted to make sure you were—okay? I guess?” Tom asked warily, pacing on the small space between the foot of the bed and tall white wicker dresser. “You’ve been quiet all morning and I just couldn’t let you leave like that.”

My bags dropped and as did I on the bed.

My thoughts escaped me again when I had all the time to prepared how to lay it out to him now. When I looked at the small TV on top of the dresser, my blood cooled at the sharp memory of that welcome video.

Tom then moved in front of it, and I looked down at my lap where my fingers lay.

“I can chalk my experience up to a bad dream and first case of sleepwalking but with what you experienced…the clown killer? Everything Wyck said? “

My questions chipped away at Tom’s composure as he broke eye contact and started to sway on his heels.

“That’s—That’s Wyck.” Tom said with exasperation, arms lifting and falling at his sides. “He blames everything on a curse and these stories…I was exposed to mold!”

I frowned up at him, looking through my eyebrows with an expression that sincerely did not buy it. He had famously told me when he first arrived that he worked best under pressure, but I could see the confidence in his words dwindling at the slightest weight.

“My room didn’t have mold.” I deadpanned.

Tom kept his face straight, the muscles of his jaw working on my words.

“Not that we know of.” he attempted again.

My lips pulled instinctively, unable to resist his optimism. It unwound something in me, something that ghost stories couldn’t even stand up to.

“Are you going to chalk that kiss up to the mold too?" I challenged.

His eyebrows raised and he feverently shook his head.

“No, no, no…” Tom immediately spoke, hands reaching out to mine to lift me from the bed.

I lazily stood, letting his hands guide me as his eyes scanned my face.

Something still haunted me within, like whatever world I stepped into last night that I wasn’t meant to be in left something with me. But the mayor of this place seemed to know how to make it feel less grappling, even though it sat so deep.

“Tonight, we will have a normal date. No haunted inns, just a nice night out with no ghosts and no sleepwalking.” he said, voice filled with a promise I could feel he wanted to keep.

My mind drifted back to the map I still kept from the last time.

“I hear the Barnabus tavern has good food and a jukebox?” I suggested.

His face soured slightly.

“It’s a dive bar which is too close on the spectrum of haunted inns for me.”

But, I leaned in with a stagnant expression, one that wasn’t backing down.

“Fine.” Tom murmured as I neared in.

A normal evening with him sounded nice. I wasn’t going to let him off the hook with what happened last night. Even now, the most rational part of myself started to take over as it gave up trying to make sense of it all. Or maybe I was just that tired to take what I saw serious. The only thing that was real right in this moment was Tom, whose hands gently moved up my arms like delicately tracing a shelf of glass, and I gladly become reaquainted with his touch.

It started a domino effect in me; the goosebumps cascading into something deeper, more unfiltered in its want for closeness.

I looked back up at him in time to catch his gaze on my lips, triggering the heat of a blush rushing under the surface of my skin. I thought of the closeness last night and how it already felt like a distant memory I so badly wanted to remember again.

But just as Tom leaned in, a car horn rang out front not only loudly but for a long thirty seconds that made us jump slightly apart.

I sighed, forehead dropping onto him.

“Patricia.” was all he said, not disappointed nor surprised.

His hands glided from my arms to my back in a half attempt at a hug, my skin shuddering from the overwhelming warmth it brought. The tiredness was becoming unbearable now as I found his chest to be an awfully comfortable space. But I forced myself to lean back and look up at him, the tiredness in his eyes also betraying his will to leave.

“I’ll meet you there?” I asked him.

He snapped back into the small reality between us as the car horn ripped again.

“Sounds great.” he agreed.

The gnawing urge to find a reason behind all of this kept me from falling back to asleep.

I once said I didn't need theories or rationales behind the way my life fell; I had pictured it to be nothing more than the puzzle pieces finding the correct grooves to fit into place and nothing more—it was always what it was going to be. But this island was changing that construct as I lie awake on top of the quilted inn bed. When I thought of what I saw and how it corresponded to everything the islanders said we'd see, the puzzle was thrown off the table.

The only person I believed could give me the impossible answers I searched for wasn't Tom Loftis but instead, Wyck.

It didn't feel right going to the one person Tom loathed due to all the pushback, but that pushback was the reaosn I had to discover more. And I wasn't getting answers from Tom.

On an island that heavily relied on rotary phones and phonebooks were still relied upon, it wasn't hard to get ahold of Wyck although his reluctance to meet me was more challenging than the outdated technology. But after some convincing that this wasn't just for another article to make fun of him (not that I did that in the first one) he gave me his address.

Wyck lived deeper into the woods than I've had the chance to explore. It was a place that would make me start to believe in things I couldn't see too. I walked up the drive towards his one story home, my footsteps naturally cautious as I approached. It looked well kept, absolutely belonging to someone who lived by the coast with the truck bed of fishing equipment and weathered roof tiles. I couldn't see the superstition in its structure, but when Wyck appeared in his doorway, he seemed to just be the source of it.

I awkwardly quickened my pace as he held open the screen door.

"Thank you for letting me come by." I quickly ushered out as I passed by.

Of course, behind the door of several locking mechanisms, was a shotgun that I immediately glossed over as I took in the rest of his home. I made it glaringly clear that I didn't even notice as I kept a smile on.

"Yeah, well," Wyck gruffly shrugged as he shut the door behind him, his gait tilting as he walked. "I'm taking your word for it that this isn't just for some gimmicky article."

I bit back a retort to remind him my initial article wasn't gimmicky and followed along.

"No, I'm afraid I have some questions that I don't think I can put the answers to in the New York Times."

The kitchen was soft, with curtains that blew gently from the cracked windows. There few dishes about. I guess that could be expected for someone who lived alone. It was almost a little sad the more I studied its emptiness.

"Coffee?" Wyck asked, his eyes barely lifting from the floor as he manuevered his way about the coffee pot.

"Yes, please." I replied sweetly.

The silence that fell after was heavy. Every second that passed and the clinking of mugs was becoming slightly just agonizing enough that it started to make me forget all the questions I had. I don't even know if I really had them thought up in the first place.

Finally, Wyck placed the mugs down on the kitchen table and just when I thought he'd sit, I let out the slight exapserated breath as he turned back around to his fridge. To my surprise though, he had some milk and creamer in his hands. I suddenly felt ashamed of how restless I became waiting for him to finally sit down. The chair creaked with his weight and the silence after this was heavier than the last.

I hurriedly poured my milk and sugar, only to be caught off guard as he did the same in generous amounts—just slower.

I eased up just a little bit more as I watched him move through the simple routine of how he made his own coffee. A subtle grin tugged at my lips as my hands wrapped around my mug, and I glanced down briefly as if to shake it away before looking at him again and this time, after a long first sip, Wyck was ready.

"What do you want to know?"

That was a loaded question. "Everything."

He let out a dry, whistled laugh. My brows wriggled at him as I glanced over the rim of my mug.

"Humor me for a second…did you even consider asking Loftis about any of this?" Wyck asked.

The question felt like an ugly spotlight, and it must have been obvious.

"I think," I slowly began, unsure of where my thoughts would follow. "He has every right to be skeptical but I am simply…not in the business of just being skeptical."

Wyck nodded with approval. "Alright. What made you finally come around?"

I couldn't really pinpoint the exact moment I decided.

"It's my job to invesitgate the truth whether I like it or not, but this…" I fell off, eyes lost in the coffee in my hands.

"You saw something last night." he continued.

I nodded, shyly for some reason, as if I was admitting it to myself for the first time.

"I think I've seen a lot of things I turned a blind eye to."

I told him about the nightmares I had, the way the Reverend reacted to us telling him about hearing church bells…I even went back as far as my first visit here when I felt like my head was under water watching the sunset and moonrise and the red sky the came the morning after. Those things were hardly relevent, but as my suspicions poured out of me, I couldn't stop. I was picking these coincidences that it wasn't in my nature to track because I wanted them to just be as they were.

Now, I could only look at it with a terrible feeling sitting deep in my bones.

I watched as Wyck took all of my words in. He didn't seem fazed in the slightest, as if he heard this time and time before.

"You came at a peculiar time in this islands history." Wyck said in agreement to my ill feelings that brewed. "But a time that we could be more prepared for if it wasn't for Loftis bringing you and all of these tourists into the death trap its about to become." he added, his voice starkly more threatening now.

I tilted my head. "I'm sorry, but you can't blame him for not believing curses and whatnot when it comes to wanting to make this place better."

Wyck laughed bitterly at me. "Yes. You can."

I sunk back in my chair, checking my own superstitions and realizing that I was doing the one thing Wyck didn't want me to do. I had to keep an open mind, even with cursed islands. But every barrier came up as stubborn and willing as a block in the road; there was no refuting it, just turning around and taking a detour.

"Loftis knows the dangers of this island but he's in denial because it took his wife from him and he's terrified. He's always been a coward, but it's just plain ol' stupid at this point."

Every muscle in my body went rigid at the mention of his wife, let alone the island allegedly taking her from him. The slew of questions dropped steeply off the edge of my thoughts, my mind completely blanked out as I stared, slightly horrified, at Wyck.

"What do you mean it—" I paused, shaking my head to lose that thought. "Nevermind, it's not my business. I-I…it's not my place to know that yet."

Wyck casually sipped his coffee once more. He definitely didn’t agree with that sentiment. This was all so real to him that he couldn't be bothered whether I would fully open my mind to it or not.

That alone made me straighten in my seat and lean a little forward.

"Why do terrible things happen here?" "Has there ever been an investigation into the water supply?

"What do you think makes it so that ghosts can make you sleepwalk or see things that aren't there?"

"What do you mean by 'cursed' and what did this island do to deserve it?"

Somehow, there was an answer to everything. It inevitably opened up to more questions and more pieces of history I couldn't keep up with enough to properly connect. There wasn't a solid foundation as to what made this such a mess but Wyck knew of the pattern of its wake, the sole reason he challenged Tom as much as he did; it started with a quake (which occured the night before I first arrived back in April), then the fog that I witnessed the night Tom and I had dinner, and he started going into the state some people find themelves in. This lead to a story about his friend Shep, who apparently Tom witnessed dying in the hospital that same weekend I was here.

I guess I wouldn't tell my reporter about that bit either.

But Wyck started to get into what was to come—all stranger and unusual more than the last to say the least. Seahags, more dead rising, strange malificent occurrences, and the list went on until my head started to spin but all roads led to a storm that would ravage this place until the islands hunger was satiated.

I exhaled slowly through my nose, letting my disheveled notebook swallow me hole as I looked back on what I had wrote down from all of that.

"More coffee?" Wyck asked.

I nodded, barely registering his pour into my empty mug.

"I don't think you're gonna be able to squeeze that into a neat little article," he commented before turning away.

I merely sipped the coffee black, a frown in my eyes. "I will stick to the journalism, you stick to— whatever this is."

"You mainland folk," Wyck shook his head, taking a seat once more. "You think you can read this place like it's a damn Stephanie King novel."

I opened my mouth, but quickly made the decision to seal my lips back together. Tom mentioned Wyck didn't like people correcting him over that month of many phonecalls.

"But," he continued. "This island doesn't give strangers the kindness of just being another stop on a map and you're lucky to have even lasted a night in the inn."

His words were suddenly a fine tether that reeled me back to something familiar, something my mind couldn't fully make out where it heard those words before until the lighthouse popped into the forefront of my thoughts— Garret told me once this place was not kind to strangers, let alone giving them such a beautiful sight to remember forever.

"And part of me thinks that's the one thing you do believe deep down."

Finally, I looked up at him, all familiarity rushing to the surface of my skin that suddenly felt uncomfortable.

"I don't know what I believe, Wyck." I said sharper than intended. Softer this time, I continued, "but I am appreciative that you told me what you could."

Wyck respected that, in the way his posture straightened just a little and his head politely bowed. Maybe he didn't believe in my ability to understand as much as I didn't believe in this story, but I felt like we were a half step forward than from when I arrived.

"Someone's gotta be honest with ya'" he huffed.

My brows wriggled. "I'm still not onboard with blaming this all on Tom. I don't think I'd want to tell me all of this either."

Now he looked outright offended, a scoff passing through his gruffness.

"Loftis—" he clicked his tongue. "You wanna know somebody? Then you gotta embrace the good and the ugly, and all he knows how to do is pretend the ugly doesn't exist."

"I feel like 'ugly' is a poor choice of words."

The conspiracy theorist of a man before me transformed into just an innocent old man who's age was showing through the choppy relationship advice. His uncertainty about what I thought was wrong about that is where he officially lost me today.

"Well, you're not ugly—" Wyck quickly corrected. "Loftis? Well, I won't comment on that but if whatever the hell is going on between you two is gonna survive this island, then he needs to face the truth and get these tourists off the island before it's too late."

On that note, my attempt at finding some sensicle answers concluded. Wyck was surprisingly pleasant as he led me out, as if he knew he accomplished something that I was not yet aware of but I let him believe he had gotten through to me for now. But didn't he? Did I not leave with a significant amount of skepticism in my own beliefs? It threw me even more off guard that he acknowledged that Tom and I had something and that was somehow more trivial than the cursed island I allegedly found myself on.

Wyck directed me to go to the historical society and find Gerrie who would gladly walk me through the history of this island—well, specifically the history reflected in my notes.

Of course I couldn't resist another visit.

The afternoon lulled by, sun slowly passing overhead as I became lost in a more deeper understanding of the exhibits and archives Gerrie pulled; all of these things seemed to confirm the suspicious amount of activity that plagued this place and its happenings. But it was all still so far and few between that it wasn't enough to convince me that myself and every tourist arriving this weekend would be doomed. Even Gerrie, who when she found out it was Wyck who sent me, laughed it off as another one of his good fisherman's tales.

Fisherman's tale or not, by the time I was able to look at a clock again I realized I was terribly behind on meeting Tom for our first real date.

"Oh, shit…" I muttered at the clock, startling Gerrie just a little.

Those words propelled me across the main roads through the town's center and back to the inn, the setting sun taunting me from behind as it dared to move even faster in its descent knowing the time to be at the Barnabus was near. No matter how fast I showered and changed and attempted to look presentable, I was not only exhausted but incredibly guilty which weighed heavier. Tom wanted a date that would be unscathed from the craziness we've endured and here I was, running late because of it.

Thankfully, after confiding in Gerrie as to why I had to run out in a hurry, she offered me a ride. It gave me the perfect amount of time to clear my head of everything I heard today and to also breathe a little easier.

I stepped from her car in a simple summer dress, feeling much more put together than this dive bar warranted. It sat just off the road as if it were the only place for miles, but was awfully packed by the number of trucks that were parked outside. To my relief, I didn't see Tom's car anywhere around.

As I entered into the threshold of neon signs and faint musk of cigarrete smoke, I was met with several turned heads. They were to no exception all locals and were rightfully suspcious. My head was on a swivel as I looked for Tom, but thankfully they didn't pay any mind to me by the time I took a seat at the bar on a wobbly stool. Once I was out from under scrutinty, I got a good look around; a jukebox filled the entire bar with a rhythm that coursed through the floorboards, the booths were filled, and a pool table across the place attracted a small crowd. It all felt kind of perfect actually.

"What can I get ya?" the bartender asked.

"Oh, just whatever white wine you have, please."

I turned my attention back out to the world behind me and another sight that stood out like a sore thumb was approaching me. My grin widened, the rest of the bar and its noise nonexistent as I came face to face with Tom. Seeing him dressed so casually never occured to me as a possibility. He wore a simple polo and jeans, all of which forming around parts of him I felt like I never saw before.

"You already blend in like a local." Tom greeted, filling the barstool beside me.

I turned my legs towards him, leaning my elbow on the counter. "I hope that's a compliment."

His smile faltered and he laughed nervously.

"Yes, yes—that is a compliment. But I can see why it may have been a little misconstrued…" he trailed off, head craning at the other end of the bar where someone with hardly any teeth smoked a cigarette. He finally snapped his attention back to me. "I still can't believe this was the one place you wanted to try."

I shrugged. Tom wiped his hands against his thighs, unable to stay completely still in his seat.

"I think you were just holding out on me." I teasingly accused. "This place is already screaming 'the essence of Widow's Bay."

Tom laughed, but he didn't quite fully reach his eyes.

"I really hope you're kidding."

"We will have to wait and see."

Tom ordered a whiskey which came prompty in the short glass. The bartender was much less thrilled to serve him than he was me, which wasn't saying much but it was certainly palpable. After our first few sips in the silence filled by the jukebox and distant conversations, my skin started to feel warm against my neck.

"You look…amazing, by the way." Tom blurted out, words stalling midsentence. "This place doesn't deserve to see you like this."

I didn't expect a simple compliment to strike me so deep.

"Thank you. " I giggled, bumping my knees against his. "I am quite excited to see the real Tom Loftis outside of his mayoral duties."

He sheepishly looked down at himself, laughing under his breath.

"If you count sleeping in an haunted inn as mayoral duties, then—"

I immediately shushed him with the finger I brought to my lips. "No talk of anything in that regard."

Tom bowed his head, holding up his hands to plead for innocence.

"You're right, you're right," he caved in.

Instead, our conversation ebbed and flowed nicely after that. I forgot how easy it felt to talk to him when it wasn't involving an interview or a wild experience on this island. This was just us, not a reporter and not a mayor talking like their roles didn't influence a single thing other than putting us in these bartstools at this very moment in time. Those thoughts of fate started to creep in the more Tom and I laughed or found something else in common.

I don't think I would ever quite shake the feeling that I was always meant to be here, heart beating against the current that seemed to surge every time I looked at the crinkle by his eyes when he smiled at me (and it felt like he couldn't stop smiling).

"This is turning out to be a wonderful first date, by the way." I commended him.

A flush was engrained into Tom's features now as he finished his glass.

"I wouldn't necessarily call this the first…"

I tilted my head. "If we're considering what's normal, what do you think our first date was?"

Tom shrugged, grinning like he knew the answer that waited for me was already a stupid one.

"Right—you're right," he nodded, chuckling to himself. "I guess a dozen phonecalls don't really count as dates."

The song from the jukebox shifted to something softer, an older record from a time before mine that seemed to cause the older population of the bar to stir with excitement.

"Those count in my book." I answered, distracted by some of the others who got up to dance in the small space between the tables and the jukebox behind us.

An man who looked to be Wyck's age but much shorter in stature started nearing our barstools. I nervously glanced at Tom, and back to the man who sweetly smiled at me specifically. I had a faint idea of where this was going.

"Miss," he greeted, large flannel hanging over him and his extended hand. "May I ask you for a dance? Just one for this poor old soul?"

Through a clenched smile, my eyes flickered over to Tom who's hand covered the blossoming laugh on his lips. I wanted to call him out for finding this so hilarious, but I was too far in to say no to the man. We shared a glance that simply said I'd kill him for this later and I took the man's soft, wrinked hand.

'I would be honored."

He introduced himself as Joe, and Joe was much stronger than he led on with the soft swing dance he led me through. It actually became a little fun and quite the teaching lesson too, one that Tom was getting a kick out of from where he watched me at the bar.

I moved on from Joe to another man his age but slightly taller but much slower in his moves for a lack of mobility in his hips, I think. But only this man could pull me in and spin me to a Journey song.

Tom was unable to hide his laughter between his sips, catching the pained smile of hers from over one of the older men's shoulders and slowly watching it turn into something she was starting to enjoy. The others quickly turned it into a dance lesson like they were back in the sixties, living vicariously through the young spirit that joined them on the floor. He felt bad at first but it didn't take long for her to start getting into it with them.

The bartender cleared his throat, causing Tom to shift his attention to the man who had a frown on his face.

"I already don't like you that much," he began, catching Tom off guard. "But if you don't go up there and take your lady for a dance, I'm going to hate you even more."

Tom's throat went dry. When he looked back at her, the bar felt a little smaller at the edges of his vision. He couldn't possibly—there was no chance he could—he'd just look stupid. But the song changed again, something much slower with the intent of breaking the others away and leaving her stranded in the center of the floor she had no choice but to be pulled onto. Tom stood on blind confidence, slowly making his way to her lone figure.

I was quite offended that the older gentlemen abandoned me so quickly. I turned all around me, almost hoping I'd get whisked away again as the song changed to one of my favorite classicss. But just as I was about to give up and return to my stool, I nearly collided with a much more sturdier figure who I quickly recognized as Tom before I could even tilt my head back.

His hands found their place, one taking mine while the other rested on my hip, completely taknig the air from my lungs.

I looked up at him, lips parted in awe. He looked as surprised as I felt.

But nothing about our movements slowed, rocking to the music in the center of the floor. The neon bar signs felt warm against my face, even with the slight tinge they stung my eyes with. None of it mattered too much if I focused up on Tom's eyes and the small shadows beneath. It was enough to get me lost and freely get pulled along. I didn't register at first that my chest was against him, merely accepting the proximity like it was fitting into an old sweater.I glanced over at our hands that hung in the air, fingers laced together on instinct.

There was something deep down that wanted to be alarmed, but I couldn't even if I tried. I felt utterly at peace and that alone gave me the dangerous realization that my heart was beating for much more than I anticipated. The alarm I wanted to feel was merely coming to terms that I may just like Tom Loftis…a lot.

"What made you want me to come back?" I asked softly, almost inaudible.

Tom's brows furrowed.

"I don't know." he admitted. "I can't describe it—how I felt when you left and how it felt hearing you over the phone?"

I suppose I couldn't dsecribe it either.

"Try me," I grinned.

Despite the guilt I felt for going to Wyck earlier and what he said about Tom's wife, I had to know that of all the ghost stories and haunts that whatever brought me back here was real. Even if Tom looked like he was fighting to find an answer good enough, I just had to know that this feeling I had wasn't apart of some curse I couldn't escape.

"I…I felt like I was going to be destroyed if I didn't hear your voice again or see your face." he said, quieter against the music. "It sounds silly saying outloud." he snickered. "But, I think I spent so much of my life letting things pass me by and my body felt like it was going to combust if I did that with you."

The answer he gave pricked my eyes with the slightest bit of tears. I didn't expect it to be so raw, so much more than I could comprehend. To hide my own reaction, I rested my head on his chest, shutting my eyes for a few seconds. It was all still real.This island didn't lure me back, I just followed my heart.

"I hope that didn't just make you worry I was going to combust when you have to leave."

My laugh bubbled through me and I looked back up at him.

"No," I shook my head.

We looked at each other a moment longer, the neon signs blurring at the edges of my vision. I could tell he was mulling over a thought in his head.

"Why did you come back when I asked you to?"

In my head, I scoffed and said it was the easiest decision I ever made. But it was more than that. All along, since I arrived on the ferry, I knew it had to be for some bigger reason than filling in for a friend despite everything telling me otherwise. This was the reason, I liked to think.

“When you told me you wanted me to come back, all I could think of was how much I didn’t want to let go of your hand when I first left.” was all I could say, the purest memory blissfully settling over me. Tom laughed at the simplicity of it too. “I knew the phone calls weren’t enough. I knew nothing I could do would shake you or this place from me.”

I hoped my answer sufficed, but by the gentle squeeze of his hand on my hip, pulling me impossibly closer, I knew that I never wanted to move if I could help it.

“And you don’t regret coming back? Yet?”

I chuckled at his last word. “No. Not yet.”

The song ended and yet, we still clung onto each other—that was until a few of the others decided it was alright to whistle at us.

But it was a good cue to leave before the night got too carried away at the local dive.

Hand in hand, Tom walked me back to his car where the music continued through the radio and the windows rolled down. This time, his hand didn’t leave mine as we hit the road.

The inn came into view and with it, my subtle disappointment.

“Will you be at the inaugural swim tomorrow?” Tom asked as he opened the door for me.

“Of course,” I scoffed, lazily following towards the weathered inn. “With popcorn and binoculars.”

He grinned as his head lowered. “I guess that is fair.”

The door became painstakingly closer and I stood before Tom, whose hands fidgeted in front of him. Maybe he didn’t want to leave either, but I couldn’t exactly make that decision for him.

“Thank you for an amazing, unofficial, official first date.” I beamed.

Tom smiled proudly of himself. “I think we both owed it to each other—well, mostly me, I owed you this.”

I shook my head and stood on my toes to press a kiss to his cheek. I tried to bid him a reasonable goodnight but he barely moved as I cracked open the front door. My heart seized at the sight of the woman behind the desk slumped over her newspaper, snoring so loud we could have heard it from the bar.

Glancing back at Tom, I almost chuckled at the way he rocked on his heels with his hands in his pockets.

“How good are you at tip toeing up stairs?” I whispered to him.

His face blanked, and it took him a second too long for realization to hit him.

“Oh—oh!” Tom caught on, quickly lowering his voice. “I can do that really really well, actually.”

When I turned back around, the heat started to surface beneath the skin around my face and neck, but spread like a wildfire deep down. I really did keep track of my steps to ensure they came down light and slow, no better than I was as a teenager sneaking home at night. Tom followed suit better than I anticipated as we calculated the creaks on the stairs. It was I who almost had a misstep and nearly broke our cover with trying to hide the fit of laughter that ensued.

But I found myself outside of my door, Tom patiently behind me as it was this morning.

That fire ran deeper though. My key was barely in the old lock before I slowly turned around, maybe just to check if he was still there before I opened it and didn’t look back.

That was a mistake though, because the second my eyes caught his, no amount of force could separate us. While one hand remained on the doorknob, the other was drawn to his face to pull him in as his lips were already on their way down to mine.

Tom’s hands came around my waist as we came together, and I sucked in a sharp breath of air, losing it when his fingers sprawled around my midsection. He tightened his hold, filling in any space possible.

My hand reached into his hair to anchor myself, lips moving against each other like they had been aching for this feeling again.

I twisted the doorknob with weak fingers, fumbling before getting it open without taking a breath.

Tom’s footsteps moved before mine, and I let myself stumble back into the room. His hand released me for a split second to reach behind him and shut the door with a resounding slam that echoed through me. With both hands free now, the hunger was insatiable, and my arms looped around his neck.

I let my lungs burn before I pulled back to catch my breath. But we took turns on who broke that first, rushing back in without getting a full breath.

His arms snaked around my waist, our footsteps tangled together with not a breadth of air between us.

Tom’s legs hit the foot of the bed. I paused this time, coming up for air and looking up at him. His lips were red, and mine certainly felt swollen already. I took in his half lidded eyes that scanned my face and my hands came to his shoulders to gently sit him back on the bed. Every move came with a subtle pause to make sure he was okay, but his hands reached the back of my thighs before I even had the chance to straddle him.

We were somehow closer than we were before, my head towering his from the position I settled in. His hands traced the path of where my dress rides up my legs, and it froze me in place. I looked down at the small specs of hazel in his eyes, thumb tracing over the crinkle at the corner when he smiled. There was something so gentle about him that made me sad to ever think anyone could have mistaken it for something selfish or soft.

I placed a kiss to his cheek, then his jaw which set off a shudder that ran through him down to his legs. I heard the softest exhale from his lips before bringing mine back down to his.

It awakened something deeper. The gentleness faded, replaced by hands that coarsely traversed my back to pull me in. I arched against him, mouth opening wider as our kiss deepened. My hands remained at the sides of his face before reaching back up into his hair, fingers tangling themselves in the soft curls they found.

A short moan escaped his lips, vibrating against mine. The coil in my chest wrought tighter, shooting down to my center. I wanted to make him do that again.

We became more tangled in each other, and he lost his ability to sit upright. He laid back down, taking me with him and we still barely took a breather. This time, I could feel something harder between the layers that separated us.

Tom’s hands found the skin of my legs beneath my dress, sliding up more and leaving a wake of goosebumps that spread all over my arms and legs. They slid up further and further, callouses brushing the softest parts of my skin. I subconsciously sunk deeper against the bugle in his jeans, a wilder feeling rushing through my blood.

My only breath was the short gasp I couldn’t control. I felt his lips tug into a grin against mine, as if he knew what he was doing and that he had me wrapped around his finger.

I would gladly assume that position.

But something in our age must have shown by the way we both pulled back. I propped myself up on his arms, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath me. I could barely even hold myself up, let alone hide how much this exhausted me.

Tom looked delirious, and I couldn’t help but smile even if I had lost airflow to my brain.

“I still feel like I don’t know what I’m doing.” he admitted between breaths.

I chuckled. “Could have fooled me.”

He reached a hand up to push the hair back from my face, and I would have happily let him stare at me like this forever in this room and on this bed.

The awkward question began to surface as that very natural urge to jump his bones started to fade.

“How much further are you comfortable with going with this?” I asked gently. I looked down with a warm, patient smile as I sunk my head further into his hand that cupped my face.

The dazed look disappeared from Tom’s face at my question, and there was a subtle flash of panic in his eyes that suddenly made all of this too real.

“It’s been…years,” he guessed, “since I’ve even done any of this…let alone that.”

I eased myself off of him to lay beside him. My one leg remained nestled over his and head on his arm that he laid out for me

“Then we don’t have to break that streak tonight.” I assured him.

Whatever worry clouded his mind ceased to exist. Tom angled himself towards me, a tired smile on his lips. He reached over to kiss my forehead and it only made me come close to rest my head on his chest.

“Thank you,” Tom exhaled, my head lulling against the breaths.

“You don’t have to thank me,” I said. “I could lay here for hours and be just as content as long as you are.”

Tom’s arm that was my pillow seconds ago wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me tighter against him.

“I am very, very content…” Tom grinned, the sound of eyes shutting clear in his tired voice.

We lay like that for a while, fighting the urge to fall asleep right then and there. I poked him with a few questions here and there just to make sure he was still awake. Each time, his answer came slower and slower until he forced himself to finally sit up.

“I have to go or else my son will try to use this as a good enough reason for him to sneak out.”

I chuckled at the mild panic in his eyes that were filled with the remnants of sleep he picked up while laying here. Following suit, I sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed.

“And you need a good night's rest before your swim. I don’t want to be responsible for the mayor drowning because he didn’t get good sleep.”

I finally stood and he took my hand to help me half way. He shook his head in disbelief at my words.

“I wouldn’t tell anyone it was your fault.”

Tom grinned, ignoring the implications of that claim, and brought his hands to cup my face.

“Sure,” I answered meekly. “Just kiss me again before you leave.”

He followed the command as easily as picking up a pen, lips coming back down on mine, the soreness of them much more patent this time.

“Good night.”

Tom left and I was on my own once more, the butterflies returning as my thoughts cycled over those kisses until it lulled me to sleep.

ALRIGHT sorry that took forever. Again. I hope it doesn’t feel rushed. I kinda just enjoy writing reader and Tom and being all fluffy. Next chapter is going to give more horror vibes. Thank you to everyone who’s liked, commented, sent in asks etc it is so much fun interacting with everyone!! It really keeps my motivation going <3

ALSO my song of choice for their dance was Im on fire from Bruce Springsteen bc I have been hooked on that again lately

He tries to drop you off at home, but you demand he come inside and at least shower off so he doesn't have to drive back to the barracks grimy with sweat, sunscreen, and sand. Of course he agrees - the man has never said no to you in his life, even before he finally had the courage to ask you out - and he turns eggplant-purple when you casually shuck your swimsuit to join him.

You're stupidly horny for him after seeing him half-naked all day, so you take your sweet time lathering your vanilla bodywash into his skin. He sighs beneath the steam of the shower and the ministrations of your hands, shoulders slumping like his joints and tendons finally realized he's no longer in a combat zone. Blissed out and half way to falling asleep on his feet.

But he wakes right the fuck up when your fingers creep lower and you begin to massage his cock.

König loves your handjobs. He says you're unbelievably good at them and he never needs to worry that his size is hurting you - a frequent insecurity of his when you first became intimate. While you languidly work his hardening member back and forth, you rest your head between his pecs as the water pours down on you both.

He makes the most pathetic little whimpers as your lazy tugs turn into proper pumping. One of his hands flies against the tiles to keep himself steady against the urge to turn into a puddle at your feet.

When you tell him its time to wash his hair, he seems perfectly willing to accept that the handjob is over without having come. But when you ask him to get on his knees so you can reach his head, he quickly picks up on what's actually happening: a perfect excuse to smush his face into your tits.

König may love your handjobs, but he worships breasts.

You squirt some shampoo onto his head and begin to spread it through his short hair while König attends to your chest. Sucking, rubbing his face, thumbing your nipples, and whispering breathless gratitude into your cleavage. It's not terribly long before he picks up where you left off, the wet noises of his hand sliding over his cock speaking to something primal in your cavewoman brain. "I'm so lucky," he says over and over again. "So fucking lucky."

It doesn't take long for him to empty his balls, splattering your legs as he leans so hard into your body you nearly topple. The shower quickly washes away the mess as he plants a final kiss beneath the swell of one breasts.

He quickly asks what you'd like in return - he's happy to lick your pussy for the rest of the night, or he could sit you on his lap and use his fingers - but all you really want right now is a nap. There's something so satisfying about pampering this man, who got dealt a shit hand in life but is somehow still the type to fumble his way through a homemade mojito recipe if he thinks it'll make you smile.

Neither of you bother to put clothes back on as you collapse into bed and wrap your bodies around each other. You think to yourself, not for the first time, what a wonderful father he would make. You can picture with ease König's big hands spreading sunscreen over a little boy who has his eyes and your hair.

A goal for next summer, maybe.

===

I dont usually do requests, but I would literally jump off a bridge for @the-californicationist ❤️💕🧡 Thanks for the prompt, Cali!!

For Tom Loftis ‘The Bay Bookshop’ has always been a safe space.

From the summers he used to visit Widow’s Bay as a child, to his tenure as mayor of this fucked up little town, it’s the place he always found comfort. Especially now, since he spends most of his nights in the apartment upstairs, being ridden by a woman the rumours say hasn’t aged in a couple of hundred years.

Tom knows that can’t be the truth, that the bookshop has always been a family run business. You just happen to look a lot like your mother, and your grandmother, and your great grandmother. Each was a striking woman, with a fierce energy and an empathy that you could feel in the depths of your bones, or so he’s heard.

“So, you’re settling with the witch.” Wyck remarks, when he sees Tom helping you pack up for the night. You do a little coffee and cake thing for the patrons, tables set up outside the shop with a view of the ocean. The two of you have fallen into domesticity quite neatly, you counting up the cash register as he puts away the wrought iron outdoor furniture at the end of the evening. “You could do worse, although she… she could probably do a lot better.”

“I thought we killed all of the witches.” Tom responds mildly, tipping his head towards The Historical Society. “We actually make a pretty big deal about it. ‘We caught ‘em, we burned ‘em.’” He mimics Gerrie’s words in the same tone of voice she used with Arthur the New York Times reporter.

“Clearly not all of ‘em.” Wyck says pointedly, and Tom’s gaze strays through the autumnal window display, where you’re singing along to the radio and counting cash. “You’re probably safer with her than you are with anyone else on this island.” Wyck crosses his arms over his barrelled chest. “You telling me you haven’t noticed all of those sigils carved into beams holding up the place, or the fact they form a pentagram. She waves around a sage stick at the end of the day for Christ’s Sake.”

As if on cue, there you are lighting one up from the stash you keep underneath the cash register, your lips pursing together in a sensuous pout as you blow out the flame.

“A pentagram… really?” Tom scoffs turning his attention back to Wyck. “There’s no way that’s true…”

But then Tom stops to think about it, about the fact he’s always thought that the beams formed a star. He considered it to be a quirk of the building, that the markings etched into them were artisan, something one of your ancestor’s had created when they were trying to fill time on those long winter nights before electricity and television.

He thinks of the other things you do. The patterns you draw on his chest in the dead of night, the lavender drops you place on his pillow, the nighttime tea…

All eccentric little things… but they don’t mean you’re a witch, right? A witch wouldn’t huff and puff about ordering him the latest James Patterson from the mainland because it’s an ‘airport book’, she wouldn’t have a cache of monster smut that she updates frequently for the spicier of citizens, she wouldn’t host a monthly book club exhibiting feminist literature.  

Would she?

Wyck’s already gone by the time he shakes off those thoughts. He finds himself staring at the wreath made of hawthorn, goldenrod and strawflowers, so warm, so welcoming but all things that are meant to ward off evil according to the pamphlets on witches they have at The Historical Society.

“I have something to ask you.” He says later that night when the two of you are up in the apartment above the shop. He’s sitting in the armchair alongside the wood burner, the logs crackling, watching the sway of your hips as you set down the needle of the record player.

Black Magic Woman by Fleetwood Mac starts to play. You turn to face him, the handmade cotton robe with the intricate block prints billowing over your black tank top and panties.

The weekends usually start like this, a little music, a little wine and sex. Lots of earth-shattering sex.

“Uh oh, sounds serious.”” You say slipping into his lap, straddling him. The glow of the fireplace warms your skin as your fingertips trail along his clean-shaven jaw, tipping his chin up to meet your eyes. They remind him of the ocean, of the relentless crash of the tides against the beach. Steady, constant, and just that little bit wild if you catch them on the right day. “You can ask me anything.”

“It’s stupid.” He mumbles as your nose trails along his, your lips are barely brushing over the shape of his pert mouth. He aches for that kiss with every fibre of his being, for the feel of your hands threading through his hair, your bare skin pressing against his.

“You don’t get a kiss until you tell me.” You tease as if reading his thoughts. You rock your hips against him, and a low moan expels from his chest as that perfect pussy grinds against his cock.

“Wyck says you’re a witch.” He murmurs, his hands grasping your waist, fingertips digging into your hips hard enough to bruise as he arches up to meet you. Electricity rolls through his body like a storm off the coast of Maine, sizzling through his nerve endings as his breath comes out hurried. “He’s bullshitting, right?”

You still and his head tips back against the back of the armchair as he drinks in your flushed skin and bright eyes. “I thought you knew, you grew up on the island…”

“I spent my summers here, I didn’t grow up here…” He reminds you, his grip on your waist loosening as he tries to comprehend this new knowledge. “You’re Wiccan?”

You pull a face. “Older. Think paganism.”

That, he realises, is a hell of a lot older than he thought.  

“What else did Wyck say?” You ask and he can sense your anxiety underneath the surface as the song switches to I’ve Lost My Baby.

He seeks to dispel it, his fingertips playing along a stray strand of hair before he tucks it back behind your ear. “He said I’m safe with you…” His palm clasps the side of your face, his thumb ghosting over the apple of your cheek. “I feel safe with you.”

“My family… we’ve always sort of negated the chaos of the island.” You reveal as he draws you closer, your face back within kissing distance. “Give people the things they need to protect themselves.”

“Spells?” He questions, his nose nudging against yours this time.

“Solutions.” You correct.

“And this…” His mouth ghosts over yours, your honied lip balm smearing over his lips. “What we have, it’s real, it’s not… a love spell?”

You snort out a laugh, and he finds himself smiling at the sound as you press your forehead against his. “No Tom, what we have, it’s a magic of its own.”

Like My Work? - Tip your friendly fan fic writer here! Or be a sweetheart and drop me comment or reblog.

Two diagnosis were switched up so a poor old man thought he was dying a lot sooner than he was. Jack smoothed that one out.

And a man with heart palpations just couldn't leave his cat so had to bring him in and Gloria just had to come down at that same time.

So you were ready to crash when there was a knock on the door.

Something you learnt living in Robby's space was the lack of visitors he had. You'd bumped into Mrs Hathaway who lived two doors down and had a bad habit of smoking a pack a day and carried the smell with her and explained that Robby was away so you were looking after his one house plant and bringing in his male.

But Mrs Hathaway never came around.

You wondered if you'd been so tired you'd called yourself a take-away and forgot as you looked through the peep hole.

Long grey hair and stormy eyes looked back at you. A denim vest and tattoos standing out against the canvas of skin. Before you wouldn't have known the guy; would've debated crashing Robby's peace to ask who this guy was but now he was a frequent flyer at PTMC.

“Hey, Duke,” you greeted, holding the door open.

Duke grinned and went in for a hug. “Hey.”

He smelt like bike oil and leather but you patted his back. You didn't know if he was deep down an affectionate guy or if it was the diagnosis but every time he visited the hospital for check ups or meds for his pain who was asking for particular nurses and buying up their time with idle chatter.

Nobody seemed to mind.

“Robby's still not back,” you said, pulling away and following him into Robby's place.

“Oh yeah, I know, just needed to pick up some tools I left here,” he said.

You watched him move around, flicking on lights as he went that you hadn't had the chance to turn on yet. He moved around Robby's place like he knew every nook and cranny. Maybe he did. Slowly, you were learning Robby had a life outside of the Pitt.

“So, how's the bachelor pad treating you?” Duke called as he wondered around the space.

“It's nice, it's good,” you said, following behind a pace or two and just hoping the tools weren't in Robby's room. Then he might see your bag you'd slowly let spill out over the place and a coffee mug you'd left from this morning. He might see the rumpled sheets and thrown over cover and realise you were sleeping in your bosses bed and not the provided spare room.

The guest room bed hadn't been made and you'd been so tired coming back that you'd just crashed in his bed, for one night. You were going to clean the sheets but then his bed was so comfortable you struggled even getting up in the morning.

It felt like an embrace from him.

“The wi-fi playing up or anything?” he asked, searching through kitchen cupboards.

“No, it's been fine.”

“Been eating? Punk has a good kitchen.”

“Did Robby ask you to check on me, or something?” you asked, hoping Robby didn't think he'd made a mistake in asking you to house sit. His one plant was very well cared for and mail organised by what you think required his upmost attention first. You'd even kept a pile of junk mail just in case he was particular in the sort he got rid of.

“No,” Duke chuckled. “I just know I'll get bonus points if I check in on you.”

Before you could ask what he meant by that there was a triumphant cheer as he started to pull out so many tools and a tool box you wondered if he was robbing Robby.

“Did Robby tell you he has a parking spot reserved out front? Parking can be a bitch here.”

“Oh, I don't drive I catch the bus.”

“He tell you about the camera's.”

The sleep that had been invading your every sense ebbed away. “Cameras?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Around the place. Installed them a couple months back.”

Cameras. All around the place.

You searched high around in places you'd never thought to scrutinise before. There, looming like a bird of prey in the corner of the kitchen was what could be assumed a camera. It was just a black dot to you with the high ceilings but when you glanced over at the living area there was a better view of the camera sat in the corner, aimed right where you stood at the kitchen island.

Cameras. About the place. The place you'd been living for weeks.

You'd been sleeping in Robby's bed, you'd been flaunting around in your shirt and nothing else. You had Trinity around to eat pizza and drink wine in your bras. You'd looked through Robby's stuff, you'd-

You'd done un-speakable things to yourself in that bed.

Were they a security measure? Did the tapes end up anywhere? And if they did, could you find them and burn them.

“The camera's,” said Duke, standing with tool box full in hand. “He mentioned them right.”

No. Robby hadn't mentioned anything of the sort. Hadn't even let onto the fact you might want to be on your guard. He'd welcomed you into his place, told you to treat it like yours while he was gone.

“Oh, yeah, cameras. He-he told me about the camera's,” you lied, gulping down the truth.

What if you said no he hadn't and it was written all over your face that you were guilty of.... of something. What if Duke thought it was Robby's fault? He was probably just tired, or forgot they were even there.

“Yeah, took us ages to get up. We were no good at it, you know, old men and technology,” he said, heading toward the door already.

“Yeah, yeah... totally.”

“Okay, see ya soon, doc!”

“You too, Duke.” As distracted as you were, Duke let himself out. The door closed and you were left alone with the cameras.

Maybe they weren't working all the time. Maybe, since Robby knew it was just you and he could trust you he'd turned off the cameras. Maybe he really had just forgot they were there and no longer used them.

Maybe's chased you into Robby's ensuite, sat you down on the of the counter. You scanned the corners subtly in case you were being watched but found only clean tiles and sterile walls. Safe.

As for the rest of the place, you dreaded to think.

You had almost forgot all about the cameras again. The first night you slept stiff, still un-able to drag yourself from the comfort of Robby's bed but you found the camera, tucked away in a corner. You'd watched for a flashing light but found none, so did that not mean it was off?

You thought about texting Robby, asking him about the cameras but you looked back at the last texts. He'd sent you a picture of a lake he was at, said it was peaceful, said he was enjoying his time. You didn't want to freak him out or accuse him of anything.

You knew the kind of guy Robby was. If he remembered the cameras, he'd tell you.

Moving on from that catastrophe was easy when you worked in the ED. Disasters came in and managed your time. You'd thought about asking Jack when you saw him at hand off but smiled him off.

Days later you were forgetting all about it.

“I mean, I've heard some pretty crazy stories before but a carrot, up the butt,” Trinity chuckled down the phone.

“Is it bad it's not even the first I've seen,” you said. “I had someone with a cucumber up there once.”

Santos hummed on the other end of the phone. “I get it, longer, smoother.”

You had been chopping up a carrot to make a ragu and thought different of it, putting it aside and forging any vegetable that could be seen as phallic. “You're disgusting.”

“Say that to the patient with half a carrot stuck up there.”

A quick sear of pain made you jump as beads of blood found its way down to Robby's chopping board and the onion you'd been slicing.

“Oh shit-”

“What happened? Found Robby's Viagra?” she said down the other line.

“Hilarious,” you grit out. Without thinking you grabbed the tea towel and wrapped it around your hand, holding it up high. You cursed quietly again when you realised you'd just ruined one of his. “I just, er, dropped one of Robby's glasses, I gotta go, I'll call you back.”

You wedged your wrapped up hand into your chest and ended the call.

Being a doctor yourself you knew you could handle a cut, blood, a gash. Peeling it away and dabbing at the edges you found the wound, a clean cut, not too deep. Stitches, maybe.

If you kept it wrapped up you could just leave it till the morning for your shift-

Your phone rang again and you answered without looking. Most calls logged in your phone were Trinity anyway. “No, I have not seen a banana in a vagina.”

“Well hello to you too,” said a striking and familiar deep rumble of a voice.

“Robby. Hey, sorry I-I thought you were Santos.”

He chuckled but it was curt. “Exciting day in work?”

“Yeah-yeah, you could say that,” you put down your phone on speaker and re-wrapped your hand. “So what's up? What's with the call?”

“I just wanted to... check in, it's been a while.”

You squeezed your hand, trying to stop the bleeding. “Everything's fine. All fine. Place is still standing.”

“Yeah, yeah, that's good, that's good,” he said with hesitation. “How are you? Staying safe, no-no accidents around the place I hope. Sometimes that place is a death trap. Door can stick... and- and my knives can be... sharp.”

Suddenly you realised.

The camera's.

Robby hadn't called you while he'd been away. He'd text only oddly to see how things were or send pictures of where he was- that was a new development.

He'd texted you about the temp playing up in his shower after you made one too hot and had to lie bare on is bed with his fan on you.

He'd texted that he had extra blankets if you were cold when you were wrapped up in his dressing gown.

He knew about the camera's.

Robby had seen. Everything.

“Still there?” he asked.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry just- funny you should bring up the knives, I just had a little accident.”

“Are you okay? Did you cut yourself?”

You tried not to eye the camera's. “Just a small cut.”

“You wouldn't lie to me would you?” he asked, a dark tint to his voice.

You didn't know what worried you more. The fact he was watching you close enough to see and call you, or the fact the thought didn't creep you out as you supposed it should. “How would you feel if I bloodied one of your tea towels.”

“Relieved, as long as you get your cut looked at.”

“And if I got blood on a chopping board.”

“Chopping board- bit of wood, I can get some more wood up here.”

“And how is your trip?”

Robby chuckled. “Oh no, no, no you're not distracting me from this. Got to the ER.”

“It's not that deep.”

“It loo-”

For a moment you were both silent, knowing what he was going to say. It looks bad. You felt burning in the back of your skull as you felt the camera's around you like his own gaze when he was watching your procedures in the ED.

“Better safe than sorry,” he said with a clear of his throat.

“I'll be fine.”

“Yeah, well, I've already texted Jack letting him know you're on your way in so you don't want to disappoint him do you. Or me. Do you, huh?”

You hoped the camera's didn't pick up on the blush rising to your cheeks. “No, I do not, Doctor Robby.”

He hummed. “Good girl.”

Your breath caught in your throat and the sudden thump of pain in your hand moved somewhere lower. Was it normal to feel aroused by the idea of being watched, with a cut bloody hand and your boss down the line.

“I guess I better get going, I don't want to disappoint.”

“No you don't.”

“So, I should go.”

“You should.”

He did not hang up and neither did you. At least you had the excuse of doing it all one handed.

“Okay, bye then,” you said, biting down on your lip to hide your smile.

“Bye.”

“Speak soon?”

“Yeah, I'll call you.”

Finally you pulled the phone back and declined. You wondered if you could hide away in the bathroom but the camera...

How much time did he spend watching you? Did he just so happen to check in at the same time the knife sliced your palm? Was he watching and had been watching since he left?

Had he watched when you plunged your fingers into your own pussy, spreading your need around... and called his name?

What kind of person did it make you if you wanted him to see that?

You got your hand sorted, stropping into the ED like you were a petulant child. Jack had only laughed at you, all but waiting in a swivel stool and turning around like a James Bond villain just to say: “I've been expecting you.”

However, your hand did need stitches and as the slice was along your palm it made trauma procedures difficult. You were stuck ordering around Ogilvie which was about as fun as it sounded and charting.

There was only small reliefs.

Practically as soon as you got back to Robby's he was dropping you a text or calling you. Usually it was under the pretence of checking on your hand or that he was waiting on an important letter but you knew it wasn't that. He knew exactly when you were home, whether it was overtime or not.

The camera's became hard to ignore but you tried to. You didn't want to freak Robby out by telling him you know about them. You didn't want to scare him off from watching you. Shouldn't it have been the other way around? Shouldn't he know that what he was doing was wrong on so many levels? Borderline, stalker-ish.

Still, one night, one lonely night you were in his bed unable to sleep. You were too busy thinking about Robby and the cameras.

It was hard being single and lonely. You had your own devices but toys were back at yours (Trinity brought you them as a joke birthday present and it turned into an even bigger joke when you opened them up in front of Denis) and you didn't want to bring toys into Robby's room.

Porn videos could get you going. Maybe a smutty book.

But knowing the camera's were there made it all the more easier to slide your fingers in your panties and find your arousal pooling.

Maybe Robby wasn't watching. Maybe he could tell this was a private moment and he shouldn't have been watching. The thought had your fingers stilling over your clit, your mind racing ahead of you. Maybe he didn't look at the camera's... maybe this was you over thinking it all...

Your phone rang on the bedside table and you reached over to get it.

There was a flash of Robby's name so familiar to you know it was like your own phone background.

Your other hand was still down your panties when you answered.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” his voice was gruff, low in his throat like he'd just woken up. “What are you up to?”

So, he was watching.

You smirked to yourself, trying desperately not to look at the camera. “Whyyyy are you asking?”

You heard him shuffle around on the other end. “Dunno, was just bored. Was thinking about you.”

“Oh, really?” trying not to sound too delighted was not your specialty.

“Yeah... seem to be doing that a lot these days.”

“You must miss me, huh?”

“Yeah. I must,” he hummed. “You know, I think you'd like it up here. Heck, I actually think I could've used the company, too.”

You slid a finger through your entrance. You were wet before just thinking about him, his voice low and gruff, the way it fell when talking through a serious procedure made it so you were clenching with every rise and fall of his voice. “If I was there with you who'd look after your place?”

“Hmm, you make a good point,” he said, a small tick to his words. “Speaking of my place, which bed you sleeping in?”

You felt your cheeks tint red as you pushed in another finger, pushing in and out slowly. Did he want to hear you were in his bed, even though he could see that you were? You toyed with him a little. It seemed only fair. “Why? Didn't you say I could pick either?”

“I'm just curious. Tell me.”

You closed your eyes and inhaled the smell of him that still lingered around his bed, clouding the edges of your mind in desire. “Yours.”

He chuckled. “Mine, huh?”

“Yeah. It's got the ensuite. It's bigger. It's comfy,” you said. You moved your fingers around your clit, drawing small circles and stretching your legs wider. You had some decency, let it be known, you were under the covers with an old and tattered T-shirt but you were sure it wasn't hard to tell what you were getting up to under there.

“Comfy, you think so?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Smells like you too.”

A breath caught down the line. “Do you like that it smells like me?”

You nodded, growing wetter as your eyes closed. “I do. I can wash it before you get back so it doesn't smell like me.”

“No,” he said, an un-mistakable sound of a zipper being pulled down sat behind his words. “Don't wash them. Don't.”

You smirked to yourself, the circles you were drawing over your nerves growing lazy. “What are you doing, Robby?”

“Nothing,” he said, a teasing lift to his voice and a rustle of clothes. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” you said, sliding your fingers into yourself and out, spreading your arousal as your hole clenched around nothing. You shuffled, getting your shirt to ride higher, but not enough for him to tell.

“Are you doing nothing in my bed?”

“Do you want me to be?”

There was a small but shark intake of breath on the other end. “Yeah. Yeah I do.”

You pictured Robby spread out on a sofa in a log cabin somewhere far away. His legs would be spread wide, jeans and boxers pulled down till his cock, hard, was against his stomach. His laptop out at the coffee table, phone to his ear. You wondered if he took things slow? You'd always pictured him the hot and heavy type. His fist wrapped around his cock and pumping, tickling the dark hairs you imagined lived at the base of him.

Your hips jutted up as you pictured him. Hot and heavy. You imagined him next to you in his bed, his coarse hand tracing up your body, finger pinching your nipple.

“What have you been doing... at my place?” he asked, a sudden breathless tone to him. “In my bed.”

You bit back your lip. “Sleeping,” you teased.

Robby groaned, almost a growl. “What-what else?”

“Is there supposed to be something else?”

“Fuck, yes.”

Fuck yes. You pictured him spreading your legs, rubbing his mouth against you with the burn of his beard. Fuck yes. You imagined his cock heavy on your tongue, needy and groaning. Fuck yes. You pumped your fingers in and out and circled your clit imagining the plumpness of his fingers.

“Whatever- whatever you want me to be doing in your bed.” It was a dangerous sort of game you were playing, balancing over the line you weren't crossing with the cameras like it was a tightrope.

“Well... you know what a lonely, old man like me does in that bed, huh?” he said. “You wanna know?”

You nodded and without asking for words he started to tell you, because of course he didn't have to hear your confirmation to see you it.

“After long and hard days, just come home, put the tv on low, maybe some music... drink a beer,” he listed as you impatiently waited for him to get to the exciting parts. Still, his voice was enough to have your legs stretched open, your fingers working yourself open. “Sometimes it's tough to stop thinking about my pretty resident...”

“Hope you're not talking about Whitaker,” you joked.

“You know I'm not, baby,” said Robby with a shaky exhale. “You know I go home... get so hard thinking about you...”

You moaned out a gasp.

“You like me thinking about you?” he asked.

You thought of him spitting down on his cock, slowly rubbing it up and down. Or maybe he had pre-cum enough to lubricate it for him. “I do, I do.”

There was a puff of air on the other side. “You ever think about me?”

Your back arched off the bed as you curled your fingers inside of you. “Yes.”

“You ever think about me in that big lonely bed, my cock hard for you. God, can you picture me and my hands running all over you. Would start at the bottom. Would you be wet for me, babygirl?”

“Yes, Robby, yes, I am,” you gasped out.

There was a light chuckle.

“Oh, you are?” he said with a seethe. Was he teasing the tip of himself? squeezing and thinking about your hand there instead? “You thinking about me, baby?”

“You know I am.”

Robby laughed, the sort one laughed when they knew something you didn't. It was cruel. It was mean. But was it worse you knew and liked it? “Yeahhh, I know you are.”

You tilted your head into his pillow, shifting till you could breathe him in and careful not to drool. “Thinking about- about your tongue,” you said, rubbing your clit with hard pressure, trembling with need.

“My tongue, huh?” he said, a jangle of a belt. Was he pushing away his jeans and spreading his legs further? Were you framed on the counter, between his legs how he wanted you to be? “Are you thinking about my tongue in your needy pussy? Is it making you wet?”

“Yes, yes, Robby. I really want you.”

“Spread your legs for me.”

“They are.”

He grunted. “Wider.”

Almost irritated that he wasn't here, you pushed the cover down till you knew the camera could see all of you. Still clothed. Still clad. But Robby would be able to see your hand down your black panties and how far your legs fell open.

He pretended like he heard the covers move instead of saw it happen. “Fuck... yes, baby.”

“I wish you were here,” you said, eyes kept close to imagine him and to not give the camera a devilish wink. “Wish I- your cock-”

“What about my cock?” he asked, voice strained. “You want it? You want my cock? How'd you want it?”

You circled your fingers around you, jerking at every touch, desperate to come but even more desperate to keep it going. “Want to taste it. Lick it. I- I want to know what you taste like.”

Robby shuddered. It was like you could feel it through the phone and through you. “Shit, you-you can't say things like that, baby.”

“But really want it,” you moaned. “Always wanted it down my throat.”

“Oh fuck, always huh?”

“Always.”

“Well... you've been such a good girl looking after my place for me, haven't you?” he teased. Listening closely, you thought you could hear the sound of skin on skin, the slick squelch of it. His hand working himself, maybe he was even sweating with desire. “Sleeping in my bed, just like I wanted. Living in my space. Bathing in my shower. Maybe I should thank you...”

“Please, please Robby.”

“Ah, oh god,” he strained. “Would lay you out on my bed, clean up all your mess with my tongue. Think you'd have to suck on my fingers to stop all the moaning, I have neighbours, baby-”

You didn't care as you moaned out at that.

“- god I want to fuck you. Oh, I want to fuck you so bad.”

You put your phone on speaker, set it aside and worked your hand under your shirt to grope your breast, moving from one to the other.

“Keep playing with yourself, baby, keep playing with yourself,” he groaned.

“Robby, are you- are you close?” you asked. Every circle of your clit had you closer and closer to the edge, had your legs trembling and heart pounding. You could hear Robby mumbling to himself.

“Shit- god- you're always so beautiful. Spread out, god I can picture you. Your skin so smooth, pussy so sweet. Want to bury myself in there, yeah, fuck, baby-”

“Robby-”

“-Yes baby! I'm close- I'm close, I wont last.”

“Wanna hear you come,” you whined.

“You first,” he said. “Think of me there. Press you into my bed, have you on your stomach, press allll of me into you. Cock just- just buried inside you there. Could just watch your ass go, shit, get it red.... you know how. Oh my god baby, please come for me.”

You pressed down with circles on your clit and came around your fingers, whining, moaning and you heard Robby over the phone groaning, heard his small exclamations as he came around his hand.

“Oh baby, you did so good for me, so good,” he uttered as the both of you caught your breath.

You took your phone off speakerphone and placed it back to your ear. It was small but you felt closer to him with his voice deep down your ear.

“Now clean yourself up on my bed. When I come back, wanna smell yourself there with me.”

The Pitt swallowed you up the rest of the days that followed. As if it knew you had something to go home to, as if it knew you wanted to do nothing more than talk to Robby, think about Robby, dream about Robby, it kept you so busy with late nights and six am wake up calls you had little time to live in this new found lust.

Robby didn't push. You didn't speak about that night because you didn't have to. He still texted with regular check ups when you got home. Still send random pictures of lakes or trees but he knew the demands of work and he didn't prod.

“Have we got labs back on our guy in seven?” you asked Dana.

“Not yet, want me to chase them up?” she asked.

“Please. I'm already behind on discharging two patients,” you muttered to her as Al-Hishimi walked by, head held high as she over saw the place. “But all caught up on my charting!” you said loudly to assure her.

You got a nod back and that was enough for you.

“How's Robby?”

You looked back to Dana, lips pursed, brows raised in question. “What?”

“You heard from him? I guess you had, you stayin' in his place and all,” she said, looking at you through her glasses.

You checked down to your tablet and the patients in three and twelve you needed to discharge, hoping the glow of the screen wouldn't blow up your blush. “Er, yeah, he's doing good, I-I think. We don't talk... all the time.”

“Yeah?” Dana smirked.

You glanced back up at her, catching the knowing glint in her eyes. You looked back down. “Yeah.”

“Okay then.”

Dana moved around you from the counter, patting your hand lovingly before she stopped in her tracks. “Oh. Looks like I can ask him myself.”

“What?”

There were already crowding voices, people calling out his name and nurses going in for fist bumps and high fives. There were questions about what he was doing back earlier than he said, if he'd brought back any gifts. You even heard Garcia who was passing about that promised butchers knife.

Robby stood in the middle of the group like he was some celebrity but his eyes found yours over all of them.

“He returns!” cheered Dana, bringing her arms around him.

One of Robby's own arms snuck around her back. “And in one piece.”

She pulled away and slapped him in the chest. “Hey, don't joke about that.”

Slowly, with Dana's coaching everyone moved back, got back to their jobs and their life. And slowly, Robby sauntered over to you.

You tried to look busy. Tried to wet your mouth that had run dry at the sight of him. A hip bumped into yours as Santos- an all too giddy Santos- slid up next to you.

“Looks like we're back to being room-mates, roomie,” she teased with a grin.

“If I didn't know any better I'd say you'd missed me?”

Santos tried to brush it off but you saw the way she shifted her weight from foot to foot in discomfort. She usually only got so discomforted when emotions like love was involved. “Please. Just want to out-weigh Denis with gender again.”

You smelt Robby before you heard him. He said Santo's name, then yours.

Trinity welcomed him back before she left just as quick as she'd arrived.

Robby let on the counter next to you. He was in jeans and the same coat he'd left it, his bag slung on his back with a helmet dangling off the side. He wasn't working, but he'd came by anyway.

“You're back early,” you said, flicking between patient charts.

“Surprised?”

“Very,” you said, realising you weren't as confident as you'd been nights ago. “I can get my stuff out tonight.”

“I don't want you out,” he said, dropping his voice low. “You know why I came here early, don't go shy on me now.”

“I'm not going shy,” you said, though you were.

“Are you blushing?” he teased, the graze of his knuckle brushing your neck and sending tingels over your body.

“No.”

“You are.”

You batted him away and turned to consider him. “Why'd you come back early?”

Robby wet his lips, eyes casting over you. “Because I had something to come back for.”

You eyes averted to his hands, reverting back to thinking of the coarse skin and imagining him dragging his fingers over you. “I don't get off my shift for another two hours.”

“I can wait.”

Waited he did and the two of you barley made it past his front door before he was grasping you and kissing you. There was no hesitation in his hands or your lips. He gripped and squeezed your hips as the door slammed shut behind you. Robby didn't waste a second in pulling off his jacket and grabbing you again, as if scared you'd disappear in the wind.

He didn't even glance around his place. The only thing he was honed in on was you.

Your lips worked against his furiously, hands gripping his shoulders. “How was your trip?” you were breathless, pulling away to un-button his shirt.

Robby chased your lips, eyes closed, lips curling up into a drunken smile. “Fine.” He kissed you again, mint on his tongue. His hands were warm as they traced up your scrub top, un-tucking your vest from your pants.

His rough hands on your skin woke something else in you. A need you thought you'd made friends with but clearly didn't even know. He kneaded the skin at your hips, working hard to leave red marks.

“Dreamt about you,” he said, lips trailing down your jaw to your neck, nose nudging a path. “Every night.”

“Every night?” you gasped as he bit and licked up your neck.

“Mornings. Afternoons. All the time.”

Your smiled to yourself, pushing off his shirt. “It was supposed to be a relaxing break.”

“It wasn't.”

The two of you had stumbled to his room and pulled off clothes. The both of you knew the way well. By the time you'd pushed the door open Robby's belt was discarded as well as your shirt.

With firm hands Robby turned you around till you were facing the headboard, till his hips flushed against your ass and the rough denim of his jeans rubbed against your ass.

Your head lulled back onto his shoulder and he licked up your skin.

“This where you slept?” he muttered, nipping at your ear. “This where you touched yourself, thinking 'bout me?”

“Y-yes.”

You felt the scratch of his beard as he turned his head. You noticed, from the corner of his eyes that he looked up to the corner where the camera sat. He was delighting in this.

“Show me,” he demanded.

You wriggled against him, trying to turn and set yourself on the bed.

His hands gripped your hips. “No, show me here... now.”

All you could do was shuffle down your scrub pants and panties while Robby un-clasped your bra, messaging your breasts. You groaned at the feel of him working at you while you slid a finger over your folds.

“There we go, that's my girl,” he encouraged, chin resting on your shoulder and watching. “Another finger, another finger.”

You slid two in just as you had the other night, imagining his weight on you, his hands. You thought you were wet then but now your need spread down you.

Robby made out with the skin of your neck, stretching his arm out to hold yours that worked inside of you. “God, you're so beautiful. Could watch you like this all night.”

You whined, tilting your head back to give him more access. “Robby.” You thrust your ass back into his crotch and you could feel the hard outline of his cock.

“You come in this bed, huh?” he uttered.

“Y-yes.”

He hummed into your skin. “More than once I bet.”

“Yes, Robby!”

His hand snaked down to yours, helping move your fingers in and out of you. “God, you're so wet, so wet for me.”

Your hand flew up, grasping the back of his neck. “Robby, please... can I have your fingers inside of me?”

Robby smiled against you. “You asked so nicely. Such a good girl,” he said. His fingers wrapped around your wrist and brought out your fingers, leading your hand up to his mouth. “Bet you're not always though, huh?”

Two of his thick fingers pushed into your easily and he moaned.

“Fuck baby, you're warm... tight-”

You groaned at the feel of his fingers working inside of you and his tongue licking up the mess of your on his fingers. He brought your fingers into his mouth, groaning.

In moments you were withering, a moaning mess and grinding down on his hand while his tongue swirled around your fingers, sucking and nipping at your finger pads while his beard scraped your hand.

If those cameras kept a log somewhere, you were dying to see Robby. The feel of his hips rocking into you, him moaning around your fingers.

“Can you come on my fingers?” he asked, voice muffled by where he wouldn't release you in his mouth.

You shook your head in defiance. “I want- I want more.”

“You can have more, you can have more,” he said, finally taking your fingers from his mouth and licking up them. “But you have to come first.”

His thumb pressed down on your clit in small circles and your caved into his body, coming over his hand. Robby helped you ride against his hand.

Only when your body stopped moving and your chest calmed its heaving did Robby pull away from you.

He pushed you down on the bed, ass up and dropped to his knees, shoving his face between your folds.

You cried out at the feel of his tongue splitting your fold and soaking up your arousal and orgasm. His hands spread your thighs, pulling at the skin till you were spread, till his nose ran up and down. “Oh fuck, Robby!”

“Hold onto the sheets, baby,” he said, muffled inside of you.

There was little anything else for you to do. Your hands curled around the sheets, pulling. You thrust your ass up into his face but Robby welcomed it, chuckling into you. His beard scratched between your legs, deliciously.

He slurped once before pulling back, crowding over you till all of him was pressed against you. “Kiss me.”

And you did. You tasted yourself on his tongue, on his lips. He turned you down over onto your back and you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into you till his weight was crushing you.

It could have been hours of breathing in each other, of licking into each others mouths, of sucking on each others bottom lips, of feeling each other up and mapping what made each other tingle and shake.

Robby stepped back and made a slow show of popping the button on his jeans and pushing them down slow with his boxers.

You crawled over the bed till you were at the edge, staring at his cock. There was dark hair over his chest, leading down to himself where he curved, hard up to his stomach.

Robby stared down at you, staring at him. “You want it? You want my cock?”

“Yeah... please...”

Robby stroked back your hair. “Did you think about my cock, in my bed?”

You looked up to him and smirked. “All the time.”

You took him into your mouth, slow and watched as Robby threw his head back. You could feel him tense before letting go, shoulders sagging, body melting as you slowly worked up and down his length, savouring the taste of him.

Robby kept on hand stroking back your hair tenderly but didn't push you down to his cock. He let you set the pace. “Oh my god,” he groaned as you licked the tip, circling it.

You learnt every tell of him. The tick of his jaw when you licked over him, the small pressure from his finger tips, his groans about how good you were doing that all went straight down to your core.

Whatever you'd imagined, this was better than any dream.

“Deeper... deeper.... there we go, baby, there we go... take me so good.”

You moaned around him and Robby chocked on a moan before pulling you off.

You knelt on the bed, hands running over the plumpness of his stomach. You peppered kisses along his chest as his hands pushed back your hair.

You glanced up at him, something wicked curling in your stomach as you saw him eye the camera again. “Robby...”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Were you ever gonna tell me about the cameras?”

He froze. You felt his heart pound under your hand, his eyes levelled on you. “You knew?”

“Duke told me.”

Robby scoffed, leaving you to figure Duke's visit did not capture Robby's attention over the camera's. “Duke.”

“He didn't mean to tell me... like you didn't.”

His breath stuttered, eyes peering at you like he was trying to read you. “I forgot.”

“Forgot?” your fingers curled around his cock.

He seethed in a breath. “You set the fire alarm off, fuck I saw you. Couldn't stop, but you knew didn't you?”

Your hand may have been wrapped around his cock but you didn't have the upper hand. He looked down at you with a knowing glint, his hand cupping your chin and forcing you to look up at him as you slowly stroked him.

“You got yourself off on it, put on a show for me,” he said, his fingers slowly stroking your chin. “Wanted this dirty old man to watch, didn't you?”

You swiped your thumb over the tip of his cock.

Robby seethed. “Yeah you did.”

A couple strokes later and Robby was moving away from you, leaving you to watch with wide eyes.

You watched as he pulled his phone out and set it in front of you before he climbed up on his bed behind you. Steadying himself on his arms he braced and slowly sank on top of you, the tip of himself rubbing between your folds.

The app.

The screen lit up with a HD video of you lying on the bed, Robby's body curving over you. You could see himself lowering himself into your folds.

“Fuck,” you moaned, eyeing the camera.

Robby kissed down your neck, bruises forming there. “You wanna watch yourself? You wanna watch yourself come on my cock, baby?”

You looked back at his phone. “Yes.”

“Dirty girl.”

Slowly, Robby pushed himself. He pushed in and pushed in and pushed in till he was groaning and his hips flushed yours. In the camera, you had become one.

“Ro-Robby,” you mewled.

His head comes down to your shoulder, kissing it gently as he looked down at the camera too. “Look at us, baby, look at us.”

Slowly Robby started to rock his hips, enough to set a tortuous pace.

“I watched you moan my name, while you pumped your fingers inside of you, you wanted me, didn't you?”

“Y-yes!”

Your body slowly moved with his thrusts, his arms tensing at your sides as he tried, desperately, to not give in. To not bite down on your shoulder and thrust harder. To not have his bedroom echoing with the thump of the bed and skin on skin.

“Please, please go harder,” you begged, reaching around to claw at his ass.

“Can't,” he grunted.

“Please!”

Robby's hand was firm around your neck as he leant over you. “I'll come baby, I'll come.” He thrust in deep, till you could feel the slap of his balls against your ass.

“Fuck!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he moaned, drawing the camera in closer. “You're so tight baby, taking it so well... just like I wanted you to.”

His thrusts grew faster, harder, his body plopping on yours leaving you a moaning mess. His hands couldn't settle, running over your hips, gripping and spreading the skin of your ass. He grunted and groaned and the two of you started to bounce on his bed.

“Tell me you liked me watching you,” he moaned.

“I- I liked you watching me come.”

“I heard you moan for me, in my bed.... breathing me in... you wanted me so bad.”

“Y-yes, Robby, so bad- so bad!”

Robby groaned and slid out of you, leaving you empty. He spared a minute to licking up the mess from the both of your arousal between your thighs before he turned you over, lying you flat and chucking his phone aside. He guided himself back into you and gripped your hips hard as he thrusted in.

He kept his lips close to you, brushing your lips against yours, taking your tongue as his.

“Thought of you every day,” he said, nose nudging yours. “I missed you so much.”

“I-I missed you too,” you moaned, holding his shoulders.

Your walls clamped around him.

“Arg, baby-baby-baby,” he babbled, lying his mouth flat open on yours, his tongue tasting yours and swapping spit.

A hand trailed between your bodies and ran over your clit.

“S'too-too much,” you cried.

“No it's not.”

“I can't, I can't,” you moaned, your walls tighter around him. “I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come-”

Robby bit down on the sweet spot around your ear and you released around him, back arching into him and leaving him moaning into your neck. “There we go, there we go- squeeze me, squeeze me!”

In one powerful thrust you felt his release shooting up your walls, painting you in him. His body sagged with stuttering thrusts as he spent himself.

Only once the both of you had calmed down did you catch your breath, sweaty skin on sweaty skin and lips swollen and red, bruises littering your neck.

Still inside of you, Robby reaches over and tilts your head back, the two of you grinning like love sick idiots.

“Smile for the camera, baby.”

A month had passed since that phone call changed everything I thought I knew about my summer. I still had trips I needed to make for work and things to get done and arranged for the interns. This was already my allotted time off, meant to be in Montauk with other couples in my friend group from the city.

Which, as the only single one in my group, I was already dreading it. 

So I made the long commute back to Widows Bay instead and a couple nights earlier than planned. 

This time, I dragged a small suitcase behind me as I walked through the harbor, wearing a long white skirt drifting around my ankles and a tank top. The weather was much kinder this time around as well. 

Seagulls gawked overhead, and I could still hear the bells from the harbor behind me in my wake as I followed the flow of pedestrian traffic towards the main road into town. I noticed a few new signs and storefronts, like everything was dusted off and spruced up for the season. It was such a treat, my smile everlasting as I took it all in. 

One spot I noticed that was placed near the inn I’d be staying at again was a new and improved coffee place called the Driftwood Cafe. 

As I caught my bearings, the street was angled in a way that made me stuck in my spot for a moment longer. It winded up, disappearing behind a curved row of homes and their naturally weathered wood sidings. I pushed my sunglasses up to the top of my head and I lifted my camera, taking a few photos and getting the pedestrian crowded sidewalks in there as well. 

Tom and Patricia were helping take in a delivery at the new cafe but he spent most of the time bargaining with the new barista on the right way to use the equipment. It was clear that neither of them knew though and both bickered over the instruction manual that still sat in the box. At this point, Patricia made them stand on opposite sides of the store and he heaved out a sigh as he went towards the window. 

The 11 o’clock ferry was just arriving judging by the wave of tourists that walked under the clear sky. He could stare out this window for hours to proudly welcome everyone in; there were families, couples, groups of friends and–

He leaned forward, nose almost touching the glass as he caught sight of one woman standing alone, her long white skirt blowing gently in the breeze at her ankles. A camera blocked her face, but Tom’s heart was already pushing against the window too as if it recognized her before his mind could. But then she lowered the camera, and Tom’s mouth went dry as the sunlight perfectly sat atop her head and her smile widened. 

“Oh my god,” he whispered to himself in disbelief, lips pulling instinctively. 

Tom’s face must have looked ridiculous through the window, glaring to get a good look at the stranger who stood on the sidewalk. 

My grin widened and I raised my hand to wave, almost a little fearful he’d fall through the window.

Tom moved quickly through the cafe doors, staring down at me in awe. Bubbles rose through my chest, tightening and making me feel afloat all the same, an excitement I hadn’t known in a long while.  He hurried down the steps, and I naturally drifted a little closer. To no surprise he sported a vest over a soft blue plaid button up shirt, hair slightly tossed from the breeze. The way he looked at me even with such distance between us solidified everything for me.

“What are you doing here?!” Tom called out, an indeterminate sound of laughter and relief passing through his smile.

 He awkwardly paused before me, hands lifting as if to go in for a hug and I held my breath as I took the leap on my own and wrapped my arms around his abdomen before he could shy away completely. 

It seemed fair to upgrade from a handshake. 

As I pulled back to look up at him, my hands still centered around his center while his came to my shoulders, the slight callousness of his palms leaving goosebumps in their wake as they slid up my arm. It sent a swell through the rest of my body, making me almost forget how to answer. 

“I had a few days of vacation I could use so I decided to come a little bit earlier.” I answered eagerly. “But please don’t panic if you have other plans. I am perfectly capable of a little exploring.” 

Tom shook his head, still slackjawed as he looked down at me. 

“No, that’s—that’s fine, that’s amazing.” he stammered. “I—“ 

“You’re back!” Patrica gleefully interrupted, bolting down from the cafe. She looked equally if not more ecstatic than Tom did and just when I thought she’d sever our arms to hug me too, she restrained herself. 

“I’m back!” I mirrored, finally stepping back from Tom. 

“And I would love to show you what’s new,” Tom winced, head turning between her and the direction Town Hall was in, struggling like a fish caught on a hook. “But I have a few things to wrap up and—“

I gently placed my hand on his arm. “It’s okay! Really.” I assured. “I knew the implications of arriving a little early.” 

Patricia’s hand shot up in the air. “Ooh, I have an idea! Why don’t you come to a wine night with me and my friends.” 

Tom’s face scrunched up. “You don’t have any—“

She cut him a sharp glare. “I do and it’ll be fun!” 

I slowly turned back to Tom, a smile plastered on my closed lips and he was already boiling over with frustration. 

“It’s fine. I think that’s a great idea.” I said to Patricia before glancing at him again, speaking quieter again.  “You have me for almost two weeks, if you can stand me that long.” 

Tom let out a nervous huff, averting his eyes to the ground as if to shield the pink in his face. But as Patricia crept back to the cafe, I turned all my attention towards him, shuffling closer to close that distance again.

“I will have to wait a bit longer then.” he sighed reluctantly.

Carefully, my hands lifted to rest at the back of his neck, my mouth running dry as he nervously let his hands settle at my sides. “You waited this long. What’s a few more hours?” I enticed. 

Tom cleared his throat, his touch soft yet sending a fire up along my spine. I watched closely to make sure I wasn’t crossing a line, but his grin hung lazily and the tension already seemed to leave his shoulders, even though there was a heat creeping up his neck. 

“Come by Town Hall around three? I have some time in the afternoon.” 

I nodded gleefully, retracting my hands to step back. His fingers lingered on the fabric of my skirt for a split second longer.

 I grabbed the handle of my luggage while Tom went back to the direction I presumed Town Hall was in. By the time I checked in and got settled in that same corner room, I was already turning back around. As I came back into the hallway, locking the old wooden door behind, I nearly put myself on a collision course with two children no older than five and eight. 

Their giggles and bounding steps disappeared down the hall and I turned to see the parents, a couple that had to be around my age, apologizing as they chased behind them. 

“It’s alright,” I assured.  

My gaze lingered on the family as they all disappeared, lingering on the space they once occupied even after they were gone with a subtle heaviness to my heart. I shook it off and returned to the busy streets as more tourists arrived.

I actually didn’t get to visit the town hall the last time I was here so my navigation was a little sluggish. I walked up the stairs of the old massive home as other locals breezed in and out. It was like an old house renovated to support makeshift offices, smelling faintly of mildew and an old air conditioner that belonged to an old shorefront home. 

Most places down here had that same shore air that seemed to seep into the paint.

My senses got the best of me as I cautiously wandered down the hallways, unaware of the direction I was even going in as I followed the same dark wood paneled walls. But suddenly, a petite woman who looked too old to be working appeared, making me jump out of my skin. 

“Oh—I’m so sorry, you startled me.” I breathed out. 

She smiled sweetly. “I’m sorry dear. I have that effect on people.” 

“Do you know where the mayor's office is?” I asked, hesitating for some reason. 

The lady perked up. “Oh, right this way!” 

They went up the large staircase, which took a painfully long time as I followed behind her individual steps. I glanced around occasionally, taking in the paintings that dotted the walls since we had all the time in the world. Now I felt kind of guilty making this elderly woman hike up the stairs but she didn’t seem to mind. 

Finally, she pointed me in the direction of the office and I quickly hurried off after thanking her, not needing her to lead anymore. 

Taking a deep breath, I gently knocked on the door. 

“Come in!” Tom’s voice rang out.

Peeking my head in, I greeted him with a smile. “Is this still a good time?” 

Something of relief broke across his face.

“Yes, this is perfect.” he said, putting down his pen with almost a little too much enthusiasm. “I hope you didn’t have to talk to too many people on the way in here.” 

“On the contrary, I got stuck behind one very slow older woman.” 

He sighed. “Ruth.” 

“Is that the famous assistant who can’t stay past three?” I asked, noticing the small desk outside of his office with her nameplate on it. 

Nodding, Tom stood up from his desk. But I was getting closer, looking at the little pieces of him that manifested across his office. It was pretty spacious to my surprise and outside of the regular furniture and filing cabinets, he had the occasional painting, a photo of his son, and a nice pen. Of course, there were notepads with his name printed on it.

“Yes, I’m surprised you remembered that,” he chuckled, “but, Ruth is actually leaving closer to noon these days.” 

I raised my brows. “Does that have anything to do with the fact that she looks ninety?” 

Tom brushed it off,  standing on the opposite side of his desk now as I still observed. This is where he was with many of our phone calls so it was interesting to set the scene.

“Yeah, but her spirit is still at least sixty. She likes to work. Keeps her mind sharp.” he shrugged. 

I laughed at his attempt. “Well I’m glad you have such a loyal employee.” I took a glance at all the paperwork that littered his desk, and looked back up at him. “Are you sure I’m not pulling you away from anything? I really don’t mind hanging out with Patricia for the afternoon.” 

Tom’s face scrunched up as he vehemently shook his head. He had stepped closer again to where your hip leaned against the edge of the desk. 

“Absolutely not. I’m ecstatic you’re here. Paperwork can wait until tomorrow.” he said, placing his hands on my shoulders.

I froze, and I could feel it down to his fingertips that he did too, and he retracted. Smiling lazily up at him, I accepted that answer though. 

Before I could make any more protests, Tom grabbed his keys and we descended upon the town. I had to ask him how much of this was truly from the article and he said at least seventy percent of it. Although, I still think he was being a tad generous. 

We walked through the town center and he pointed out the changes; an upgraded ice cream and candy shoppe, a new boutique, and several other little sign changes here and there. 

The entire time, I was mindful to keep my distance as people greeted him after recognizing him from a brochure—which reminded me I needed to get my hands on one. 

Even still, I didn’t want to look like I was hanging on his arm. 

But even when he’d get pulled away, his eyes would lift and find me already watching him. It amazed me how he carried the role so well, but it was clear how much the increase in tourism brightened his mood. This was still the same person whose dry sense of humor wrought its way into my heart. 

Whenever he was pulled away though, he’d rebound back to my side to continue the tour. 

The next stop was to pick up sandwiches from the diner they spent their last morning together just a couple short months ago. Turns out they made amazing cutlets these days. But where they were going after remained a mystery to me. 

“This plan seems really elaborate for such short notice.” I commented, hopping in the passenger seat of his car. 

He glanced at me with a half smirk. “I’m just that good.” 

I nodded along. “Sure,” I dragged out. “But really, where are we going?” 

We started to peel away from the town, the radio playing A Flock of Seagulls to which I discreetly reached over to turn up a little bit. 

“It’s a surprise.” Tom scoffed. “It was a surprise meant for Saturday's fireworks but we’re ahead of schedule.” 

My lips curved upwards as I glanced at him. I certainly wasn’t expecting this level of detail to my visit but I was pleasantly surprised. I had to fight the urge to make sure he wasn’t missing out on anything else. 

“I won’t make a peep until we arrive then.” 

He chuckled. “No, it’s fine. I’m just—I’m surprised you don’t remember mentioning it over the phone.” 

“We had a lot of phone calls over the past month—“

But then I paused, as a faint thought crept up into my conscience. There were lots of phone calls, but a few weeks ago when I asked about what new amenities the town had to offer me this time, he wouldn’t spill. I then remembered vaguely mentioning something about wanting a picnic on the beach if nothing else. 

“We’re going to the beach, aren’t we?” I asked, looking back at him with a widened smile. 

Tom nodded, his modesty slipping through the cracks of his proud grin. 

“For a journalist, it took you an awfully long time to piece that together.” 

I laughed again, resting my head in my palm against the open window. As we winded down more back roads that led to the beach, the greenery in  between was filled with scents of pine and sandy shores. The sun was still high in the late afternoon, its warmth peaking through the trees and onto my arm. 

“Gosh, and to think I was so nervous about coming here,” I said more to the breeze than anyone in particular. 

Tom did a double take. “You were nervous?”

I glanced at him, one brow raised.

“Of course, I was.” I almost scoffed. “It’s not every summer I’m back visiting the mayor of an island town after only ever meeting once.” 

“God, I hope not.” he sighed in relief. 

I chuckled again. “I’m allowed  to be nervous over a crush, even if I’m in my thirties.” 

Tom’s eyes lit up even as they were focused on the road. I noticed the way his hands clenched around the wheel, and the way a blush crept his neck and it was easy to spot because I felt the same on my own. 

“I am, too.” he stammered. “Nervous,  I mean. “

My head rolled to look at him. “I’m that intimidating?” I asked. 

“Well, yeah.” he said with a faux seriousness I could see through. “Not every summer I ask a reporter to come back to go on a beach picnic date.” 

“God, I hope not.” I mocked him.

We  arrived at the beach shortly thereafter, my skin warmed by the sun and the fizzling of my nerves. Tom opened the door for me and was carrying a blanket to sit on. It felt so refreshing compared to the dates I’ve been on in the city. 

“This is where we have the inaugural swim. That’ll be on Saturday if you’re feeling up to watching me swim out to that buoy.” Tom pointed as we dug into our lunch.

I looked out on the water which started to blend into a silvery blue as the sun started to make its descent and there was the red buoy that seemed a little too faraway. 

“Why do you have to swim out there?” I asked. 

He took a deep breath, looking like he was trying to figure out a sensible way to answer…he had that look a lot. 

“It’s just a tradition,” He shrugged. “Mayor swims, declares the beach open, unless a shark eats me and I then I guess that means the beach can’t open.” 

“Oh,” I chuckled, tilting my head at the water. “That would be a shame, I guess.” 

“I guess?” he asked, offended. 

I couldn’t hide my smile even as I bit into my sandwich. 

“Yeah, I guess. But I’ll be there regardless.” 

Saturday felt so far away ever since I showed up early. The guilt of doing so was nonexistent now though as I sat on the cool sand, watching as the tide went back out for the evening, the sky above changing into a lilac color at the horizon. I started my morning on a train in the city and now, I could look over and finally see Tom instead of a phone call. 

We had several phone calls after his declaration, if that’s what you could call it. I wish I could have dropped everything right then and there. But instead, I had to be an adult and make a reasonable plan. Until then, we called once or twice a week. 

The same flutter in my chest remained every time. 

“So, tell me,” I began, leaning back on my palms. “What would your week have looked like without my early arrival?”

Tom’s eyes pulled from the water, blending with it almost completely. 

“I promised my son I’d be home to watch the Red Sox with him tonight. Yell at the TV and that fun stuff. But my civic duty remains the same, lots of meetings leading up to this weekend.” 

“I guess that’s a good thing though? Being busy?” I asked him.

He nodded quickly in response. “I don’t think I’ve ever been grateful to be busy until now.” 

“You’re welcome.” I teased. 

“Oh, you—“ Tom laughed. 

He had then leaned back, shaking his head at me, and as he did his fingertips settled over mine. 

“You know I can’t thank you enough—“

Goosebumps rose upon my arms, and I glanced at him quickly before looking back out at the waters. 

“You already did. These sandwiches were amazing.” 

Laughter settled between the two of us, blending into the sound of small waves rolling up the shore. I didn’t move my hand and neither did he as we continued to talk with no shortage of subjects. 

Even when it came time to leave, I hardly felt sad knowing that we’d at least see each other the next day. 

The drive to Patricia’s home took us into a neighborhood I had yet to explore on Widows Bay. The roads were hilly, single homes of varying sizes sprinkled about between the tall trees. It felt like the drive on the way to the cape growing up. She wondered what kind of house Tom lived in. 

“Alright, well, this is Patricia’s.” Tom said, pulling up to her house. 

“Thank you for the lunch and the picnic.” I beamed. “It was spectacular even for such short notice.” 

Tom’s hand tapped on the armrest as he sheepishly glanced down. 

“I do work best under pressure.” 

I held my grin as I looked at him, trying not to laugh. “I don’t want to push that theory.” I said as I grabbed my bag and got out of the car.

He leaned over so he could still see me on the road. 

“Uh, feel free to head by Town Hall again tomorrow if you want to, I don’t know, do any work on the computer. The new cafe has WiFi too.” 

“And it works?” 

His face sank with defeat, as if it almost didn’t at one point. 

“Yes, it works.” Tom sighed. 

“Meet me for coffee in the morning then?” I asked him. 

I knew he’d dance around the words, as he did whether on the phone or in person, and at my suggestion he seemingly settled into an answer when his shoulders relaxed. 

“I know where to find you,” he answered. 

That was a yes then. 

I finally closed the door and walked up to Patricia’s. 

Before I could even knock though, she opened it and was waiting for me. 

“Hi!” Patricia beamed. 

“Hi!” I mirrored, still momentarily stunned. 

As she stepped aside for me to come inside, she waved to Tom for me and shut the door. I started to wonder what I had gotten myself into. 

“So, how was your date?” Patricia asked, leading me to her kitchen. “Also, do you like red or white wine?” 

“White,” I quickly answered. “But whatever you have is fine. I’ll drink anything,” I chuckled. “And it wasn’t a big date.”

“I’ll let you believe that.”

The single home was nice; despite her being the only one in it, it felt cozy and lived in all the same. There were hints of Patricia in the way there were plants scattered around, books left on the coffee table, and the best part of it was her small kitchen that had such a retro feel to it. Part of me was a little jealous, having been living in a high rise for so long. 

“Your home is beautiful, by the way.” I added into the silence as I sat at her dining room table. 

Patricia sat the wine down and took a seat across from me. 

“Thank you,” she nodded curtly. 

I was waiting for her to add something else, but there was only silence.

“It was my parents house. I grew up in here.”

I lifted my eyes, slightly surprised. “That’s so wonderful. I don’t even think I could afford to live in my childhood home that my parents still have.”

Patricia snickered and went quiet again, the silence filled with the sipping of our wine and the glass hitting the table. It felt so different from the girl I would email a couple times a week with near paragraphs sending back and forth. 

“So, what have you been up to since I left? Any town gossip?” I asked.

That seemed to light something up in her. It reminded me of talking to my childhood self actually; like she was waiting for permission to take up space in a conversation. She rattled off about the locals, how someone broke into her Pattiwagon (but didn’t take anything so we think she may have just left the loose door unlocked), and just how the towns been pretty busy trying to prepare for the summer. 

“I’m glad people are coming but I’m still kind of surprised.” she shrugged. “With the Boogeyman, the clown killer, and that really haunted inn…” she shook her head.

I tilted my head. “Wait, I didn’t hear the boogeyman story.” 

Patricia heaved a sigh. “You’re gonna need another glass before we leave.”

“That has never been a problem for me.” I jokingly teased. 

But then she went into the story about a serial killer who roamed the island and my eyes were wide the whole time. Especially when it got to the part where the killer came to her house and she hid under her bed. 

“God, Patricia, that must have been terrifying.” I gawked. “Why didn’t I hear about it the last time?”

She half laughed, half scoffed, eyes drifting to the table. Even the most jarring of stories she took in stride like they were no big deal.

“Tom made me promise not to bring it up. He thinks I talk about it too much.

I frowned. “I’m gonna have words with him.”

This time, a more amused look crossed her face. “You really like him, don’t you?”

I took a deep breath and had another sip of my wine, already feeling a subconscious smirk appearing. Patricia seemed to enjoy that response though. 

“I do, but I’m treading carefully. This could just be a short vacation fling and nothing ever again for all I know.”

Patricia stood, prepping an unopened bottle to take with them and I tossed back the rest of my glass. 

“Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t think it’ll just be that.”

“How come?” I asked, following her out the door of her home. 

“Because he really wouldn’t stop talking about you after the first time you left and that was just after a day of knowing you. I fear he will become incapacitated as mayor when you have to go home.” 

I didn’t say anything to that, and even did well to keep my composure as we hit the road. Her friend's house was a few blocks away, nothing compared to the walking I normally did in the city. It was a beautiful night out and something changed in our conversations, filled with a little more laughter and a little less awkwardness. We walked mostly in the street as there were no sidewalks in the homes scattered through the trees, but it made it feel a bit more exciting. 

But I would occasionally glance over to see her readjust her scarf–once and then again, two more times. Then she couldn’t pick which hand to keep the bottle in. I wanted to ask if she was alright, but I hit a roadblock. Maybe it was meant to go unnoticed. 

The sun was pretty much obsolete by the time they arrived at the home of Patricia’s friends. As I followed her on the porch, I could hear the gentle music from inside. I had to admit I was a little nervous.

Patricia knocked and the woman answered with a polite smile that noticeably faded, her eyes drifting over the two of us.

“Patricia…and Patricia’s friend.” 

I could see through it already. 

“You said to stop by?” Patricia responded. “I brought my friend, if that’s alright. She’s visiting from out of town.”

I gently waved, only to be met with a painfully forced smile. “Of course, of course. Come on in.”

She conveniently forgot to open the door for us, but I could let that pass for now. I was the guest here after all. 

When we finally got inside, I almost immediately felt as awkward as Patricia. These women all looked straight out of a Talbots catalog and just when I thought Patricia’s scarf and brooch might stand out, I realized I was the one out of place with my long skirt and tank top from a Target I stopped at on the way to the ferry. 

I was directed to the kitchen, my vision tunneling to escape the sideways glares I could feel. But I quickly realized she stopped behind me to join a conversation when I was already in the kitchen.  

“Oh no, please don’t touch that.” a shrill voice rose as I turned to find her. 

I narrowed my eyes as I poked my head around the archway to see it was Patricia on the receiving end of that voice but thankfully, a kinder woman with short hair guided her to the kitchen where I waited for her. The woman's name was Shelby. 

“I only know Lenore here, hence why I’m on my third glass of wine.” she chuckled. 

I raised my own glass. “I think I’m going to double that to get through this crowd.” 

Patricia snickered and the three of us started to have a pretty nice conversation. It was a bit of a weight off my shoulders, and Patricia’s too by the looks of it, especially with how the other women seemed to have an underlying viciousness to them that this friend did not. Even the other girls in the field I work with can be cutthroat, but New England moms were a different level.

Shelby brought up the other girls who were murdered once Patricia mentioned she graduated with most of these women, and I could feel the room drop a few degrees. 

But as I listened to Patricia’s story again, another woman tried to squeeze behind her. I almost gasped before it happened because I could foresee it and suddenly, her shoulder bumped into Patricia’s and the wine spilled on her top. 

“Patricia, here–” I said quickly, grabbing some paper towels. 

She brushed it off, completely unfazed. “I’ll just run to the bathroom real quick.” 

I was worried by how she treated it like it didn’t even happen. But maybe in a way it was the only way to react around this group. Even Shelby looked a little sad for her as she disappeared behind another door. 

“Here, come meet some of the others with me.” Shelby suggested. 

I really didn’t want to, but I smiled and followed along anyway. Everyone’s heads turned almost in sync that it made me fight to keep a straight face. 

“Hi, I’m Kris.” one woman said, her shorter figure coming through the others to greet me. “How do you know Patricia?”

It felt like a strange thing to ask off the bat, or maybe this evening was starting to put me on edge.

“Oh, I um, came here back in April to write an article for the Times and she gave me a tour. We also have just been emailing since then about books and things.” I answered sweetly. 

All of them exchanged glances that maybe were meant to be discreet but far from it. I tilted my head in confusion a bit. 

“Am I missing something?” I asked, edging a bit on the blunt side. 

“No, nothing.” Kris smiled widely. “I read that article, I think. It was lovely what you said about the town!”

“And the mayor,” another woman chimed in with a grin.

I chuckled along with the girls who flocked the dining room table, but my smile didn’t really meet my eyes. I could feel like something else was brewing underneath it all. The comment mentioning the mayor though made me more defensive than I anticipated it would. 

“So, Patricia told you both about how the Boogeyman supposedly came to her house?” Kris asked, referring to me and Shelby together now.

I looked at her, then back, and nodded.

“Yeah, why?” Shelby asked, mirroring my own confusion.

“I just think you two should know she’s lying.” Kris whispered. 

Shelby gasped dramatically, but I stared straight ahead at the women. Okay, not what I was expecting. It didn’t strike me as shocking as it did Shelby, partially because I didn’t care enough to believe it from her?

“We’ve all heard the same story. I mean, how many times can you lie?” another person asked in awe. 

Other voices started to chime in, choruses that merely echoed what the first girl said.

 “They even checked the phone records and proved she never got the calls.”

Kris was shaking her head. “Twenty five years she’s been telling that story. She’ll tell anyone who will listen, especially a reporter. It’s honestly so pathetic.” 

A pair of footsteps shuffled in the background as they continued to rattle off how crazy Patricia was and I immediately turned to see Patricia who very much heard all of that. 

No one even acknowledged Patricia when she entered the room— they just stared and went back to sipping their wine and my blood began to boil over. This all just felt utterly cruel. My skin started to itch at the layer of discomfort that built up. 

But in my slimy state, the woman who answered the door for them earlier picked up a camera. 

“Do one of you mind actually grabbing a picture of all of us?”

I couldn’t move for a moment, staring at all of them as they quickly glossed over everything that just occurred. Now they had the audacity to ask a favor of Patricia or her? I had my fair share of immature and petty friends back in the city, and trust me, there were plenty of them. But this felt almost too much in the face of just being plain old mean. 

I took the camera from Patricia’s hand the second she gladly agreed to take the photo.

“How old are all of you? Just out of journalistic curiosity.” I asked, a smile plastered on my face. 

They looked slightly confused but answers slowly trickled in: 38, 42, 43, 39…

“Why?” Kris asked, her face scrunching up in a scowl. 

My heart started racing as I faced the women who all shared that same expression towards me. I glanced down at the camera and put it back on the table. 

“I just had to make sure we weren’t all in high school. Almost fooled me there for a second.” I answered, having to laugh to mask the nerves that rattled my tone. “Come on, Patricia.”

Their jaws all dropped, scoffing in harmony but even as she stood frozen in place, I picked up the bottles we brought and managed to grab her wrist too as we went straight through the crowd that formed for the photo. 

“Oh my god.” Patricia said to herself as we got back on the street. “Oh my god.”

I shared that sentiment, questioning how much of a fool I may have just made myself look. 

“Are you okay?” I asked, trying not to laugh. I didn’t even find it funny, I was actually a little mortified. 

“That was awesome!” she cackled. “I wish I got a picture of their faces!”

That earned a laugh and I finally stopped trying to hold it in. Whatever I was worried about seemed to fade with the light that returned to Patricia’s face. It was like looking in a mirror at a girl who had sacrificed so much of herself to be apart of a group of friends. No one deserved to feel that.

I then handed her the bottle of red she didn’t even get to open up.

“Patricia, they are terrible people!” I couldn’t help but cry out as the absurdity of the whole situation caught up to me. “I’m sorry for what you overheard and it’s none of my business, but I couldn’t partake in that any longer.”

She let out a heavy sigh, looking down at the ground as we walked. “They’re not that terrible, I guess, they invite me to things which is nice–”

“But only if they can talk bad behind your back and turn around and ask you to take a photo?” I interjected.

Patricia glanced up at me with half a frown that turned into a smile. “Thank you.” she mumbled.

“I will take the credit for being crazy off your shoulders for one night. Blame it on the crazy girl from the city.” I encouraged, my wine settling in my blood a little heavier now. 

We found things to laugh at again all the way back to her home. This time, we sat on her front steps as the night brought the perfect, comfortable temperature to sit outside and drink more wine in. It wasn’t my business to know what was true or false about Patricia’s story because since we met, I never got the impression I was being lied to about anything else. All I knew was that we liked books and also liked Fleetwood Mac when it played on the small radio she brought outside. 

I didn’t have many girl friends back in the city, so if I could have one on this island, I wouldn’t fight it. 

I would, however, fight against any further communication from the other women she was friends with if I could help it. 

The following morning, I found myself to be the first customer of the Driftwood Cafe and probably the first person to crack open their espresso machine after helping the barista figure it out. 

“I still have to charge you, you know.” the man spoke flatly as I pulled my own double espresso.

“That’s okay.” 

I had less trouble getting a plain cup of coffee for the mayor who would arrive soon. In the meantime, I sat by the large window he found me through yesterday. I pulled back the brown checkered curtains to get a good view of the early morning sun. The main street was mostly empty this early and I could just see the harbor through a few of the narrow roads if I looked close enough. Being awake before the morning crowd was an accomplishment hard fought for back in the city but here, it felt natural—as natural as the way I woke in the inn and found myself here. 

All roads led to the ease this place instilled in me.

Bells tolled and birds barely called as I sifted through some emails on my laptop. I shouldn’t be working, but alas. 

I’m glad Tom invested in better wifi to make it easier on me. 

Speaking of, the second customer of the day entered wearing a very on point plaid shirt underneath his navy blue shell jacket, the lines of his cheek pointed from his smile. 

“Did you already get me a coffee?” he asked, glancing between me and the man behind the counter. 

“I did.” I answered, shutting my laptop.

“She harassed me.” the man behind the counter tacked on. 

I paid him no mind as I stared sweetly at Tom. “I did no such thing.”

Tom chuckled as he took a seat, peering at his own cup and then mine, noticing the stark difference in creamer but refraining from making a comment about it. I could tell by the squint in his eyes he wanted to though. 

“How was your night with Patricia?” 

My brows raised and I sat a little straighter. 

“Well, her friends are terrible to her so we ended up drinking wine on her steps and I had a pretty headache to show for it this morning.” 

Tom could barely take his next sip of coffee without showing his surprise. 

“Uh, oh.” was all he could say. 

“Uh, oh, indeed.” I grinned. “ I may have made a few enemies but, Tom, they were so mean to her! It felt like the worst people you knew from high school all in one friend group.”

Part of his unchanged expression gave me the idea that this was not news, half his lip dipping as he shrugged.

“That is unfortunately true,” he sighed. “Patricia never seemed to mention it before or be too bothered by it, so I never asked.” he quietly added with a tinge of guilt. 

“I don’t think she would have ever told me either.” I said, swirling my spoon in my coffee out of habit. “But they tried to talk bad about her to me while she was in the bathroom and I couldn’t bite my tongue any longer.” I said, the passion riling me up with the aid of my espresso.

Tom, who looked barely awake yet, leaned back in his chair. 

“Did you pull the city girl out on them?” he asked, brows raised. 

“Not fully.” I answered modestly. 

He chuckled, relaxing in his seat again. “I-I think Patricia needs a friend like you and I think she’s very happy you’re here. Not as happy as I am, but still.” 

The subtle comment almost missed my ears, but my lips slightly parted as I tried to rewind them in my head. 

“You should be happy. I even wrote down the menu on the chalkboard after I got your coffee.” 

Tom leaned back to look behind him, his face puzzled at how I’ve accomplished so much already.

“Do you want a job? We’re hiring.” 

I slid my laptop back into my bag so I’d have more room on the table.

“I am a competitive girl to afford, Loftis.” I jokingly replied. “How was your night after you dropped me off?” 

Tom took a deep breath, looking pleasantly out the window. I could almost see the way he longed for these streets to fill today. 

“It was great. The Sox won. My son inevitably snuck out later that night, but we had a great time.” 

I slowly nodded along, still unsure of how to answer when it came to his son when I still had a dozen questions surrounding it. He never talked about the mother of his child—not even once.

“I think the Sox winning alone solidifies a good night for once since it’s so rare.” I said, my expression still hindered from my previous thoughts.

“It does.” he nodded, fingers tapping along his mug of coffee. 

I was afraid to admit I almost wanted more coffee but I’m sure I’d find my way back later. The day looked too beautiful to pass for a nap. But as I looked back at Tom from where I gazed out the window, he was already staring at me, blue eyes tilted and lost in something too deep for me to even comprehend on the receiving end of it. 

My face immediately felt warm, smile aching my cheeks. 

“What is it?” I asked. 

He didn’t break away. “I just can’t believe you’re here.” 

I slowly moved my hand from where it wrapped around my mug, letting the edge of my fingers brush over where his hand rested on the table. The touch alone made me forget I was on solid ground for a moment. His fingers fanned ever so slightly enough so that I could let mine link with his. 

“This time last week you probably would have called me while I was walking to work.” 

“And I couldn’t hear a damn thing.” he chuckled. 

I couldn’t help but laugh a little too, our fingers locking together a little tighter now. It felt foreign, mostly to him by the way he studied it so, but to me as well since it’s been so long since I could do something so small yet so intimate. 

But just as we were finding a comfortable pulse to sit at, sirens started echoing from the distance. My head immediately turned towards the window and in mere seconds I saw the sheriff's car speeding down the small street the coffee place sat on. I looked back at Tom who was frowning slightly. 

“Better go get ‘em, mayor.” 

Part of him wanted to laugh, even as he already looked visibly irritated with the interruption. 

“I’m serious,” Tom said, pushing off the table. “You can have any job you want here like being the Sheriffs back up.” 

But before he could fully pull away, I leaned forward, fully locking our fingers together. 

“And I am serious when I say I don’t think anyone can do that better than you. ” 

My grin cracked through and his shoulders eased up only a hair's length, but it was enough for me to part with. 

“Meet me at the Salty Whale this afternoon?” Tom asked.

“I feel so spoiled already.” I beamed. “I’ll see you there. Be careful.” 

The words flowed out like an instinct, one that I knew would follow him out the door as my eyes did. What could anyone “be careful” about on this island?

The rest of the morning was uneventful. By the time I left the coffee shop, I decided to do a little shopping around the boutiques since my luggage consisted of whatever pieces of summer clothes I could scrounge up. I found an adorable sweater, one to throw over the shorts I wore, and a few other things to carry along the way. 

I left one of the shops just in time to see the same Sheriff driving by, the faint calls of an older man howling out the back…something about “I am not a hick”? Hopefully that was a minor problem Tom had to deal with, but I guess I’d hear about it later. 

When I got back to the inn and rechecked my emails from this morning, I noticed a new one popped up for an event called Sunset Cocktails from Patricia to be held this weekend after the inaugural swim. 

I giddily rsvp’d to it, and left a note saying I would love to help. 

A brief rain shower took over the island for a small window of time, and I threw on my rain boots (that Tom reminded me I should pack this time around) to head over to the Salty Whale. 

I hid under the awning as his car pulled up to the restaurant and he nearly jumped out. 

“You packed rain boots but not a rain coat?” Tom cried out as he jogged over to me to get out of the rain. 

He couldn’t sound or even look disappointed if he tried, his face washed over with an incredulous affection. Behind him, the rain started to slow to a stop.

“No, I brought both.”

Tom shook his head at me and guided me inside the restaurant. It wasn’t quite as packed yet, but certainly more tables were filled than from the last time I was here. More tables meant more people turned to look at Tom as I walked behind him though, and I started to sense there was something more bitter behind their expressions towards their mayor. 

“Can I ask how things went earlier?” I cautiously asked.

Tom glanced down at me, a smirk briefly breaking through his fatigued look. 

“Can I tell you over take out food in my kitchen instead?” 

I refrained, and nodded in approval. My suspicion remained underlying though. Even the thought of being in his home for the first time didn’t change the fact that everyone was looking at him with daggers in their eyes. 

We moved over towards the bar where Tom handed me a menu to pick something to go, his order already something ingrained in years of routine coming here. After I put mine in, a figure came up to take the space on the opposite side of Tom–a pastor?

“Well, I heard you had quite a day.” was the first thing he said. 

I leaned over the counter slightly to get a good look. If that’s how someone was greeting Tom then it really must have been a morning. 

“You heard?” Tom replied sarcastically, before glancing down at me. “Reverend Bryce, this is…” he introduced me. 

He reached over the bar to shake my hand and I smiled politely. 

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.” Reverend Bryce smiled warmly. He still seemed to have the same roughed edges as Tom, a years long friendship clearly palpable between them as he turned back to him. “Is this the famous reporter I’ve heard so much about?” 

“Oh, I’m afraid to know what you’ve heard about me.” I chuckled nervously, glancing up at Tom. 

“Enough to know Tom worked his ass off to get you to come out here. But clearly not as hard to get you to come back?” he raised a brow

They weren’t the first words I expected to hear from a reverend, my eyes finding Tom with my initial awe. His head had dipped, laughing expectantly like this was a normal exchange.

“But after everything else I’ve done,” Tom continued, more pointed to the reverend, “and not one ounce of gratitude from anyone, and that fucking guy…” he mumbled under his breath. 

I quietly and sympathetically listened, as it was hard to do anything but.

“Wyck has not had the easiest go of it.” the Reverend tried to rationalize. 

I have heard that name over our numerous phone calls but he usually gets too frustrated to even continue the conversation about it much longer. Tom leaned more forward as if to shield me somehow. “So, he just gets to do whatever the hell he wants and people just love him?” 

“Well, you know people around here fear change…and when the lord gathers a herd, he calls a shepard.” 

Silence fell across the space between them and I had glanced over at the Reverend as Tom straightened.

“Oh, you’re just phoning it in now.” Tom laughed, earning one from the Reverend too. 

“Right,” he said, going serious again. “James 4:6 though; blah, blah, blah, Bible, Bible, you know…”

 I laughed too, leaning on my palm against the bartop at the pair of them. I could see why they made such good friends. 

“Do you two want to come by for a drink?” the Reverend asked. “If I’m not interfering on plans with you and the lady.” he said, politely nodding his head at me. 

“I think we’re picking up and heading out. Evan is out with friends so we’re going to probably have one peaceful evening before the crowds come in.” 

“Okay, next time. It was nice to meet you and finally put a name to the face of the girl who put Widows Bay on the map.” the Reverend said, taking my hand again before leaving the bar. 

“Oh, hey,” Tom quickly said, catching him before he got too far. I turned on the barstool to face Tom and hear the conversation. “You should probably keep the doors locked at night.” Did he think I was going to crawl into the church in the middle of the night?

“Pardon?” the Reverend asked, equally as confused as I was. 

“The bell,” Tom answered. “I mean, let’s be honest, it probably was Evan and I will talk to him. But we both know that won’t do any good.”

But the Reverend still didn’t seem to be registering what Tom was saying. “The bell–the church bell?”

“Yeah. Woke up Rosemary and Patricia too.” 

“Not to further add evidence against your son, but I did hear that too.” I chimed in. “Would be lovely to hear during the day though.”

The Reverend stilled to a point where it was hard to miss,  deepening into something unrecognizable. At first, I thought maybe he couldn’t hear Tom but it quickly seemed more than that. 

“Tom, that’s impossible.” he shook his head. 

My brows furrowed, but Tom shook his head too. “Oh, you haven’t met my son.”

The Reverend’s brows furrowed slightly, his gaze pulling away into a thought neither of us could infer upon. I looked at Tom, eager to know if he noticed it too. 

“You okay?” he asked.

His face seemed to snap back into place, the stillness gone and his thoughts far away. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Have a lovely night you two.” 

The way he turned around made it all the more unsettling and Tom met me with the same level of concern. Tom didn’t say anything else though as he gently grabbed my hand and guided me out of the restaurant. 

“Dumb hick.” said a bald man as we passed by him. 

I abruptly stopped on the stairs, quick to turn around. I wasn’t even sure what I heard but nothing good came of a man muttering something under his breath if I was walking by. 

But Tom seemed to know where that blow was directed, face flooded with dread as he turned back around too, leaving me on the stairs as he went down to the table where a few of the locals sat. 

“I didn’t mean that.” Tom said sincerely. “I really didn’t.”

Then it dawned on me that that’s what the drunk man in the sheriff's car was yelling about earlier. 

“And I know you’re all loyal to Wyck, um, but that doesn’t make him right.” Tom winced, as if he was sharing a groundbreaking revelation. “We have a new chapter now, and there is nothing wrong with that inn.” he pointed.

The man at the table against the wall spoke up first. “A lot of bad things have gone down there.” 

“That’s true,” Tom reluctantly agreed. “But that doesn’t make it haunted. I would never put anyone in danger.”

“Then why don’t you stay there?” the same man at the table suggested.

I was colored impressed by the quick jump to a childlike dare, and I leaned my hip against the wooden railing as their fears manifested. 

“Are you gonna pay for my room, Al?” Tom retorted. 

“We’ll all chip in.” the bald man smirked, earning a chorus of agreements. 

“Great, I look forward to it.” Tom said, starting to turn back towards me. He reached for my hand again as he took the lead on the stairs.

“Tonight.” 

The word sliced through our path and I felt Tom’s hand tense in my palm. His brows set and he sighed heavily, but I gave his hand a gentle squeeze. I suppose I wouldn’t mind sitting this night out again. I was still a little earlier than planned and he seemed like he was dealing with very stubborn townsfolk.

“I’m–I am clearly unable to do this tonight.” Tom said, glancing at me. 

A low pit formed in my stomach, and I couldn’t hide the flattery I felt at him sticking up for our plans. But the others had no remorse, and started making chicken sounds like we were in a kindergarten classroom. 

I was furious for Tom, still holding his hand as I looked between him trying to find his patience and the locals before him. 

“Pay for my room too. I don’t mind a few ghost stories.” I finally blurted out. 

But the bald man up front put his hand up. “Miss, you don’t have to get dragged into Tom’s consequences.” 

“Well, I am the one who wrote the Times article he’s been working so hard to get you people to believe in, so maybe I could put the not-so-haunted inn in the next one…?” I trailed off, waiting for his name. 

Suddenly, all the men paled and I couldn’t help but feel a little proud after revealing my identity to them.

 The man up front, Ed, sheepishly answered under his breath, his eyes on the table. But I was sure to glance up at Tom, realizing the implications of my addition to this dare. 

“That’s if…if it’s okay with you,” I added in a low mumble. 

Tom sighed. “Only if you’re really okay with it. Don’t feel like you have to do it just because of me.” 

“It’s a deal then.” Ed beamed, picking up on Tom’s subtle agreement. “But you have to stay in the Captains Suite.” 

“The what?” Tom asked. 

“Yeah, lost his mind. Got his family with an axe.” he explained. “She don’t have to stay there, but you do.” 

Tom rolled his eyes. “Right, so we named a suite after him. Got it. Anything else?” 

“The Ungrateful Hortence Fitzgerald.” another man from a table further back announced. 

“Was she the lady who fell out of a window?” Tom asked.

I discreetly pulled my notebook out from my bag and started jotting all the different tales and ghouls down; we say Ugly Hortence three times (despite Tom’s mention of how misogynistic this all sounded), the New Years Eve disaster of 1962 with John Reynold’s head in the dumbwaiter, clown killer of 1951, go to the back of the crawlspace in the basement–courtesy of Rosemary who had been there the whole time–

“He’s not gonna spend the whole night there.” Ed laughed to the others.

“Kurt could lock him in. Or give her the key if she’s true to her word.” 

I tilted my head at Rosemary. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Tom’s lips parted, like he wanted to refuse it all as the demands got more ridiculous. 

“I will make sure he does it for the sake of journalistic integrity.” I said, hoping to settle the calamity that was building, especially from him alone.

Tom finally found his words again though as he stepped forward. 

“And when I do, all this talk stops, right? You let it go, you let the tourists stay there in peace. Agreed?”

Everyone quickly agreed with no difficulty much to my surprise. 

“Thank you,” Tom concluded with a tinge of an attitude. 

I quickly waved everyone goodbye. “Thank you!” 

Everyone waved back with pleasant smiles, more than they would have shown Tom, honestly, but I was suddenly chasing him out of the restaurant to hop in his passenger seat. The rain stopped, murky gray clouds parting for the sun and the leftover smell of the minerals churned up by the shower seeped through his car windows. It was not therapeutic enough to make him relax though as I could hear the breath going in and out of his nose. 

“I, for one, think this is going to be a lot of fun,” I glanced over at him. 

The frown lines disappeared as he let out an indeterminate huff that almost sounded like a laugh, and he placed his forehead against his palm, turning away not in time enough for me to catch his grin. 

The inn was absolutely gorgeous.

It could be a mansion today, let alone what it looked like in its prime years. Warm lights filled the windows behind soft curtains, sticking out sharply against the late dusk sky where I could still make out the silhouette of the trees that towered behind. Patricia drove Tom and I, saying this place gave her the creeps and then telling us to have fun in the same breath before peeling off.

Maybe I was naive, but nothing about this place seemed scary other than the fact that it was old. Tom remained concerningly stoic though as we approached the front door.

“Oh my god,” I whispered out loud.

Tom walked behind me and even as furious as he was about this whole situation, when I glanced back at him he had something warm in his expression. I felt like I had walked back in time with the wallpaper and light fixtures alone. He was fixated on the painting that hung on the wall by the desk while I started to venture out into what looked like a living room. 

“I took down some of the more provocative ones like you asked.”

The voice startled me and I quickly turned around to meet Kurt, the man who owned this place.

“This isn’t provocative?” Tom asked bluntly. 

I came back to his side to study the stormy painting, a canvas consumed entirely by waves that left one child overboard. I suppose that was pretty harsh to take in. But then, the innkeeper withdrew an old camcorder from the desk he stood behind and I could already tell Tom was going to be annoyed by it.

“They say it’s the only way they’ll know for sure.”

Before Tom could argue it, I gladly picked up the camcorder. “Not a problem.” 

Kurt led us upstairs, the old wallpapers pattern changing. There were so many doors all unanimously white and spaced between newly placed sconces and small paintings. While Tom settled into the Captains Suite, where Kurt kicked his suitcase in because he refused to step inside, I settled in the room directly across. 

It was much smaller than Tom’s room, which I guess explained why it was the suite. But it is charming nonetheless. 

A soft knock rapped against my door. I was mid-change into softer, more flowy shorts to settle in for the night of checking off boxes, and quickly scurried over to the door. 

Tom was behind the door, his pleasantries dropping as he looked down at my bottoms and the fuzzy slippers I had also packed. 

“Did I miss the fuzzy slipper memo?” he asked, eyes drifting back up to me. 

“You have to understand as a girl who loved her history classes, having a sleepover in supposedly the most haunted part of this island calls for it.” 

He sighed and had no qualms otherwise, so I picked up the camera and excitedly hurried downstairs like it was christmas. 

“Just please don’t summon any ghosts. You might be the first person who’s ever been this excited to be here.” 

I laughed on my way down the stairs and followed him into the living room I found when we first arrived. The lights flickered on, slightly staggered from old wiring, to create a warmly lit atmosphere. I ogled over the furniture while Tom headed to the “honor” bar. My fingertips grazed the restored wood, even the lampshade that looked to be from the thirties. 

I turned at the sound of a cabinet door creaking open, nearly leaping across the room to see what he found. 

“God, these must be so old…” he said in awe, both of us staring at the dozens of board games and books that filled the shelves.

He pulled “Daddy’s Home” from the shelf and I started to giggle at the print on the front of a women serving up breakfast for her family. 

“How the hell do you even make that board game?” I asked, echoing his own shock. 

“Kurt really needs to get rid of that.” Tom sighed. 

I then found a box that was small, almost the size of a book, and all it said was: Teeth. 

My brows narrowed as I reached for it. Tom leaned over my shoulder and when I opened it, there were only heavy duty pliers. The box felt heavier in my hands now, something twisting deep down that didn’t feel right. Maybe it was my fear of dentists. 

“And that,” Tom grimaced. 

I brushed off that feeling, removing the pliers to point at him. “You better watch out tonight.”

He snickered as he backed away. “You’re almost too excited about all of this.” 

I put the box away as he sifted through a deck of black and white cards. 

“And you almost sound like you believe some of these tall tales, which was exactly what you called them when we first met.”

The cards read: not yet, not yet, not yet and then…run. 

That feeling returned and this time, I could almost feel it radiating from Tom too. I couldn’t chalk this up to being scared of the dentists but I brushed it off all the same. 

“What do you want to drink?” Tom asked, dodging the question as he shuffled over to the honor bar. 

I found myself going to a bookshelf where the spines of some of these books had to be older than me. 

“Surprise me. You know I have a sweet tooth.” 

As I glanced over my shoulder, I caught Tom glancing back too, and quickly resumed my browsing of the books with my lips pulled taught. 

“Yeah, I might have to use those pliers on you instead if you keep that up.”

A shudder ran down my spine at the thought. “That would be more terrifying than seeing a ghost.”

I heard the clinking of bottles and pouring of liquid as I picked out a book to read; something about the witch trials that made their way to this island. I don’t think I would broadcast that too loudly to Tom. But as I went to get settled in the chair, a voice came from above: Fill out the form.

Kurt. 

I looked at Tom wide eyed, the drinks in his hands shaking from when he must have jumped too. 

Slowly, he turned and I followed his gaze to the camera in the corner of the room. I overheard Kurt say he doesn’t stay here but I wouldn’t imagine that he would have cameras installed. Taking a deep breath to ease my nerves, I pulled my legs up to my chest in the small armchair with the book in my lap. 

Tom handed me my drink, something that looked like dark liquor with not much to dilute it.

“I’m scared,” I chuckled, watching as he took a seat on the small sofa across from me.

Tom smirked, raising his glass. “It’s rum. That’s sort of sweet.” 

I brought my nose to the glass, bracing myself as I took a small sip. It wasn’t terrible, but it made my esophagus feel like fire through and through. He watched as I swallowed it down, and started laughing the moment I couldn’t keep a straight face. 

“Thank you.” I said through a scratch in the back of my throat. 

I resumed sifting through the pages, his gaze on me still and just as hot as the liquor I swallowed down. The shorts I wore slid up my thigh in my crouched position, and Tom traced every inch of my legs, down to the slightest shadow where my shorts sunk to. I paid no mind to it, catching as he readjusted in his seat from over the pages I was immersed in.

“So, what exactly happened earlier with, uh…Wyck?” I asked, eyes flickering up to him.

Tom straightened and cleared his throat, almost as if he had been caught red handed.

“Nothing,” he tsked. “He was trying to board up the front door of the inn and anyone from a mile away could see he was, well, he was in the bottle all morning and,” Tom paused, eyes drifting the floor as the events played in his head. “He kept saying these things about me and the island and I shouldn’t have said it but I don’t even care anymore–I called him a dumb hick.” 

I gasped, covering my mouth, but it was all for play. 

“Tom, that’s not very nice.”

A silly grin replaced his distress as he sunk back into the sofa. 

“Genuinely, it was not nice but I understand he hasn’t been happy about the tourism for a while. I can see why it got under your skin.”

Tom’s head sunk back over the armrest. “Being called a coward and being to blame for everything bad that happens here I think warrants one jab.” 

I tilted my head with a sympathetic smile as I looked at him. “One jab that has a very grand consequence.” 

As we settled into a comfortable silence, I still couldn’t help but think about him being called a coward. I didn’t know much outside of maybe a collective handful of days we’ve now spent together in addition to a few phone calls, but like Patricia, I couldn’t see those things. 

“I don’t think you’re a coward.” 

Tom had still been staring up at the ceiling with his head craned back over the sofa. 

“I don’t know. Maybe he has a point.” 

It made me sad to hear the submission to the insults from him. I couldn’t even put into words that would make sense as to why that simply wasn’t true. He had the guts to chase after me and get me back here, which I think was the opposite of cowardly. 

“I think you have done so much for this town in the short amount of time I’ve known you, and that they are lucky to have you as mayor. They just can’t see it yet and that isn’t your fault.”

Tom’s head finally lifted, looking partially shocked and partially unable to accept my words just yet. 

“You’ll only be deemed a coward if we don’t hit this checklist soon.” 

I put the book down and finished off my glass, crossing the short distance to where he sat so I could grab his hands and get him up from the sofa. He hardly fought getting up and he suddenly towered me, my hands still in his. 

“Thank you for the reminder.” Tom said. 

I finally let go so I could grab the camcorder and my notebook, and we first began with the floor Miss Hortence fell out the window on. 

“Alright, say it three times.” I said, pointing the camera to Tom. 

He rolled his eyes and proceeded with the challenge, the name ringing out through the long hallway three times…and nothing happened when he looked in his reflection of the window. 

We then went to the dumbwaiter in which I volunteered to sit in it in the dark since I would fit in it a little easier than he would. Tom took my hand to help me out, asking if I saw anything to which I promptly smiled into the camera and said nope.

Next was the closet where a man allegedly hung himself, hence the name “Dead Man Closet”. 

Tom stayed in there for five seconds and I stayed outside, holding the camera towards the door so that the audio could pick up him counting.

“And, he did it!” I quietly cheered. 

The doorhandle jiggled, but the door didn’t open. 

“Tom, you can come out now!” I called. 

The doorhandle was tried and tried again, and I’m sure I heard a profanity or two slip out from the other side. My blood chilled the moment he shoved his shoulder against the door. But by the second budge, he made it out and that chill disappeared. 

We took a drink break after that one. 

Finally, the crawlspace awaited them.

I followed Tom down to the basement, the sharp scent of old pipes rusted over and something earthy striking my nose on the way down. There was barely any light but the camcorder and the flashlight he grabbed, giving way to nothing but old furniture stored in dusty piles and then one small hole in the wall that was the crawlspace. 

“Yeah, not a chance.” Tom said, turning around without wasting another second.

“Tom!” I chased, turning the camcorder off. “What about the list?”

He glanced back at me, shutting the door behind me. “I will go down there, maybe, in the morning. But I am not getting attacked by a racoon or whatever else grows under there.”

Truthfully, I couldn’t blame him nor even try to convince him because I too had a bad feeling about it. 

There wasn’t much else to do then and it was almost the middle of the night already. We headed straight towards the stairs towards our rooms. I was tired but part of me didn’t want our night to end just yet. It was only my second day here so I guess I should be more patient with my time. 

“I think sleep will be good for you after today.” I said as I followed him down the hall.

Tom sighed, nodding in agreement. “I think so too.” 

We reached our doors and the contempt I held for going to bed spiraled, digging into my core. It came in waves the more I stared up at him. My mind was in a battle on whether or not I should try to jump on the feeling or let it go, but Tom didn’t seem to have any intention of making any more bold moves today. 

Even as my heart started to race under his gaze, I knew I’d have to let it settle on its own.

“Well, goodnight.” I forced.

Tom’s eyes flickered down and then up, his hand loosely on the doorhandle. 

“Goodnight.” Tom said curtly. “Thanks for, uh, doing this with me.”

“I wouldn’t be happier anywhere else.” I admitted truthfully. 

My words flowed out without even understanding the implications behind it. I said it like I’ve said it a hundred times before, as if I was always meant to be here.

But as my mind silently pleaded for him not to turn around and not to open that door, I found myself already doing the same. 

Mostly to save myself, honestly. I couldn’t bring myself that embarrassment when I only just got here. 

I pressed my back against the door as soon as I closed it. Even as I saved myself from embarrassment, it was replaced with something else entirely that pulled my weight down. 

The lack of air conditioning started to get to me as the heat spread not only across my face but deep across my center too. I sighed heavily, trying to get my bearings and find something remotely cool against my back. I couldn’t ignore my own wanting; not after the subtlest of touches over the past two days that would light my skin on fire every time. 

Suddenly, his door creaked open just out of earshot and I stilled, honing in on the footsteps neared my door.

I straightened and turned, opening my own door embarrassingly fast. 

Tom stood there, lips parted as foolishly as mine with no words able to come out. 

He ditched his flannel, only in a gray t-shirt and his jeans. Nothing but the faint sound of electricity trying to push through these old walls could be heard, but it could be felt in the space at the threshold of my door.

“I…” Tom began, held hanging low like he was guilty of unimaginable things. “I really don’t want you to think I’m a coward.” 

The waves returned, lulling deep below in a way that almost made me forget how to breathe. I stepped closer, almost as an invitation in and of itself. Tom did too and suddenly my neck was craned back to look up at his sweet blue eyes. 

All in one fluid motion, his hands lifted from his sides to cup my face, fingertips brushing the nape of my neck and I let the pull bring me in, eyes drifting closed as his lips came down on mine.

I sharply inhaled through my nose, letting all the air escape me. The world could have it all, every drop from my lungs for all I cared. 

I wrapped my arms around his neck, his hands leaving my face and leaving a trail that was barely a whisper of a touch down my shoulder blades until his hands firmly pressed into my back. His fingers splayed, pushing into my skin, making my back arch against him even more.

My lips moved, feverishly finding a motion against his under the threshold of the door. All the contempt I held for this silly door was gone.

When we pulled away for air, our lips hovered inches centimeters apart while everything else remained glued together. I stared up at him, overwhelmed by that same feeling that could only be described by the first time I woke up here to that red sunrise; making me feel so light inside I could be whisked away by a single breeze.

This time, I stood on my firm on my toes to push my already sore lips back against his, using my arms I anchored around his neck. 

While one hand kept the small of my back sturdy, the other reached further up the nape of my neck, fingers sliding through my hair in a way that made me sharply inhale. I found his lips again with a fervent urge to deepen it, tongue trailing across his bottom one.

As they parted, specs of distant colors flourished behind my eyes as his tongue crossed over mine, almost forgetting I could breathe. 

But I would sooner collapse than break away.

My arms loosened around his neck, hand sliding back down to his jaw where my thumb grazed over his adams apple. His arm tightened around me to close any gap, only making every touch grow rougher around the edges. But that’s when the swell of it all became just enough to make my heart stop.

I was gasping for air by the time we pulled apart again.

“I don’t have the stamina for this anymore.” was all he could say, a weak laugh escaping him.

A giggle so relaxed floated from me, head dipping on his chest. “You’re telling me. My back already hurts.”

 I swore I was becoming more delirious even though the moment had passed.

Tom’s laugh reverberated through my own soul. 

“I don’t think you’re a coward.” I whispered to him, hand reaching up to the dark curls atop his head.

The corner of his lips pulled as he shook his head. “I felt like such an idiot shutting that door.” 

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I can’t defend that part. But you made up for it.” 

My mind was in a daze, unable to register anything but the rhythmic breathing I could feel through my hand on his chest and the way he looked down at me. 

“Well, I guess I should get back to Captain’s Suite or else my deal is really off.” Tom mocked.

I nodded in agreement. “Yeah, that is unfortunately the one thing you can’t get out of.” 

Tom didn’t pull apart from me so abruptly though– in fact, he almost struggled to do so. Maybe it was me who still held on, pressed against him like I’d fall without him holding me up. But I stood on my toes to press one last kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you for a wonderful evening…and coming back out of your room.” 

“Thank you for coming back to this island at all.” Tom said with a wave of relief.

The moment his touch was gone my skin was cold in all the places his hands explored. I turned away from the door finally, my face sore from the inescapable grin that screwed into my face. 

I couldn’t even move for a minute as the circulation resorted itself to my head.

As I got ready for bed, I flipped the small TV on, reminiscent of one my grandparents used to have. 

On it played a strange welcoming video, where an older man stood on a coastal part of the island and gave a montage about the place. It wasn’t long before I turned it back off and tucked myself in.

That night, my dreams in which the moon watched over my shoulder would feel much sweeter. 

~

My dreams of Widows Bay were always by the lighthouse, when the moonrise was in full swing while the sun set such dramatic fires on the opposite end of the sky. In any variation it was always warm, peaceful, and ending with the rush of waves or Tom looking up at me from the bottom of the path. Even if just for a few minutes, it felt like it could erase an entire restless night when my mind was brought back here. 

Tonight was different.

Skinny pine trees towered me, surrounding the rocky shore of the lake. They stretched into a sky that I couldn’t see. It almost felt impossible to exist, like it was a space dropped on the map–but it was still Widows Bay. I didn’t know how or why I knew that, but something about the very air I breathed confirmed what my soul knew to be true. 

I looked down at myself, barefoot on the rough sand, my footsteps moving along pebbles and shells.

I was walking towards where the shoreline wrapped around the trees, disappearing into a plane that felt ominously nonexistent. 

I moved with haste per the direction of the alarms in my head, despite the cold chill of fears hand that held onto my spine telling me to turn around; it told me that nothing was there, nothing was around those trees and the absence of life is what made it so terrifying.

My hands suddenly felt full, and I looked down to see I was holding the deck of cards. 

Something deep in my consciousness, or maybe the other way around, questioned the possibility of having left the inn; that I was in my pajamas and that I was vulnerable. 

But it was gone when I looked at the words on the cards. They were blurry at first, despite holding them close to my face.

Not yet.

My legs grew heavy with the sand but I kept moving, further away or towards the danger? I couldn’t tell.

Not yet. 

I felt like I was sinking now.

Not yet.

Run

I looked up and my mind tilted on itself from the raw, bone chilling fear. I couldn’t scream, let alone gasp. I froze.

My vision was taken over by the impossibly tall figure composed entirely of shadows; its arms and legs disproportionately long and gnarled at the blurry edges of my vision. I finally  gasped, but I choked on the air I forgot how to breathe and I was left frozen to do nothing but stare horrified at the monster before me. 

Its animalistic growls clicked and groaned through the earth beneath my feet. I let out another choked sound as I writhed against the impossible weight that kept me stuck in the shore. A low reverberating sound that radiated off its intangible form and  made my ears ache, a sound that didn’t belong to the world as I knew it. But I knew one thing in this moment: it felt like it meant death.

It grew louder and louder and finally, a scream tore through me. 

I couldn’t hear my own scream, but the guttural horror in my cry that I didn’t even think was possible for me to express  was still no match for the buzzing that consumed my senses. It drowned me out, like my existence was already slipping away on this rocky shore.

The darkness grew and as did the frequency, leaving me cold and short for air–

I woke in my bed with a gasp, all the weight leaving me as I sprung forward. 

There was air and then nothing for a split second before I hit the floor of my room with a thud that barely fazed me. I stumbled upwards as I ran to the lightswitch. But as I turned back around to face the heap of sheets I kicked off the bed, the staticky glow of the TV caught my attention.

My pulse threaded through my cold and sweaty body and it made me sick–but not as sick as what was on the TV screen. I slowly walked towards it, almost afraid it would pull me back in, seeing the same landscape I had just escaped from. 

It was the welcome video from earlier. 

“Jesus Christ," I groaned loudly, hitting the off switch with a hard enough impact I almost knocked the TV off the stand. 

I sat at the edge of my bed, left in silence but the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears. Sweat accumulated at my temples and I quickly wiped it away, the remnants of that fear still nipping away at me. 

In the silence though, music from downstairs started to seep through the walls. I stilled, craning my head to listen. It was reminiscent of a doowop era with a certain beat that caught my attention.

The ill feelings of my nightmare started to fizzle away as I neared the door, slowly opening it to see the hallway suddenly more vibrant than it was before. The wallpaper seemed brighter, the lights warmer in exchange for the LED. 

I turned my head towards the stairs as the music grew louder, but footsteps brought my eyes the other way. 

Two women with large heaps of hair styled atop their heads and bright colored shift dresses came hurrying by with looks of pure excitement, their big boots making it difficult for them to move fast. 

I watched them run by like I was in a movie, hidden behind the camera, but when they stopped my heart skipped a beat. I wasn’t supposed to be here.

 As they slowly turned, I thought I must have been in another dream, but then they looked directly at me and I was left staring dumbfounded with my jaw hanging, trying to formulate a sound. 

“Well, hun, you can’t come to the party like that.” the one girl said sweetly. 

“Me?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder.

When I turned back around though, the girls linked arms with me and the alarm bells somewhere deep in my mind started to ring. 

Don’t let them take you. 

The fog of this dreamlike world was thick though, muffling any sense of ration I had left. As they pulled me along though, my ankles felt hardly connected to my body and I looked down to follow the feel of leather around my calves to find a pair of white gogo boots replacing my slippers.

“What the…”

My gaze drifted up my body, a lime green dress short enough for my upper thighs to catch a draft now hanging on me.

This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t–

The music grew louder as we came down the stairs but with it, a crowd that filled the once empty inn could be heard laughing and chatting above the music too. I was left utterly confused, nothing short of too stunned to question a single thing and only absorb the excitement of the room. The further I got into this facade the less I felt the urge to wonder, my mind becoming as light as the girls who pulled me along.

Just as we came down to the lobby, a brass bordered mirror waited on my left. I turned to see my reflection.

My eyes widened at the person who stared back; hair pulled in an updo I never would have had the dexterity for on my own and even more shocking, an abyss of shadows in the shape of a human behind me, staring with pinpoint eyes that were bright as mini flashlights.

A gasp escaped my parted lips, but when I was pulled back around, it was entirely different.

A crowd of men and women danced to the record player in the main drawing room. They wore suits and dresses of wild patterns and colors I haven’t seen since I looked in my grandmother's photo bin. They weren’t shadows with beady white eyes. One thing they had in common though was the silly hats and noisemakers that hinted at one thing and one thing only: it was New Years Eve. 

“Hey, you’re awake!” a young man said. 

My head turned on a swivel, finding the boy smiling disproportionately wide as he passed me. The girls loosened their grips on my arm and the ground felt less stable as I navigated the party. 

In the back of mind the alarm bells still rung, low and drowned out by The Twist. 

Everyone looked at me with wide grins, as if they had been expecting me all along. I was pulled around, somehow not tripping over my boots, and even the finest men I couldn’t conjure up myself asked for a dance. I went along with it though, the alarm bells silencing and the music in my ears taking over completely. 

Meanwhile, Tom Loftis discovered a new friend as well. Certainly nothing compared to a new years even party, but one man who had a welcoming smile that screamed board game partner. 

In the empty drawing room in the middle of the night, Tom had himself another drink with the other stranger who was spending the night in this inn. They talked, laughed, and the man asked a lot about the girl who was with him tonight. Tom didn’t have much to say though, mind still fuzzy from the kiss they shared. He talked fondly of how she was able to help him get through this night, a newfound comfort in the bullshit this town brought on him. 

The stranger thought it was a nice sentiment.

“Is…that her?” he suddenly asked, an unsure look pointed towards the hallway that ran alongside the room. 

Tom nearly spat out his drink, doing a double take only to see her walking slowly by, uncannily stoic as she glided past. 

He called out her name, springing up from his seat when she didn’t hear him. 

When he caught up to her, he stood firmly in front of her, only to realize that her eyes were shut and she walked into him without so much as a flinch. 

“Hey, hey…” Tom said, grabbing her shoulders.

But she pushed on anyway.

In my dream of sparklers and silver streamers, I found myself dancing with a man who introduced himself as John Reynolds. It sounded so familiar but the man insisted he had never seen me before. He mentioned he was glad he did though. I danced, becoming lighter with every step. 

The girls from earlier found me again and began counting down from sixty, pulling me away from the man I thought I was having a wonderful time with. 

Even as the countdown amped up, numbers circling my head, I still kept looking around for him because something was telling me I couldn’t let him get too far away.

Ten, nine, eight…

I weaved through the crowd, champagne spilling over my shoulders as I bumped into strangers, who looked by me with beady white pupils in a shadowy abyss where their eyes once stood. I saw it. I felt it. But I kept my eyes straight forward, refusing to look back as the feeling of their gaze already crawled up my spine, like they were waiting for the right moment to pounce on their prey. 

Seven, six, five, four…

I caught the back of his head, going towards the kitchen.

Something told me to tell him to stop.

Three, two, one… Happy new year!

The crowd swarmed me as cheers erupted, firecrackers erupting what felt like right next to my ear. Maybe it was the champagne bottles popping. 

Maybe it was something else crackling beneath the floors that almost shook me.

 But I finally broke through into the kitchen, only for the celebration to be severed by a shrill scream and champagne glass hitting the floor.

I wasn’t sure if it was my own or someone else's, but the man I felt compelled to warn was now on the floor of the kitchen, blood pooling around his body. I couldn’t even make out the white tiled floors anymore, frozen to my place as the blood reached my boots. I knew something was  missing but I couldn’t bring myself to look at where the blood came from.

My chest started to rise and fall, bracing myself for what my eyes would find.

 A lump started to form in my stomach, crawling up to the back of my throat before I even noticed that the man's head was completely severed from his body. 

A shake ran down my limbs; down to my fingertips and my knees. The horror of it was nothing compared to the guilt I felt, a burden I never knew was possible to carry. Something told me I needed to warn him but it seemed inevitable at this point.

Outside of this plane I found myself in, Tom cautiously followed me to where my body seemed to be drawn to follow.

But then I stopped before the dumbwaiter and he waited for something else to happen, unsure of whether to turn me back around to go to bed. I simply stared, something terrifying spreading across my face that he couldn’t comprehend. It was when my chest started to rise and fall in sharp, uneven breaths that he became worried.

“Hey, listen to me…” Tom pleaded, hands sitting at my shoulders. 

I started to cry.

Stray tears flowed from beneath my closed eyes, and Tom’s face sank with defeat. 

He couldn’t comprehend how or why I was standing in front of the dumbwaiter, crying and shaking like a dog stuck in the rain. He wasn’t sure if he felt more unsettled or sad, but both compelled him to gently turn her around and loosely guide her to the stairs. 

The man Tom had been talking to disappeared, presumably to bed himself. 

Maybe Tom should follow suit. 

As we got to the stairs though, Tom didn’t anticipate the need to help her lift her feet and she suddenly went straight forward  in a heap of limbs against the first few stairs before the landing.

“Oh, jeez–” Tom stammered. “God dammit,” 

More curses flew out from under his breath as he helped her sleeping state upright. It was strange to him that a fall wouldn’t faze her yet she couldn’t walk up the stairs. Sighing, Tom looked down at himself, not feeling entirely secure about the idea; but without much hesitation he crouched slightly to scoop her up.

He’d be lying if he said it didn’t strain him in the slightest. The last time he carried anyone was Evan, maybe when he was ten. 

But even despite the dozen stairs that made his lungs burn, Tom was honored all the same. Out of all the eerie things that happened tonight from the challenges, to the TV nearly combusting on him, catching her sleepwalking took the cake. Maybe this place was haunted, or maybe he discovered early on in their relationship that she was in fact a sleepwalker. 

The stream of thoughts came screeching to a halt. Was this even a relationship yet? He wanted it to be, even if the roadblocks of his inexperience made him feel like he didn’t deserve one. This was the first woman in years he has ever reached out to and…well, she came back. He would be stupid to ignore that.

Finally, his aching legs reached her bedroom door. A ragged breath passed his lips. 

“Finally–” but the soft thud of her head hitting the door frame scared him to death. “Oh, fuck,” he winced. 

Still, she didn’t budge. Tom was relieved as he was guilty. 

When Tom set her down on the bed, he noticed her sheets were tossed all over the place and the TV was still on, playing the same eerie footage of the landscape in which the man in the video disappeared into. Tom turned it off if not for her, but himself, as well. He pulled the covers over her and the terror that riddled her eyes was gradually sinking away.

Tom couldn’t fight his own instinct to push the hair off her face, smiling down at her without even realizing his lips had pulled. 

But then, she stirred. 

“Happy new year,” she mumbled through her lazily shut lips.

Tom’s face scrunched with confusion, but he shook his head and departed her room.

It must have been almost two in the morning now. But something in his tired and whiskey fused state made him return downstairs with the camcorder in hand. 

He was going to get this over with. 

The crawlspace remained an eerie, omniscient plane of its own but Tom was ready to take it head on. He set the camera down with him as he crawled through the small squared off space. If he moved fast enough, his nerves would remain stone cold against the shadows that now surrounded him. They were starting to budge though, crawling faster across the Earth and heart rate picking up by the second. 

Finally, he reached the back wall with a breath of relief. 

“I am in the crawlspace.” Tom said with disdain to the camera.

He could see his salvation through the square exit and the basement light on the other side of it. 

But as he lowered the camera, a creaking sound echoed through his exit.

“Hello? William?” Tom called.

Then, the footsteps continued, but it sounded like more than one; and the exit was suddenly covered by the suitpants that belonged to William and then…her legs too? The small fuzzy slippers were undeniably hers, but the two of them now standing at the exit left him confused and his pulse became thready.

“Howdy, neighbor.” said William.

“W-what are you guys doing?” Tom asked with a tinge of uncertainty in his tone.

Tom then helplessly watched as William crouched down, while she still stood beside him. 

“Need some help in there?”

“No, no–I’m coming out! Don’t come in!” 

Suddenly, her head crouched down at an unexplainable angle to look in as well, the shadow of her hair dangling in. 

“Don’t come out, Tom.” she said, voice clear as day belonging to her but with a strangled grasp to it.

But William started to crawl in and Tom yelled again, only to see that the flash of the camcorder revealed not William, but the clown killer instead. He shouted and backed away against the wall to no avail, fear seizing him in preparation to end up like the skeleton beside him. 

Just when the clown killers bared teeth came so close enough he could almost feel his hot breath, Tom lurched up in bed. 

At the same time, I woke up in another cold sweat with morning light piercing through the curtains I must have left open. 

The tops of the treeline waited just outside my window with birds chirping in a nearby nest and yet, I woke with the feeling of being chased. Rubbing my eyes to adjust, they felt strangely puffy as well as a pounding headache on the right side of my head. 

Was I crying in my sleep? I don’t know how I could have cried knowing Tom’s sweet kiss was the last thing I remember. 

As my senses came back to me, both good and bad, I threw my legs over the bed. 

My head felt heavy, and aside from the headache there was a fog that seeped through every crevice, making it difficult to remember the dreams I had. But they were more than dreams; my own soul seemed to understand as such before I could even come to terms with it. 

I looked down at my feet. They were sore like I had been running all night. 

Then, as I looked down I saw a glimpse of a rocky shore…then a pair of white boots…and blood. Lots of blood. My breathing staggered as I ran my hands across the rest of my body and my hair as it all came back: the welcome footage, the dress, the scene at the dumbwaiter…

Nausea crept up the back of my throat. I had lived a thousand lifetimes worth of distress in my sleep and even my own room didn’t feel safe when I remembered something else.

The clown in the room, luring me downstairs…

I couldn’t let myself relive it any longer. The realization that ghosts lingered in the halls and had come to know me more than I knew myself made my skin feel colder, more exposed than before. Could everything Tom’s been trying to stave off be true?

That reminded me; I sprung on from the bed on the achy balls of my feet, feeling slightly unsteady.  I opened the door and jumped at the sight of Tom opening his.

He looked as terrible as I felt. 

No words could come out in a tangible enough way to explain what I felt or what I wanted to ask about. All I knew was that his tired blue eyes looked back at me with a knowing despair; last night had been a rough night. 

“This place is fucking haunted.” I said to him, point blank in the only way I knew how. 

Tom’s shoulders sank.

Every feeling came rushing back at once. He didn’t deny it, nor did he accept it. But I could see it in his eyes he must have been coming to the same realization too. As he leaned against the doorframe with a heavy defeat, I crossed the yard of space between our doors. I looked up at him, trying to find words but nothing could come out.

How do I explain the things I saw, the things I felt? How can anyone feel so close to death in a place meant to be safe?

I wrapped my arms around his center, something that must have caught him off guard by the way he inhaled, but it only took a few seconds for his arms to come around my shoulders. 

“Do you always sleepwalk?” Tom asked, my headache lulled by the vibration of his voice through his chest.

I craned my neck to look at him suspiciously. That's what he gathered from all of that?

“I’m only asking because we’re just going to need to have a conversation if we’re gonna–” he awkwardly tapered off.

“I’ve never sleepwalked in my life, Tom.” I said, the concern returning.

Tom sighed, eyes zoning off in the space behind me. He nodded at my words, but still glossed over the loud truth between us; one that I already said once and would not say again.

“Oh, okay.” 

alright i know that was super long but also yolo i really wanted to start with them reuniting and ending with this luigis mansion ass inn because ive been dreaming of writing that since this is all started...so i hope it didn't disappoint!

please let me know what you all thought!! forehead kisses to each and everyone of u for being so kind and supportive :)

I changed into a large sweater with a white blouse underneath and darker jeans, trying my flats again in hopes today would be less likely to give me blisters today. My hair had been combed by the salty, slightly humid air and I settled for a look I wouldn’t allow myself to have in the city. It was unruly but soft even still. As I finished getting ready for today which really only consisted of packing my tote bag, I heard the doorbell jingle from downstairs and stilled. 

I could almost make out Tom’s voice. 

As I stood there in silence, daring not to even move a muscle, I felt my lips pulling the more sure I was that that cadence belonged to him. He truly was a punctual man, I thought to myself. He was the mayor after all.

Even pushing my harmless thrill aside, I understand full and well that Tom had to make an impression as the mayor. 

It was fun while it lasted, I suppose. 

With my camera and notebook tucked in my bag, I quietly left and descended the stairs to see the lady behind the desk smoking a cigarette rather than the incense—something Tom seemed to be convincing her not to do. 

He straightened immediately when he noticed me descending the stairs, though not before very obviously plucking the cigarette from between the woman’s lips and dropping it into her glass of water.

“You owe me a new pack, asshole,” she grumbled. 

Tom, completely unfazed, shrugged easily.

“I will get you all the packs you want as long as you stop smoking them inside.” 

I raised my brows at his bargain and finally let out a chuckle when the woman disappeared out into the back. 

“Can I make that a selling point in my article?” I asked smugly. 

The light in Tom’s eyes fell as his smile hung on. “Uh, I—you know what, I think it would be better worded as the number of smoke free zones we have—“ 

I shook my head at him and started for the door. “I’m joking, Tom.” 

The breath of relief he let out did not go unnoticed as he trailed behind me.

The island was cooler this early in the morning, the sun already disappearing behind a few stray clouds. I could smell the water even from blocks away, its earthy and salty smell reminding me of my drives to the beach as a kid. 

“Are you still up for coffee? I imagine you probably already have a cup or two in you by now on a normal day.” 

I nodded feverishly. “At least two. It’s terrible.” 

Tom fell into step, finally taking the lead as he proudly looked on to whatever path he was taking me down.

“That’s enough to really enjoy the Driftwood, if you ask me.” he added solemnly, glancing down at me with a smirk. 

More time to enjoy his company, perhaps. 

I felt my heart flutter the way it did several times the day before, and it nearly sent me into fight or flight. It felt wrong to feel this way so early, but almost worse knowing that it wasn’t going away. 

Coffee would surely help. 

The Driftwood seemed like a more casual place around here. This early, fishermen and locals alike were coming in. It was a diner in every sense with the same menu for years and the rich smell of bacon and coffee filling the air. Tom guided us over to a booth in the corner where the window gave a wide view of the road. 

“So what do you have on my agenda today?” I asked, watching Kathy approach our table. 

My brows furrowed as she poured us coffee, and I waited until she walked away to look at Tom.  

“Does she work everywhere?” 

Tom inhaled slowly, like he was genuinely trying to solve the mystery himself.

“She is a woman of many talents.”

“Oh, I’m sure. You would know since you’re her favorite, right?” I teased. 

Tom snickered at that, getting ready to sip his coffee, while I was busy throwing creamer and a handful of sugar packets in mine. He grimaced and I paid no mind to it.

“That is disgusting,” he half laughed. 

I shrugged and sipped it once it was the perfect shade. “I will take no negative feedback on how I enjoy my coffee.”

“Enjoy your coffee?” he echoed incredulously “You mean your cream and sugar with a side of coffee?” 

I laughed, barely able to get a sip down. I glanced at him from over the rim of my mug, seeing that he looked quite proud at his ability to get me to laugh so hard that I couldn’t even drink my coffee. Probably what he intended since he thought my concoction was so terrible. As I finally took my first sip, the steam from the coffee felt cooler in comparison to the heat on my face. I needed to get a grip…

“So, the agenda? You only have eight hours left with me today.”

Tom nodded, tapping his fingers mindlessly on the table. 

“Well, there are a few places outside the town center I wanted you to see. Some quieter spots. Places visitors might like if they want something more secluded.”

“I’m excited,” I admitted honestly. “And will it be you driving me around in that terrifyingly bumpy car of yours?”

He looked moments away from laughing before the bell above the diner door jingled behind me. His face fell slightly.

“Patricia, I told you to come at eight.” Tom sighed. 

I turned to see a woman standing stiffly beside the booth, glancing down at her watch with concern.

“Oh,” she said flatly. “I think my watch is broken.”

Then she looked at me and smiled politely.

“I’m Patricia. I work for Tom.”

“Hi,” I greeted warmly, scooting over. “He was just critiquing my coffee order, so you’re more than welcome to join us.”

Patricia looked genuinely startled by the invitation, doing a small double take before awkwardly sliding into the booth beside me.

Meanwhile, Tom dragged a hand down his face.

“Tom,” Patricia scoffed, “how could you be rude to the reporter?”

“I wasn’t—” He clicked his tongue. “Never mind.”

Kathy appeared again as if summoned by the tension, setting down another mug for Patricia before vanishing.

Tom pointed between the two of us.

“Patricia’s gonna take you to a few places while I deal with some meetings at town hall, but I’ll be done way before you guys, so—”

“What about your two o’clock?” Patricia interrupted.

I bit down hard on my smile as Tom slowly turned to stare at her.

“I canceled my two o’clock.”

“Oh,” Patricia said. “Well, they’re not gonna be happy about that.”

I tilted my head.

“What was the meeting about?”

Tom waved dismissively.

“Nothing important.”

Patricia immediately looked scandalized.

“The over sixty-five community would disagree.”

I laughed outright at that while Tom shot her a warning look, settling into a knowing smile particularly meant for him and his face softened in response.

Patricia didn’t appear remotely intimidated.

By the time breakfast wrapped up, Tom headed for town hall while Patricia took over the remainder of my tour. Her car was small, hardly fit for the terrain and I squeezed into the passenger side. 

“So, what kind of music do you like?” she asked. 

I shrugged. “Anything. Nineties. Eighties.” 

She smirked and popped in a mixtape to the old system. “Perfect. I have all of the above.” 

The first song was by Mazzy Star and I had a hunch I was going to like Patricia a lot.

The drive became less nauseating once they were out of the town and its old roads. Patricia spent most of it talking about who lived in each house they went by, whether there were good or bad things to be said. She told stories about how she lived here her whole life and I couldn’t help but ask if she had been to the mainland. 

Patricia simply said nope with a pop and the conversation about that dropped awfully quick. 

The Point was a spot on the island that definitely seemed otherworldly, where there were more trees and broken park trail than anything. I snapped a few photos, coming to the edge of the tree line where it descended into beach, realizing they were at a point that curved further out than the rest of the island. Hence the name, I suppose.

On the way back towards their next destination, they passed the hospital and a few roads down, a very decrepit and older version of it. 

“Was that a part of the hospital?” I asked, glancing back as they drove by.

She half laughed and half scoffed. “It was the old hospital. We definitely do not stop there.” 

I laughed a little to myself. “That is absolutely fine with me. It gives me the heebie jeebies from here.” 

“A lot of things on this island will do that but you know, it’s fine. It’s a little haunted and terrible things do happen here every so often but it’s home, ya’ know?” 

My eyebrows raised, and I stared out to the road ahead. 

“Sure,” I said quickly in agreement. I was absolutely not sure. 

“Anyway, are you a big book person?”

“I read in my spare time when I can,” I answered, still thrown from her last comment. 

“Well, then,” she said proudly “ you are about to experience the Patti Wagon.” her proudness dimmed to immediately show her composure.

I smiled endearingly at her play on words as she explained it was an old bus she converted into a small library. I did enjoy a good read when I wasn’t traveling or researching for my usual flow of work. 

By the end of the tour, I glanced down at my watch, almost a little disappointed that my trip would be ending so soon.

As we pulled back into town, more locals were out and about for their daily routine. It reminded me of home a bit with the group of moms hitting a boutique, kids running around, and a few men working on things nearby. The home I grew up in here in New England at least. 

Patricia parked beside a small bookstore where an old painted bus sat tucked near the curb.

“Patricia,” I said in awe while climbing out of the car, “this is actually really impressive.”

I lifted my camera to take a photo and the second I lowered it again, Patricia abruptly sidestepped into frame and posed.

Laughing softly, I took another picture.

She proudly opened the back doors to reveal rows of bookshelves inside, and before I knew it she was insisting I pick something to take with me.

“I can’t just take one,” I protested. “At least let me pay you.”

She waved me off immediately.

“You can bring it back next time you visit.”

I grinned while flipping through the pages of the book I’d picked.

“That is an ambitious assumption.”

“I know. Think of it as a souvenir at least.” she shrugged, guiding me out of the bus. “People may ask, ‘hey, where did you get that book’ and you can say ‘the Patti Wagon in Widows Bay’.” 

I tucked the book I chose away in my bag and smiled at her. 

“I will happily advertise the Patti Wagon with or without a souvenir.” 

The woman’s eyes visibly lit up even on the overcast day. She didn’t know what to do with herself, hands twitching at her sides as she wanted to either hug me or shake my hand, but she settled and stood like a pencil. 

“Thank you.” she said, bowing her head.

“Of course.” I laughed. 

The time to depart the island was near, church bells striking in the distance and making me glance down at my watch to realize it was already two in the afternoon. The ferry would leave at three and I’d say goodbye to Widow’s Bay for most likely forever, but I kept my head on a swivel as I looked around for Tom. 

Patricia helped me get back to the inn where I retrieved my bags from the before walking me toward the harbor, talking animatedly the entire way about books she wanted me to read and ideas she had for expanding the Patti Wagon.

I tried listening. Really. 

But I was still preoccupied looking for a certain mayor who looked really good in sweaters with a vest. 

“Wait, wait, wait!” a voice tried to urgently but quietly call. 

My chest swelled. 

I turned to see Tom, bolting down the slight hill with his jacket flailing behind him. He nearly slipped on the gravel as he came to a stop before me, hands dropping to his knees. 

“Jesus, Tom.” Patricia scolded. “You’re out of shape.” 

Even in his fatigued state, his head lifted to glare. “Shut up, Patricia.” he panted. 

I laughed and she rolled her eyes, looking back at me. 

“It was nice meeting you.” she said. “I can’t wait to read the article. Also, I wrote my number in the book if you have any more questions or ever just want to chat about books.”

Slightly caught off guard, I remembered to nod politely and smile at her. 

“I will take you up on that offer, Patricia.” 

She walked away and Tom finally straightened, having just barely caught his breath.

“I take it that two o’clock meeting didn’t take no for an answer?”

Tom shook his head, chest rising and falling. 

“The over sixty-five community rarely does.”

Laughing, my head ducked slightly as I looked down at our shoes and then back up at him. There were so many things I wanted to say, but I felt absolutely disoriented simply staring into Tom’s eyes…and I was terrible at eye contact. 

Tom opened his mouth like he meant to say something, then stopped short. A grin tugged helplessly at his mouth instead.

“I-I wish I had something better planned for your departure or–something.” he said, shaking his head, words landing softly somewhere deep in my chest.

It was like a facade was crumbling right before me. 

“Watching you sprint to catch me was a pretty good way to leave.” 

He nodded and placed his hands on his hips. “I’m glad you were amused by that.” 

The harbor settled into silence around us after that. Seagulls cried overhead while boats rocked gently against the docks.

And standing there before him, watching the wind move through his hair while the ferry waited behind me, I realized with sudden painful clarity that I really didn’t want to leave yet.

“Patricia was great though. She made my last few hours pretty interesting enough.” I tacked on nervously. 

Tom huffed out a laugh. “That's good. Sometimes she can go a bit overboard.”

“She’s passionate.” I gently corrected. 

Tom smiled a little at that, glancing down toward the harbor water as though he was trying not to look too pleased by the comment.

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “Guess she is.”

Another silence settled between us, softer this time and less awkward somehow. Maybe everything that needed to be said was said,  by voice or look alone. 

The ferry horn sounded somewhere behind and my stomach dropped a little.

“Well,” I said reluctantly, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder. “I should probably—”

“Right. Yeah.” he swallowed. 

Tom nodded quickly and then, almost as an afterthought, stuck his hand out toward me for a handshake. I bit down on the inside of my lip to refrain from laughing at how he could only regress to something professional. 

I slipped my hand into his anyway, my entire skin rippling at the touch, and we shook our hands.

At first, I thought maybe he was waiting for me to pull away, but when I glanced up at him, he looked equally aware of how long this handshake had become. His hand was warm from the run down the hill and rougher than I expected against mine.

We were absolutely holding hands at this point. 

Tom cleared his throat.

“So,” he started awkwardly, still not letting go, “you got any big summer plans?”

I tilted my head slightly, trying not to grin too hard.

“Why?” I asked. “You got any ideas?”

That caught him off guard enough that he laughed under his breath.

“Well,” he said slowly, “I had a few.”

The smile that pulled at my mouth softened before I could stop it. Unfortunately, my real life still existed somewhere beyond the island, and even as we held hands in the small space between us, I knew I couldn’t ignore it. 

“I do actually have plans,” I admitted with an apologetic little wince.

Something visibly dimmed in his expression, subtle enough that I almost could’ve imagined it if I wasn’t looking directly at him. Even his wrist gave a little 

“Oh,” he said. “Right.”

Finally, our hands did naturally drift down to our sides and the absence it left was immediate. 

“But,” I added quickly, “I could probably be convinced to ditch some of them.”

His eyes lifted back to mine at once.

There it was again—that look that made me feel like my entire stomach did a backflip. Tom rocked back slightly on his heels before hurriedly patting around the pockets of his jacket like he’d suddenly remembered something important.

“Right, uh—here.”

He pulled out the folded map I’d borrowed the day before and handed it toward me.

“You left this in my car.”

I smiled knowingly as I took it from him.

“The map?”

“Precisely,” he said far too quickly. “In case you come back.” 

I laughed softly and couldn’t comprehend beating around the bush anymore. My mind had danced in circles too much in this conversation alone to let it continue. 

“When I open this on the ferry, your number better be written somewhere on it.”

Tom’s ears turned faintly pink, but he remained nonchalant. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mhmm.”

The ferry horn blasted again, louder this time. Must have been the final boarding, for all three passengers probably riding back to the mainland today. 

Neither of us moved immediately.

Then, with a small reluctant breath, I started stepping backward toward the dock. 

“Well,” I said quietly, “goodbye, Tom.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, shoulders lifting slightly against the wind, grin settled into his expression. 

“See you around.”

His words sat warm in my chest as I turned toward the ferry, already knowing I was going to unfold that map long before I made it back to the mainland. But as the ferry departed and Widows Bay grew smaller in the distance, I had a feeling I would find my way back here one way or another. 

The city felt dull at first upon my arrival. 

It was never easy going from the coast back into a place that had its own biome. Everything in the city hummed beneath my floors from the sirens, car horns, to quarrels on other units. But I did appreciate the man who guarded the apartment building and the view from my window nonetheless. 

Work was welcoming though.

Everyone wanted to know how the trip had gone, mostly because it had been such a strange assignment for me to take in the first place. Reporters of my caliber didn't usually disappear to tiny islands in the Atlantic to write tourism pieces.

As the long days passed by and even longer nights, I still couldn’t help but wonder if it was always supposed to happen that way. It changed me deep down, and even if I was oblivious to its extent, something was different about my thought process coming home.

I’d toss and turn debating it, not long before falling asleep and dreaming of that moon coming through the window of the inn. 

Even Arthur was impressed by how I naturally beamed when I talked about it but was simply happy to hear the article would be a good one. Starting the article was the hard part though. 

Of course, when I opened my emails though, Patricia somehow found mine and reached out. 

“Subject: Hello!!! Hi! This is Patricia. I don’t know if you remember me but I took you on a tour of Widows Bay and I looked you up in the internet—“ 

I inhaled slowly through my nose and shook my head at the screen. There was something comforting about the enthusiasm packed into every word. I could practically hear her speaking as I scrolled. I had a feeling she’d be a good pen pal. 

I sent back a quick hello, and some book recommendations for her library. 

But as I dove into the drafting of the article, I hit a wall that I never even could have predicted.

It took almost two weeks to finish. 

It could have been done sooner if other subjects weren’t calling my attention for the daily editions and the interns pulling me in every direction. I didn’t fight the distractions as hard as I could have though. Even the occasional night out with my friends became more appealing. 

I guess part of me was worried it would be over once I completed it. Whatever “it” was, I still had yet to place. All I knew was that there was a certain dread that awaited me at the editing table—like I’d be closing a door I wasn’t ready to close. 

But the article about Widows Bay was finished just in time for the May edition and I still didn't feel quite adjusted to home.

That week and my small success warranted a happy hour; one that most of my office gladly partook in on a Friday night at a nearby lounge. There were always parties for the editors and it felt like they came every week, but a large drink called my name tonight. 

The place buzzed with newsroom gossip and enough alcohol to ensure half the stories being told would grow significantly more dramatic by Monday morning. I went mostly out of obligation too since my closest friends worked for the Times, just not in my department, would not be joining. They typically regarded political writers the same way normal people regarded hornets.

Arthur liked to claim he was the only one brave enough to approach me at work, a reputation that didn’t always precede me outside of office hours.

When I got the call from them to ditch the happy hour to find them though, I had already decided I’d be heading home. There was little to no time between my return and jumping back into the swing of things, so much I didn’t even realize almost two weeks had already passed. 

I strolled through the city, catching the train back to my apartment building all in one big swell. 

Everything resumed so easily, yet my mind was still stuck at the lighthouse when dusk hung in the balance. 

I finally entered the solace of my apartment, which was mostly quiet for once. I lit candles and kept the lighting low before sitting on my sofa, tossing my purse at my side. 

A notebook slid out, and with it, the map Tom Loftis had given me. 

Sighing, I begrudgingly reached for it. 

My mind was already jumping to the conclusion that I should finally call Tom, letting him know the article was finished. It made sense to wait until it was actually printed though. Or was I just finding more ways to push off the inevitable? Every time I thought about picking up the phone, my heartbeat started to race against my thoughts, only to be completely shut down.

But maybe I could just send him an email? That would be more professional. 

Oh, screw it. Why was I sitting here almost breaking out in a nervous sweat over it? I haven’t had a night where I didn’t think about him. I had to be coming down with something, whether physically or mentally, and it was making me sick.

Before I could think better of it, I punched in the number written across the corner and pressed call. 

Immediately, I regretted everything I had done but still didn’t move to hang up. 

The phone rang once. Twice. Three times. Maybe he wouldn't answer or he was busy and it was a sign that it was never going to happen. Maybe—

"Widows Bay mayor's office, Tom Loftis speaking."

I nearly dropped the phone. There was a beat of silence, one stretched too long that it sent off alarms in my head, trying to coerce me to speak.

"Hello?"

I didn’t expect to be so frozen by his voice, but more so his greeting.

“You gave me the number to your office?” I asked incredulously, my nerves dissolving into laughter. 

“Hey, these things don’t have a contact photo.” he scoffed, sounding quite offended. “I have to sound professional anytime I pick up a phone.” 

I hummed. “Mhmm, well, I guess I can look past it since I had professional reasons for calling.”

“Oh? Professional reasons at this time of night? Should I sit down?”

My cheeks were beginning to ache from the grin stretched across my lips, unable to fight it down the slightest. 

“You’re already sitting.” I guessed.

He let out a huff. “You don’t know that.”

“Are you standing in the mayor's office at ten p.m., Tom?” I asked accusingly. 

For some reason, this suddenly felt like the easiest thing I had ever done.  Maybe because now I didn’t have to hide my face that was embarrassingly excited to be talking to him, sitting on my couch with my nails at my lips. I could listen and mull things over without trying to hold my composure here at least.. 

“Well, no. I guess you’re right.”

If this were a couple decades ago, I’d be twirling the line that connected the phone to the wall.

"Alright," he said. "What's so important you called the mayor's office after hours?"

"The article's done."

The line went quiet. "Really?"

The surprise in his voice made my own smile widen.  "It'll be in the May edition. Probably within the next week or two."

"That's amazing." he laughed softly. "I almost wish you hadn't told me."

"Why?"

"Now I have to live with the knowledge that it's out there somewhere before we even get a copy."

I couldn't help but laugh. 

“I was too excited to wait.” I admitted. “Plus, I wanted to make you squirm a little in case I didn’t leave a big enough impression already.”

I didn’t even know where those words came from as they stumbled from me. Maybe I was out of the game for too long, but I was nearly blushing at myself, even more so when Tom cleared his throat and seemingly pulled the phone away for a second if I didn’t know any better. 

“I’m glad you enjoy causing trouble from a hundred miles away.” he exhaled. “I think I deserve it though after making you spend an entire weekend listening to ghost stories." 

“No,” I answered timidly. “It was great. I wouldn’t have personally called you if I didn’t think so.” 

We both sat in silence for a minute, grinning from ear to ear on opposite ends of what felt like the entire world. I don’t think either of us knew what to say, and this is exactly what I’d come to fear when the article was wrapped up.

A door closing. 

“Would you believe Patricia and I have become penpals?” I finally spoke. 

I could hear his jaw drop. “You’re kidding?” 

“Nope,” I shook my head. “The day after I got back I already had an email from her. But we’ve actually had some nice conversations. I almost kind of miss her.” I giggled. 

Tom seemed to stumble over his own words.  “Out of everything on the island, you miss Patricia?” 

“And Kathy.” 

The two of you laughed, echoing through the phone and I had no regard for anyone else who could hear. 

“Well I hope the professional relationships you’ve established on your trip are reflected kindly in the paper.” Tom spoke with a faux sincerity. 

I felt my pulse high in my throat. 

 “Of course.” I said as a matter of fact. “Our professional relationship was the most important part of it.” 

“Well, the paper is done so…” he droned out. 

“Yes?” I continued. 

“Technically we don’t have a professional relationship anymore.”

“Oh, no. You’re right.” I responded, mockingly. “Does this mean we can be pen pals now?” 

“Should I wait until after the article comes out?” he asked.

I laughed again, pulling my legs up to sit crosslegged, my nerves coiling up again. 

“Maybe. I want to make sure you still like me after reading it.” 

I knew I was poking the fire with those words, but Tom didn’t seem to protest. 

“Alright. If you didn’t mention me screaming about fog or anything about us being cursed, you might just get a call back.” 

I raised my brows. “Wow. Now the ball really is in your court.” 

God, I hoped he would call again. The thought arrived uninvited and settled stubbornly in my chest as the future weighed heavily on me. Somehow, after a single weekend and one phone call, I'd started looking forward to hearing his voice again already.

“Well, while you wait for that article to land on your desk, I’ll continue emailing Patricia and you will just have to miss out on all the fun.”

“I look forward to it,” Tom said softly. 

The line went quiet again, nothing but the soft hum of static between us.

"I'm glad you called." he admitted, words cutting through like he had been sitting in the room with me.

My breath caught just slightly.

"So am I."

It felt like the right time to hang up, so we said a brief goodnight and I remained stuck to my couch for several moments after. Something about calling the mayor of Widow’s Bay from my apartment in the city didn’t quite add up, like it shouldn’t have been as natural an occurrence as it was, but it only made the ache in my chest grow and want for more. 

But somewhere on the other end, Tom remained sitting at his desk, head leaning back against his chair as his thoughts wandered to the same place as mine. 

This was that moment that made me question every decision leading up to this point. 

I had my entire summer laid out.  Now, I was grinning ear to ear over the mayor of a town I never even heard of until last week, thinking of how in the world this was ever going to be more than a phone call.

Was this all supposed to happen this way? Did Widows Bay always anticipate my arrival instead of Arthur’s? 

Town Hall was unusually quiet for a Thursday afternoon. The fans kicked on, heralding the first hot day of the year for the island and with it all the dust that accumulated over the cold months. 

Tom Loftis was hovering behind Patricia who sat at her desk, his anxious energy louder than the old lights that buzzed in the quiet office. As much as he tried to be discreet though, he was close enough to read upside down.

Patricia, meanwhile, was typing furiously away at her computer and hadn’t noticed him for nearly three minutes. He considered this a personal victory until Dale walked through the door carrying a mug of coffee and spotted him

“What’re you doing?”

Both of them jumped and Patricia nearly launched herself through the ceiling when she realized Tom was standing there, having straightened so fast he almost hurt his back.

“Jesus Christ, Dale.” he said breathily.

Patricia immediately slapped both hands over her monitor, glaring at Tom.

“Were you trying to invade my privacy?!”

Dale blinked at Tom who stumbled over his words.

“What?” he asked, playing coy.

“Why were you snooping?”she demanded. 

“I was just—”

She narrowed her eyes and Tom groaned out of frustration of being put on the spot.

“You want to know if she’s asked about you, don’t you?”

“Me?” he said with surprise. “No, no…”

But Patricia’s expression deepened as she tilted her head at him, humming a long mhmm. 

“Maybe.” Tom finally caved.

Patricia scoffed. “She hasn’t. Which I know because we’ve been emailing back and forth because she is my friend.” She was ready to turn around but paused and looked at him again. “And I will not be your wingman!”

Dale slid back to his desk, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Are you still asking about the reporter who came here last month?”

Tom opened his mouth to protest, trying to find some way he could stuff all of them in a tiny box somewhere so that he didn’t have to hear their wild accusations. But Tom was in fact red in the face for a reason—he was asking, but he had also been too scared to call back and was slightly ashamed of that.

The article had yet to arrive, so he couldn’t hold up his end of the bargain and it was driving him insane. Was she expecting him to call back before that maybe? He didn’t know how this stuff worked.

“The one that made Tom get the hots.” Rosemary chimed in from where she sat in the corner doing a crossword.

Tom’s jaw dropped “That is not true.”

“It is.” Patricia said sympathetically.

“It isn’t.”

“It absolutely is.” Dale added, grinning in his mug. “Look at his face.”

Tom threw his hands up, coming down to his hips as he paced around. 

“You two are unbelievable.”

“You are literally reading my emails. That’s pretty unbelievable.” Patricia scoffed, finally turning in her chair.

“I was trying to see what books she recommended.” Tom shrugged.

Three sets of eyes immediately landed on him. Tom wished a sinkhole would open beneath the building.

Patricia slowly raised her eyebrows.

“So we’re calling her she now.”

Tom’s face scrunched in confusion, doing a double take at Patricia and wondering what she meant by that.

“What are you even talking about?”

Silence fell in the office again as everyone resumed their routines. But Tom still lingered, squirming on the spot and still unsure of what to do with himself. He could call her, but that idea still felt too crazy for him.

“You’re jealous, aren’t you?” Patricia asked.

He rolled his eyes, looking up in some sort of prayer that they would let it go.

“I am not jealous.” Tom deadpanned.

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

Tom finally gave up. “This is ridiculous. I was going to call her I just…”

Patricia’s grin slowly spread. “You were?”

“About the article.” he nodded. “But we haven’t gotten them yet and I’m ready to just make Lee pick one up from the mainland at this point. She said to call her back when I got the article and now…” he sighed, feeling incredibly stupid at this point.

Patricia suddenly looked confused. Then a realization dawned upon her.

Tom immediately didn’t like that expression.

“What?”

She pointed vaguely toward where Ruth’s desk was. 

“I think magazines got here yesterday.”

Tom stared, all words leaving his mind. 

“What do you mean ‘you think’?”

She looked down in her lap, hand reaching up to nervously rub her neck. 

“I mean I think the packages got here yesterday and Ruth signed for them before she left…at noon.” 

Tom's head lifted back to the desk, and before he knew it he was already moving. He caught a desk chair with his hip, sending it into the desk with a loud thud, but it didn’t slow him down. 

Rosemary let out a hoarse laugh. “Look at him go.”

There was two boxes very clearly from the New York Times sitting in front of Ruth’s desk. He had no time to be frustrated or ask where she was, because all he could do was nearly rip the box open. 

They weren’t on the front cover but his hands still shook a little as he opened it, like he was about to sift through the most delicate and prized piece of paper he’s ever held. It took a conscious reminder for him not to tear through the pages.

But then, he finally found it; the article that would put them on the map.

The Best Place You’ve Never Heard Of…Until NowWhy Widow’s Bay deserves a spot on your summer itinerary

Tom’s heart was nearly pounding out of his chest. 

The article started with the ferry, then the harbor, then the island itself. The page was sprinkled with photographs that felt surreal, capturing a beauty he almost forgot existed here.

The town looked beautiful. God, even the people looked beautiful. She managed to capture the best aspects of it all. Or maybe he was just that excited.

Every page felt like she had managed to capture exactly what he loved about it here even if he forgot it himself. .

Patricia and Rosemary appeared behind him to grab a copy and then Dale slowly thereafter.

“Widows Bay feels less like a destination and more like being invited into someone’s home.” 

“While other coastal destinations compete for attention, Widows Bay offers something increasingly rare: sincerity.”

“Skip Martha’s Vineyard this year and head to Widows Bay for all the things you love about your usual destination and more. You just might even find a good ghost story too.” 

Tom laughed to himself in pure disbelief. She still managed to throw a good jab in there about the islands stories. But he kept rereading every word, skimming through it so fast he would miss sentences. 

“She mentioned the Pattiwagon!” Patricia shouted from the other room. 

He found that endearing, as much as Patricia never stopped talking about it, it was going to be so much worse now that it was officially in the Times. 

In a wave of exhaustion from the pure excitement alone, Tom held the magazine close as he slowly dragged himself back to his office. He would absolutely be printing copies of the article by the end of the day. 

But as he walked past the others, all their heads slowly lifted from where they whispered about a certain line in the article.

“Tom.” Patricia said, catching his attention. “Did you see the line?”

His brows scrunched. “Which one?” 

Rosemary sighed heavily, and even Patricia and Dale looked a little disappointed. He didn’t know what it could possibly be now that made them look at him that way. 

“Oh I don’t know, the one that makes it obvious how dumb you are for not calling her yet?” she said accusingly.

Tom looked offended. 

“God, men are so stupid,” she huffed, finding the line again. 

“At the center of it all is the town’s charming and charismatic mayor, whose enthusiasm for Widows Bay is impossible not to catch.” 

Tom’s chest coiled deep down, the words rebounding around him. Now he did feel like an idiot for somehow not remembering reading that in the three times he’s read the article now. 

“Charming? Charismatic? Lotta words I wouldn’t use to describe ya.” Rosemary stated, going back to her desk. 

“Gee, thanks.” Tom frowned. 

Patrica’s eyes widened at him though. 

“You need to call her and tell her to come back here!” 

Tom’s shoulders sagged.. 

“I will call her, Patricia, jeez.” he said, motioning his hands to lower the tone. “I can’t expect her to just drop everything and come back. That’s a lot for someone I met once.” 

Patricia didn’t seem to care and while deep down he wished for the impossible, he had to be realistic. 

“Alright. Alright.” Patricia said, putting her hands up in defense. 

Tom finally retired to his office. Once alone, his grin returned without even realizing. He ran a hand over his face and took a seat, opening the article again and reading specifically the line she wrote about him. 

It was one line and yet, it filled him with an unfamiliar feeling that made his stomach flip on itself. 

His heart was pounding so hard it was ridiculous. He was a grown man, not sixteen, yet somehow this felt worse. Like there were more thoughts and fears that could cloud his mind now as an adult. 

Everything in his nervous system seemed to scream at him not to do it, to just let it go and get ready for the summer. There was no way she was really that into him, if that’s what you could call it these days. Even if she was, it felt like a stretch to get her to return. She had to be a busy person.

But as he mulled it all over, he found her number in his answering machine. 

Tom took a few deep breaths, preparing like he was going to run a race. It sure felt like he ran one already at this point. 

The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

“Hello?”

Just hearing her voice made him smile.

“Hey—hi.”

Then he swore he could hear her smile too.

“Ah, I thought I recognized that area code.” 

Tom laughed nervously and immediately hated just how nervous he sounded.

“I take it you got the article?” she asked.

“We got the article.” he confirmed. 

“And?”

“And I think you may have saved the island.”

She laughed, the sound settling  something inside him. He liked making her laugh far more than he should.

“I mean it,” he said quietly. “It’s incredible.”

“Thank you. I don’t want to take credit yet.”

“No. Really. Even if we get five new visitors, that article was perfect.”

He glanced down at the pages he’d already reread five times. Then before he could lose his nerve—

“I want you to come back.”

Tom immediately wanted to throw himself into the ocean. He pushed through anyway, despite feeling like he was actually going to be sick.

“I—I want you to come back to Widows Bay.” His hand tightened around the phone. “I don’t care how long or when.”

His voice softened.

“I just…” The words felt surprisingly vulnerable for him, but his honesty just kept spilling out. “I want to see you again. And not just because you’re a really good writer.”

The silence on the other end stretched.

On the other end, I had been staring off into the beaches of the Hamptons, lips ajar and not a single thought circulating in my mind but the words he just said. I knew my silence was stretching on too long, but my heart felt like it would combust.

“I was really hoping you were going to say it was because I’m a really good writer.” was all I could blurt out. 

My hand flew to my mouth, feeling so incredibly stupid despite his laugh on the other end. 

“I’m sorry, that was so terrible.” I laughed, my face hot from more than just the sun. 

“I’ve probably made worse attempts at a joke.” Tom admitted. 

But my chest was still fluttering with the racing pulse of my heart, his confession still making an impact on me. 

“I’ll be there.” I finally said.

I swore he let out such a huge sigh of relief. 

“I don’t know when or how long yet, but I’ll be there.” 

I didn’t have those answers just yet, but I didn’t care. Hearing Tom’s voice after a long grueling couple of weeks waiting to hear what he thought sent me into a daze. I didn’t even know I would miss something so much until now, let alone when that voice was telling me where it wanted me. 

“Does this mean I can get on your penpal list now?” Tom asked. 

“Yes, but Patricia still gets priority.” 

They lingered on the ends of their phones for a little bit longer before their lives pulled them back. Each of them had a grin from ear to ear that was impossible to fight, but no one else in the world would know why it was there but them.

April was still borderline considered winter in the northeastern coast of the country and I was hardly prepared. 

The ferry ached and creaked with the tide, its old frame groaning beneath each push of gray water. We had just come through a small bank of fog when I finally decided to step out onto the deck. A gust of salty air blew my hair loose from where I had tucked it into my coat, sharp enough to make my eyes water as I peered over the rail.

Widows Bay started to come into view through the mist.

I was entirely alone on the ferry, which made the photos I took with my camera look almost staged in their emptiness. The lonely deck. The dull white sky. The island emerging like something it had been waiting to do for a very long time.

The ferry’s captain, Lee, was enthusiastic enough to let me take one of him, though. He stood stiffly at first, then gave me a chipper, sun-aged smile that vanished almost the second I tucked my camera away.

“What brings a city girl to Widows Bay?” he asked.

I tilted my head, gnawing at the inside of my cheek while I tried to decide whether the question was friendly or suspicious.

“How can you tell I’m from the city?” I retorted.

The captain’s face didn’t change. He only turned his eyes back to the island ahead, his expression settling into something reserved and weather-beaten.

I took a breath, shoving my hands into my pockets.

“I’m writing an article about this place for The New York Times. My friend who was supposed to write it got sick, and I owed him one. He said the mayor’s been trying to get us out here for years.”

I chuckled lightly, remembering Arthur’s dramatic description of the guy, but something set deeper into Lee’s frown. It moved from his mouth into the wrinkles of his forehead.

“Ack, this island doesn’t need any summer tourism,” he scowled, voice grumbling low. “Terrible, terrible things happen here, miss.”

I slowly withdrew my notepad and pen from my coat pocket, jotting the warning down without much of a second thought. One opinion wasn’t going to change the article, but I was suddenly very eager to hear what the rest of the locals thought.

Lee did a double take. From the corner of my eye, I caught him looking down at my notepad.

“You’re going to need more pen and paper for what happens here.”

For some reason, that warning dug a little deeper.

There was sincerity in his stormy gray eyes, something too heavy to dismiss as simple local theatrics. His words sank their claws in, though maybe it was only the cold making them feel that way. Maybe it was the fog. Maybe it was the fact that I couldn’t help but wonder, suddenly, if Arthur had called in sick for a reason.

Everything had an explanation, though.

And I was sure I would get it over the next forty-eight hours.

When the ferry docked, the early morning sun had started to peek from behind the murky white clouds overhead. Lee, having apparently shed all his grimness on the water, picked up my weekender bag with a smile. I followed him down the ramp as the lone passenger that morning, becoming very aware of the locals who spared me glances that felt like hasty judgments.

Perhaps I did stick out like a sore thumb among towers of fishing traps and men in heavy work jackets. Perhaps the black wool coat, flats, and camera around my neck did not exactly scream island native.

“I don’t see the mayor,” Lee said, scanning the surrounding fish markets and stores ahead.

I didn’t know what Tom Loftis looked like, so his guess was as good as mine. Glancing at my watch, I realized we had arrived earlier than scheduled.

“It’s fine. I can wait around.”

Lee looked at me as if I had grown another head.

“Absolutely not. I’ll take ya to the historical society. Gerrie can get you started on the town’s history.”

He took off before I could argue, and I followed along with my bag swinging from his hand and a sly grin slowly forming on my lips.

“I take it you’ll be expecting a full report from me when I get back on the ferry tomorrow?”

Lee didn’t answer. Maybe he was hard of hearing. Maybe he was ignoring me. Either felt possible.

As I fell into step behind him, the statue in the center of the square took me off guard. It towered over the path, a stern-looking man cast in weather-darkened bronze, one hand raised as if commanding the sea itself to behave. The clothes placed him somewhere in the 1600s—a founder, perhaps. The more I studied him, the more his face seemed to sharpen down at me.

Or maybe it was just the way the thin sunlight caught the metal.

Either way, I had to force myself back into motion, a strange feeling following in my wake as I caught up to Lee.

Thankfully, beyond the statue was the coastal charm I had expected. As the pier ended and the town began, the street unfurled in sun-bleached, salt-weathered buildings with crooked signs and foggy windows. At first glance, I could make out a few shops that could certainly use some rebranding for tourists, and despite Lee’s warning, I could already imagine the potential.

The rocks in the road started to ache through the soles of my flats. Keeping up with the captain became harder while I was busy staring at the rest of the island, but to my relief, the pale-yellow house that held the historical society was already ahead.

Lee left my bag in the main walkway and bid me farewell. But before the door could fully close behind him, I heard the floorboards creak under his weight and glanced over my shoulder to see him pop his head back in.

“If you see fog at night, miss, do your best to get inside. Don’t even peek till dawn, ya hear?”

My eyebrows shot up into my forehead…oh, he was serious.

"You got it…" I replied with uncertainty. He seemed to like that answer though, flipping a thumbs up before finally departing.

When I turned around, a gleeful older woman appeared so suddenly that I nearly jumped out of my skin. She was hardly threatening, standing a little below my height with dirty-blonde hair that looked as if it had just come out of curlers that morning.

“Oh, hello! I’m sorry to startle you!” she winced, though her smile never wavered as she approached and reached for my hand. “I’m Gerrie. I’m in charge of Widow’s Bay Historical Society. Are you the reporter the mayor’s been so excited about?”

It seemed the mayor wasn’t the only one who was excited.

I smiled, letting Gerrie shake my hand before I had even fully lifted my arm.

“Yes, I believe so. Lee said we arrived early, so he thought it would be best to start here.”

Gerrie clasped her hands together in front of her, pushing her glasses up her nose.

“And right he was! Which isn’t often, that cranky old man. But let me give you a tour. Are you a history gal?”

I nodded, trying to meet her energy, though my body was still catching up with the ferry, the fog, and Lee’s warnings.

“Yes, actually. I double majored in history in college. Just don’t try to quiz me. I’m a little rusty.”

Gerrie laughed. It was a little sharp on the ears at first, but there was something so earnestly delighted about her that I couldn’t help but smile.

“Oh, sweetie, I won’t bite. But by the end of your stay, I may have to quiz you on some of Widow’s Bay’s history.”

I chuckled softly and followed her into a large room crowded with props, display cases, framed documents, and old artifacts. With a childhood just outside of Boston, a lot of this was reminiscent of school trips you used to take as a child; witches, whaling, shipwrecks, storms, famine…the works.

Gerrie started with the whales. My camera hung around my neck and my notebook rested in my hand, but for a while, I simply let myself enjoy the history lesson.

It slowly took a dark turn as she started to get into how most of the men would not return home from the whaling trips. 

"Oh…" I said, lips forming around the words as I looked at Gerrie with a mirrored sadness that didn't reach my eyes. 

But just beyond Gerrie’s shoulder, footsteps sounded in the hall, quick and uneven, like someone trying very hard not to look like he had been running.

A man appeared in the doorway, slightly out of breath beneath a tweed blazer and a dark red sweater, his short dark hair neatly pressed back in its natural side part. He smiled first at Gerrie, then at me, and for one ridiculous second, I forgot what Gerrie had been saying about dead whalers.

His eyes were very blue. Annoyingly blue—but only annoying because I found myself wanting to stare at them a little longer and study the way his eyes crinkled at the corner. 

“They should have checked the bars,” he said.

A laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it. His smile changed when he heard it. Not bigger, exactly, but less official of a mayor and more real.

“Tom Loftis,” he said, stepping forward and offering his hand. “Mayor, unofficial tour guide, and apparently very late first impression.”

I gave him my name and shook his hand. His grip was warm from being inside, mine still cold from the ferry deck. The handshake lasted half a second too long. Long enough for him to notice. Long enough for me to notice him noticing.

We both let go at the same time.

“Arthur did call, I hope?” I asked, folding my hands together before they could betray me further. “About sending a replacement?”

“He did,” Tom said quickly. “He failed to mention the replacement would be…”

He stopped himself.

I lifted an eyebrow.

“Early,” he finished. “Very early. Which is my fault, technically, for not being earlier than early.”

Behind him, Gerrie beamed as if she had personally arranged the whole thing.

“Well, the ferry left early so,” I shrugged. “I’m glad I was earlier than early today.”

Tom's eyes softened with an apologetic slump. "And I am so sorry about that. Can I take you to get some coffee or anything?"

My eyes flickered over to Gerrie who seemed to be patiently waiting with a smile on her lips. It felt cruel to jump ship so soon, especially when some background knowledge could be beneficial to the trip. 

"Actually, Gerrie was just giving me a bit of a history lesson." I answered, pointing at the dozens of framed letters and artifacts from when settlers first arrived here. 

“That’s great,” Tom said, with the polished brightness of a man trying very hard to mean it.

His gaze followed mine, and I noticed the twinge of disappointment behind his eyes as he looked at the artifacts and then back at Gerrie. He must have known as well as I did that New England history was checkered, and that only a certain kind of person could be fascinated by it in the way Gerrie was.

A certain kind of person that, unfortunately for him, included me.

“Yes, well,” he continued, clasping his hands together. “Remarkable story. Forty-two passengers from the mainland embarked by sea to find a settlement they could call their own…”

His eyes kept flicking to the side of my face as he spoke, as if checking to make sure the brochure version was landing. I could feel it while I looked at the old journal entries, a strange cloud beginning to sit heavy over my head.

It all felt familiar.

Not in a way I could place. It felt like when you think you’re in a place you’ve seen in a dream.

“No, it was forty…” Gerrie began sweetly. “Forty-three passengers that embarked—”

Tom cut in with a smile that was just a little too quick, briskly and politely trying to usher in a new subject.

“I think it’s a little early for that story, Gerrie. But imagine arriving in an untamed wilderness. Blank canvas. Totally empty island.”

“Except for the teeth,” she politely added.

This time, I leaned around Tom’s figure to look at her.

“The teeth?”

Glancing back at Tom, I could see from a mile away that he was trying to hold the tour together in the cleanest way possible. Little did he know how much I liked the messier parts of history.

“Yeah…” he reluctantly tacked on. “But the point I’m trying to make is that there was no one here. They had to build everything from scratch during what is still believed to be the harshest winter in Widow’s Bay history.”

I nodded along, trying to contain my grin.

“And all thanks to this remarkable leader, Richard Warren, our first mayor.”

The painting Tom gestured toward was simple at first glance: a pilgrim-like man standing in a small sailboat with a few men behind him, pointing toward a heap of rocks in the distance with nothing but rough tide between them. With a closer look, though, I could almost feel the storm in the paint like it belonged to me.

“I can’t even get my own assistant to stay past two,” Tom snickered.

“I understand. This is my first year having some control over the interns, and they are nearly impossible to round up unless they need coffee.”

Tom looked almost surprised to hear me joke back, but then his mouth curved in a way that made my own nerves pull tighter.

“See, now that is leadership,” he said.

I almost didn’t look away quickly enough.

Luckily, Gerrie had already started moving toward the next section.

“I was actually just about to show her the witch trials.”

The very descriptive artwork had nothing on the mannequin dressed in early 1600s attire, complete with dark red stains on the fabric.

It couldn’t be real. Could it? Surely I had been to enough museums in my life to know the difference. But this island gave me the strange impression that it might be very good at preserving certain things.

Tom did a double take, and maybe my face showed a little too much shock. 

“Yeah, great source of pride.” Gerrie shrugged, her arm sweeping toward the display. “We caught ’em. Burned ’em.”

Then she glanced back at me.

“Honestly, girl like you probably would’ve been in the witch trials back in the day.”

My eyes widened. I was unsure whether to laugh or immediately take Tom up on that offer for coffee. Before I could stop myself, a snicker slipped past my lips. Gerrie was so sweet, and so sincerely interested in being authentic that I didn’t have it in me to be offended.

“Jesus Christ, Gerrie,” Tom muttered, turning on a swivel as if searching for the nearest escape. “You know what? I’m going to take it from here.”

I still couldn’t stop glancing at the mannequin, but I smiled nervously at Gerrie.

“Honestly, she has a point. I did play Rebecca Nurse in my high school’s production of The Crucible.”

Gerrie’s eyes lit up.

“Wow! What a great book. If you liked that, then you will absolutely adore the rest of what we have here. But I’ll let Tom take over for now.”

It was hard to be anything but fascinated with her, despite Tom’s obvious attempts to reel the whole thing back in. I looked at him with what I hoped was an assuring glance before thanking Gerrie for starting the tour and keeping me company.

As her footsteps receded, Tom let out a sigh.

“Well,” he said, “I hope you like the local color, because we have a lot of it.”

He looked as if he was about to pat me on the back, then paused midway and awkwardly retracted his hand to his side.

“Oh, that’s nothing,” I brushed off, slowly walking through the rest of the exhibit. “Plus, I should admit I’m a bit of a history lover, so I am partial to people like Gerrie.”

Tom fell into step beside me and chuckled under a small sigh.

“I should have known when you didn’t immediately run away after she said you probably would have been burned in the witch trials.”

“No, that was actually a little insane. But I think that’s just unfiltered old age at that point.”

His laugh broadened, and I glanced up as my own nerves betrayed me again. Why did it feel like I was a shy little kid? Museums had their own nostalgia, certainly, but surely not enough to make me forget how to speak to a man.

“That may be the majority of this island, I’m afraid,” Tom said. “But most of us are pretty eager to get tourists here this summer and change that around.”

I held up a finger, as if to keep his hopes from getting too high. “Lee, on the other hand, might think otherwise.”

Tom paused. His shoulders tensed visibly beneath his layers.

“He said terrible things happen here,” I added, echoing Lee’s words with dramatic flair.

Tom slowly turned around as we both came to a stop. I could almost see the gears turning behind his eyes, fighting to keep him optimistic. I folded my arms across my black wool coat and glanced up, waiting for his answer.

“You know, there is something about these seafaring towns,” he said, slipping into what sounded like his mayoral voice. “Their superstitions, their tall tales. Maybe it’s that stories help pass a long day at sea. I don’t know, but I find it incredibly charming myself.”

“Mhm.” I nodded, biting back a grin.

Tom seemed to notice my skepticism. His explanation of Lee’s warning was already falling through the cracks, and I was a journalist, after all. In my line of work, it was usually easy to see when someone was trying to keep those cracks sealed shut.

But honestly, the sea stories were already part of the vision I had for the article.

“Is cannibalism part of the tall tales, or is that saying it actually happened here?”

Tom, who maybe thought I had given him a reprieve for one blessed moment, immediately shook his head, confused as to where I pulled that from.

“Nope.”

My eyes drifted to the article on the wall that I had already been staring at before he tried to explain his way around it.

“It does say cannibalism in big letters right behind your head, I’m afraid.”

He didn’t turn around.

“They were forced inside the church,” I continued, stepping closer to read the framed clipping, “and they immediately turned to cannibalism.”

Tom shook his head, still avoiding the article.

“I don’t think that’s right.”

But the tale of the deadly storm that trapped the settlers in the church was laid out before both of us, and this time, my grin widened as I watched him scramble.

“Well,” he finally caved, “they at least waited four days.”

“So you admit there was cannibalism?”

He dipped his head with a dry, defeated sound.

“It’s okay,” I assured. “People love a good ghost story.”

He nodded, though whether it was agreement or surrender, I didn’t know.

“Widow’s Bay needs families,” he said, “not cannibals.”

“But what if the cannibals have expendable income they want to use here instead of Martha’s Vineyard?”

For a second, Tom just stared at me. Then, he laughed.

Not the mayor laugh I’ve heard a dozen times before, polished and public-facing, but a real laugh, surprised out of him, as if I had managed to knock something loose.

And I was unexpectedly, pleasantly pleased by it.

I couldn’t help wanting to keep egging him on as he tried to hide the island’s history. I knew he was trying to make it sound perfect, but with the checkered stories I had managed to hear in just the first hour, there was no doubt in my mind that this place had potential.

“You’re going to give me a run for my money, aren’t you?” Tom sighed, though the lazy grin on his face ruined any attempt at a true complaint.

“No,” I brushed off. “Arthur would have gone a little easier on you.”

Tom didn’t seem to know what to do with that. He stared back at me, eyebrows lifted, hands on his hips, trying to figure out where to put me in his head.

I tended to have that effect on people.

But then his expression settled into something more receptive than I was used to. Something almost amused, delighted even. I only recognized it by the way my heartbeat seemed to pick up in the slightest. 

The mayor was certainly charming, and I could tell whatever he was doing was working but I didn’t intend on fighting it just yet. 

The Mayor gave me a map with a few locations circled to explore. 

“Did I scare you into taking back the tour guide title?” I remarked, lifting your eyes up from the map and up to him. 

Outside under the passing murky white clouds his eyes seemed to capture the blueness that was hidden behind. They squinted back at me, and I quickly looked back down at the map. 

“As much as I’d love to give you a tour I do —believe it or not— have duties that require mayoral oversight.” 

“Like making sure those assistants stay til 3.” 

Tom nodded. “Precisely.” 

He had a sheepish grin still on his face when I glanced up again, trying to hide my disappointment that he wouldn’t be tagging along today. 

“The island is best captured by an unbiased eye anyway.” he quickly added, maybe sensing enough of it to cover his tracks. “And if you look closer,” he leaned over the map, pointing at one particular spot circled a couple times. “I will meet you at the Salty Whale at 7pm for a dinner on the house. Best Lobster Rolls in the country.”

A bemusing grin flashed across my face and I gave a nod of approval. 

“That’s a bold claim. Sure you don’t want to take it back before I jot that down later?” I asked. 

Tom proudly shook his head. “Nope. Write it down now. I’m confident you will agree.” 

“Well I’m looking forward to it.” 

The turn into the opposite direction felt staggered, as if I wasn’t quite ready to end that conversation but Tom was a mayor and surely a busy man. I couldn’t help but start my journey a little bit more giddy than I was before though. 

First, I checked into the small four bedroom inn where there certainly had not been more than one bed occupied at a time. The lobby itself smelled faintly of mildew, masked by the incense the older woman had at the front desk. She gave me a key and said there’s no room service, to which I promptly nodded and hurried off to my room. 

The grittiness of the outdated nautical decor and straightforwardness of the innkeeper was actually nothing by the time I got to my room and saw the view from my window. I dropped my bag on the quilted cover of the bed, immediately gluing myself to the window that opened up to a small alleyway between buildings and the ocean beyond it. The sun started to peak through the broken clouds directly on the spot I had my eyes on. 

I could stare at it all day, but I knew other wonders awaited me on this island and changed into my semi more comfortable loafers before hitting the map. 

Most of the itinerary today revolved around the towns center; a few shops run by the locals that involved the sale of various antiques or goods, a candy shop that had been operating as long as the last few generations could remember, and some historical landmarks dotted around the harbor. Along the way, I was able to fill almost a dozen pages with stories from the townspeople. 

The older ones were rougher around the edges, worn from the sea and the sun and isolation of the island like they were layers of sandpaper. All of them had one thing in common though; they believed that those born here couldn’t leave and that that death awaited them if they tried.

People were less focused on their history and more fiction, but I still managed to get more positive insights from every other person I struck up conversations with. They were weary about Tom, considering him nothing more than the only option they had but a lot of them agreed tourism would help the island. 

But then I heard whispers about a quake that shook the island last night—this spun into more sea shanties almost immediately. The younger generation that lived here seemed to collectively ignore some of those tales but I was hard pressed to believe that they didn’t believe it just a little. 

Overall though, I knew I could feel the potential growing with every visit. Widows Bay had everything it needed to get put on the map of vacation goers. 

My last stop on the map was a lighthouse perched on the furthest edge of the perimeter of the town's center, where the roads narrowed into cracked pavement and knee length sea grass. I hadn’t even realized how far I’d wandered until the town itself began thinning behind me, giving way to stretches of rocky shoreline and weather-beaten fencing chipped with salt.

The walk there felt strange in a way I couldn’t fully explain. It may have been the way the world darkened beneath the trees the way certain streets grew dark in the shadows of skyscrapers. But every few steps the sun nearing the horizon winked at me through the thick stalks. 

It wasn't eerie, just familiar.

At some point I realized I hadn’t looked at the map in nearly twenty minutes and stopped, flooded with panic as I glanced down to make sure I didn’t get lost.

I was thankfully–and miraculously– on the right track, following the curve of the coast like instinct. The deeper I got into the quieter side of the island, the louder the ocean became. It almost felt fake with the soft whooshes of the tide like it were from a relaxing audio but nothing could compare to the real thing. Waves crashed hard enough against the short cliffs to send mist high into the air, the wind carrying the sharp smell of salt and seaweed. 

Above me, gulls wheeled through the lightening clouds and my gaze lowered to see the lighthouse finally coming into view through something out of an old painting.

The path leading up toward it was lined with uneven stones and patches of wildflowers that somehow survived the harsh coastal wind that shaped the jagged rocks along my path. I climbed carefully, one hand holding my camera against my chest before the gusts could rip it away entirely.

A man stood near the railing at the base of the lighthouse overlooking the sea, bundled in an old beige knit sweater beneath dark suspenders. He looked exactly like someone who belonged to a lighthouse and almost dangerously too old to keep up.

“You’re the reporter,” he said before I even introduced myself.

Word traveled fast here.

“I’m beginning to think everybody already knows that.”

He chuckled softly. “Not much happens in Widows Bay. New faces stick.”

I stepped closer to the railing beside him, looking out over the depths of water stretching endlessly ahead. For the first time since my arrival, the ocean looked something other than gray. When the sun started to break through the thick overcast as it made its descent, the island glowed in a light that seemed rare and made the ocean shimmer in its purest shade.

“The names Garret. The mayor mentioned you might stop by.”

“Is it just you here, Garret?” I asked.

“Ah, lighthouse doesn’t need much these days.” His gaze drifted toward the tower behind us. “People do, though. Folks like knowin’ it’s still here...hell, even the ghosts know how to find their way back” he laughed with the whistle of a smoker.

I did a double take at him, but had already heard a dozen ghost stories today that I couldn't bare to try and write down another.

I lifted my camera and snapped a few photographs of the rusted railings, the cliffside below, and the lighthouse standing tall against the bruised sky. Garret watched patiently while I worked, keeping his eyes on the sunset like it was a ritual to him.

“You getting what you came for?” he asked after a while of watching me snap photos. 

“I think so.” I lowered the camera slowly. “Honestly, this place is…different than I expected. I’d love to hear more about the lighthouse, maybe some things you can’t quite condense in a museum?”

“Ah, is that yer’ way of getting more ferries up and running? Making this cursed place sound like a dream?”

I flinched slightly at his quick shift in tone. The wind picked up harder then, whipping strands of hair across my face. Garrett's kindness faded fast. 

Slowly, I took a deep breath as I watched the older man walk further up the path that wrapped around the lighthouse. I wasn’t quite ready to let him go with the last word and followed in his footsteps.

“I think if you want it to be cursed, it will always be cursed. But if most of the townspeople could see a place where tourists could fill the gaps, then I see no reason to write otherwise.” I shrugged.

The path took me to a near panoramic view of the ocean that momentarily left me speechless. Even as I was stunned by the beautiful view laid out across the entire span of my vision, I noticed the lighthouse keeper seemingly disappeared. 

But truthfully, I didn’t mind it for a short while.

The sun had finally begun sinking beneath the horizon, staining the water in deep shades of amber and blue. In its wake was a wave of clouds breaking up from the day and seemingly chasing after the sun in streamers of pink and gold. 

I rarely ever moved my camera so fast to snap a picture but sunsets moved quick.

I turned to the other edge of the ocean that would stretch for thousands of miles before reaching land to get another photo.

It appeared slowly at first, a pale orange glow hovering low above the ocean–the moon. I had to stare quite a bit to truly make it out as it formed, distorted by the atmosphere. It was almost impossible to capture perfectly even on a camera as nice as my own. 

I found myself staring so hard I nearly forgot to breathe as the wind almost took my breath with it. For one strange second, the world felt suspended between the sun's last light and the moon's first greeting…like the island itself was holding still around me. 

A door creaked open from the base of the lighthouse, but I couldn’t quite turn back to see Garret who emerged. He stood there silent for what felt like an eternity as the sky shifted before me. 

The keeper had been studying me quietly before he finally said, “So few strangers get to experience the world in such balance in a place like this.”

Those words cut through my attention of all things. It made the other sounds I drowned out glaringly apparent now; the gulls and the waves lulling against the rocks came rushing back in like I had been under water. 

“What?”

The tether between night and day loosened its grip and when I looked at Garret, the skepticism left his glare. It didn’t make him look kinder though, rather just more cautious as if I dared to ask the impossible by asking a simple ‘what’.

“When for just one moment the sun and the moon don’t have to chase each other. To happen on a day like this, I ought to believe the sunrise will be devil red tomorrow.”

I swallowed, forcing a small laugh as I adjusted the strap of my camera. “You all really know how to sell the mystery angle around here.”

“That’s not a mystery.” His eyes drifted back toward the sea. “The island doesn’t give strangers such a blissful sight. It means she’s awake then.”

Before I could answer, headlights suddenly appeared from down the path. The dark shape of the Jeep bounced slightly over the uneven gravel before coming to a stop nearby. 

And somehow, before the driver’s door even opened, I already knew it was Tom.

He stepped out looking tired in a way I hadn’t seen earlier that morning. His dark shell jacket hung open against the wind, hair slightly disheveled like he’d been running around all day.

“There you are,” he said, relief slipping into his voice before his sarcasm could catch up to it. “You have any idea how many cliffs this island has? I’ve been informed tourists occasionally throw themselves off ‘em for the view.”

A grin tugged at my mouth despite myself and the ominous warnings from Garrett that left me more unsettled than I realized.

“Should I be concerned that your tourism campaign includes that statistic?”

“Only if you’re planning on makin’ me fill out paperwork tonight.”

The lighthouse keeper huffed out an amused sound beside us while Tom finally nodded toward him in greeting.

“Well, I wasn’t sure you’d make it this far in the itinerary,” Tom explained, looking back at me again. “Figured I’d come save you from walking back in the dark at least if you did.”

The sky had dimmed considerably while we’d been talking. The island roads beyond the lighthouse were nearly swallowed by the shadows of the tall trees. I looked back once more toward the water before answering, feeling every intelligible thought leave my mind.

The moon was white and whole, sitting high above the horizon and the sun was barely a single ember in a firepit. For reasons I couldn’t explain, it almost felt like it was calling me toward it, to keep looking until it was fully extinguished. It required effort to pull my eyes away from that last flicker of light but something cold washed over me. 

“I guess I lost track of time,” I admitted quietly, my words feeling foreign to my lips. 

Tom followed my gaze out toward the horizon, his expression unreadable for a moment.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “This place’ll do that to you.”

But even as I followed Tom Loftis back to his car, I still felt like I had missed something; like a secret the sun wanted to whisper to me one last time under the guise of the tide while it still could. 

The old Jeep Tom drove still had a new car smell to it somehow. But underneath it, it was still something warm and lived in; hints of old campfire smoke and cedar maybe from years of a cologne he wore. Now I was just thinking about it too much, but I enjoyed the way it wrapped around me despite feeling every little bump in the rode. 

“So, you survived Garret.” Tom heaved, one arm carefully steering while the other turned on the radio. 

The mere mention of the lighthouse keeper made my skin shudder just slightly enough to unnerve me all over again. He laughed at my moment of silence and I quickly shook my head.

“No–no, he wasn’t that bad.” But even I had to laugh at how terribly I forced that out. “I think he threatened me spiritually like two times?”

Tom barked out a tired laugh, finally glancing over at me. 

Unfortunately, I caught the exact moment his eyes flickered toward my hair before he quickly looked back at the road.

“Oh, that just means he likes you,” he said a little too fast.

Now I became aware of my hair.

The ocean air had absolutely destroyed it. What had started this morning smooth and carefully styled had become windswept and tangled from hours along the harbor and cliffs. When I dragged my fingers through it, it still felt damp and tacky from the salt air.

Normally I would’ve been horrified, especially if someone like him had noticed.

“If that’s him liking me I’m scared to see what the rest of the town is used to.” 

Tom shrugged casually, and I felt his glance upon me again like a lighter skimming my skin. 

“If he didn’t like you, he would have given you a dozen stories on dead fishermen and other really horrible things to scare you away.”

“I think he underestimates how much I take the subway.” 

A song played lowly in the silence then, something from The Waterboys on the nineties radio station he had on as we rolled down the windy roads of the island. I smiled faintly to myself and looked out the window before I accidentally started a conversation about music too. Something told me if Tom and I got into nineties bands, I’d completely forget why I came here in the first place. 

The Salty Whale appeared once they were out of the trees, a small parking lot and a two story building with warm light passing through each window. It seemed busy for a town that felt so small and quiet. As I stared at it, hand slowly reaching for the door, it was torn out from beneath my fingers by Tom who had beaten me to it.

The motion caught me off guard enough that I just blinked at him for a second.

“Oh—” I laughed softly as I climbed out. “Why, thank you.”

Tom straightened slightly, one arm gesturing toward the restaurant with exaggerated professionalism.

“Well,” he said, “if I’m not at least a little chivalrous toward the one person capable of changing this island’s future, what kinda mayor does that make me?”

Heat crept immediately into my face.

Which was ridiculous.

I couldn’t even remember the last time someone opened a car door for me.

The restaurant was nice for the standards of the island, intimate tables with table cloths and candles scattered across the two layers. Even the bar on the lower level made it feel more home-like as much as it could be classy. I looked around at the walls littered with old oil paintings of ships and fishing decor alike, almost missing the table Tom had reserved for us. 

Sitting down, I slid off my coat, left in a sweater with the collar of a blouse peaking out atop of it. 

The menu was spectacular too.

“Wait until you try the lobster roll.”

“I’m actually not getting the lobster roll.”

His face fell so dramatically I nearly laughed into my wine.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“That’s the entire reason people come to New England.”

“I had a really bad lobster roll in college once,” I explained. “It ruined the experience permanently.”

Tom narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Did you go to college in New England?”

I nodded. “I grew up outside of Boston. I went to BC.”

He physically recoiled. “Were you ever gonna tell anybody that?”

A grin spread across my face as I lifted my wine glass. “I’m the reporter here, remember? Not the other way around.”

He looked shocked by this, scoffing at the revelation in disbelief. “Were you ever going to tell anyone that?” 

A grin pulled at my lips and I shook my head. “Probably not. I am the reporter after all, not the other way around.”

But Tom looked like he wanted to challenge my words as he leaned in, sipping his whiskey. 

“Well, you can take a couple hours off,” he insisted. “I have to make sure you’re not a spy from some of the competitors we have.”

A laugh bubbled from me against my better judgement. Tom was really trying to dig here and my defenses were hardly trying. 

“A good spy would never reveal her true identity, but for you I’ll make an exception.” I said coyly, cheeks growing sore now. “My cousins did have a house in Cape Cod that we would spend each summer at. But honestly, I haven’t been back in years. Once I moved to New York, the only reason I’d be back up here was for my parents or the occasional birthday or wedding.” 

Tom seemed to be awfully impressed by all of this, letting it all sink in as the gears turned behind his eyes. 

“Okay,” he nodded slowly. “Favorite baseball team.”

“The Red Sox. Even though they haven’t been good in years.” I remarked.

“Alright, fair enough.”

“My turn.” I pointed at him with my wine glass. “Football team.”

Tom looked genuinely conflicted. “Well…Patriots, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“But I’m not a huge football guy.” he winced.

I stared at him in open betrayal.

“That is an insane thing to admit while living in New England. I don’t know if I can trust a mayor that doesn’t appreciate a good football Sunday.”

“Maybe we’ll add it to the fall brochure.” Tom laughed, putting his hands up in defense.  But I’d say leaving New England for New York City is a crime in and of itself.” 

I sipped my wine again, the glass almost empty at this point. His words sunk deeper than he’d ever know, but I didn’t blame him for it. It was the same thing I heard from my family for years now. 

“Hey, regardless of my whereabouts,” I began, awkwardly trying to shift to a new subject as I leaned back in my seat. “This island is pretty great. I’ve been to Long Island beaches, I’ve been up to Bar Harbor and Martha’s Vineyard…I think you’re going to have a great summer here with this article.”

I carefully watched his reaction over my wine glass, the curve of my lips finally dissipating a little, but still there as the weight could be seen lifting from his shoulders.

“After all these years of trying to get reporters out here, it is really good to hear that.” Tom exhaled. 

For a moment, I forgot this was all a big transaction where I was a journalist and he was a mayor trying to sell the town. I had been seeing everything through rainbow colored glasses all day and even now as I sat across from him, grinning like a girl in high school having her first crush. 

“And I’m sure Arthur is a great guy, but I’m also glad it’s you who got to come here.”

The words clearly escaped before he could stop them, and is ears reddened almost immediately afterward which only made my smile widen.

“I am too,” I admitted. “I was only here because I owed Arthur one and he knew I was from around here. I don’t even normally write for this column anymore. So I guess we can thank him for this fateful occurrence.”

He opened his mouth to speak but settled in agreement, lifting up his own glass before bringing it to his lips. 

“What do you do normally then?”

I leaned forward on my elbows, trying to find a way to word it that wouldn’t leave me rambling too much.

“I’m a reporter and editor for the political side of our newspaper, depending on whether it’s local, national, or international. I spend a lot of time on the train between the city and D.C. but I’ve been trying to work my way up with the other correspondents.” 

Tom blinked hard. “Oh.”

I laughed at his expression. “What?”

“No, nothing, I just—” He shook his head slightly. “That’s…really impressive.”

I suddenly became very interested in my wine glass in an attempt to be modest.

“So this must feel like a vacation compared to all that.”

“Sort of. It’s still work and I still enjoy it. I don’t know what it is about this island, but it just feels so familiar–maybe because I grew up going to beaches like this but I don’t know. It’s been a very fulfilling day.”

Tom nodded slowly, gaze scanning the table as he may have been searching for what to say next. 

“I am just really glad some of our more seasoned locals didn’t scare you off.” 

I grinned, and nodded. “Oh, they sure tried to. Did you know some of them believe that if you’re born here that you can’t leave? Like they genuinely think you will die and gave me some pretty convincing stories.” 

Tom’s face paled for a split second before he laughed it off. With all that I’ve experienced today, I had yet to truly gauge if he might have secretly believed it or not. 

“That might just be old age in combination with a drinking problem from some of these folks but, uh–I go to the mainland all the time.” he shrugged.

I raised a brow. “But were you born here?”

Tom paused for a moment, an indeterminate sound huffing from him as his head dipped. “No,” he drew out, “but uh–my son was and he, um, he goes to the mainland too.”

“Oh, you have a son?” I inquired, perking up in my seat. 

My eyes flicked down his fingers for a moment while he was preoccupied with a drink. There was no ring. What the actual hell was wrong with me? 

He nodded in a way any proud father would. “Yeah, his name is Evan. He’s in high school now and uh,” he chuckled, “him and his friends might be the reason why some of the older residents think there’s ghosts here with the trouble they get into.” 

I smiled softly at him. “I definitely was that kind of teen too, I think. I imagine it’s easy though when you have a whole island at your disposal.” 

Dinner stretched comfortably after that as we talked about childhood stories from growing up in the same state and occasionally I would one up him with my crazy experiences while living in New York. 

Wayne checked on me constantly while largely ignoring Tom altogether, which became increasingly funny the more irritated Tom got about it. Kathy accidentally poured water directly into his whiskey at one point despite his panicked attempts to stop her.

“Kathy really likes me,” Tom sighed while rubbing his forehead.

“Oh, clearly.”

“I’d say we’re best friends.” he added, dropping his hand.

I laughed hard enough that wine nearly came out my nose.

“I think she likes me more actually.”

Tom inhaled as he shrugged. “Well that I can’t argue nor can I blame her for.” 

Just as his words danced into another territory, something in Tom’s gaze froze as he looked behind me. I didn’t pay any mind to it at first as I took the last few bites of my dinner and sipped my fresh glass of wine.  But I realized he wasn’t really moving as something a bit more laced with terror crossed his eyes.

“Uh, I have to make a quick phone call.” 

Tom slipped out of the booth before I could even answer. I hoped he didn’t need an escape, but I couldn’t think that way if I wanted to get through the next day. I leaned back in the chair with my wine glass, watching as he hurried off the phone at the bar.

Then, the dim lights above my head began to flicker. I quickly glanced around to see it wasn’t just the lights by our table but the whole restaurant, and in an instant, everything darkened with the heavy sound of the power shutting down. Groans of disappointment filled the darkness along with the few candles lit all around. 

Part of me was a little uneasy at the thought of not being able to see Tom, but as I glanced around, my eyes caught the windows and the moonlight that faintly allowed some light on the island but my heart sank at the sight of fog.

I remembered Lee’s warning from before he left me this morning. It felt like forever ago now, but it struck just as deep.

I shook my head, forcing my eyes away from the windows as Tom started a commotion by the doors to keep people from leaving. No, I couldn’t let these stories get to me today. They weren’t real I mean, we are on an island and in the northeast, fog was a part of any given day. 

Tom announced to people to stay put, but some of the older men were trying to check the power. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind staying around like he insisted but he seemed to push them with an urgency that made me a little more unsettled. 

The others tried to ignore his warnings and I looked down into the shadows of the candle at our table, wondering if maybe he should just give it up at this point. 

But before I knew it, Tom had cried out that there was something in the fog, his shout sending a shockwave through my body that I couldn’t help but cringe at. 

The power lifted and Tom was left in a heap of distress as the others walked back outside, as if nothing ever even happened. He finally turned back to me with his head hanging.

“I-I’m sorry,” he sighed. “Today has been a long day.”

Part of me felt bad now, wondering if he was genuinely concerned or if he was trying to pull a fast one on me to get me to believe some of the island's lore. My mind was a little unsettled as he sat back in front me, a little defeated, something seeping through the cracks in his face as his eyes looked more heavy now. 

“It’s…okay,” I slowly answered. “I can totally throw Salem in my article too if you want? I know a lot of people who’d be down for that.”

A restless smile crossed his lips as he looked back at me. I could tell he was embarrassed, and while I was too for him, I didn’t want it to linger anymore. 

“I can buy you another drink and we can forget that happened?”

I shook my head. “I am never forgetting that. In fact, if I ever come back here I am going to remind you and get a laugh.” 

Even in the dim atmosphere, Tom’s ears still turned the slightest shade of pink.

“Alright, I take it back. I want to meet Arthur instead.” 

I laughed and all the ill feelings were forgotten, even the warnings from Lee that lingered in the back of my mind went quiet.  Tom and I spoke for a little bit longer and about things not limited to this island. It felt like a nice way to end the day, but it became glaringly apparent that I was starting to enjoy this all a little too much. Even the thought of going back to the inn after dinner left me already eager for more. We exchanged silly childhood stories of growing up in Massachusetts and I one upped him with some of my stories of living in New York. 

We talked until the restaurant was empty and it was nearly closing time. 

“I’ll walk you back to where you’re staying. Wayne is making me close up because of earlier.”

I bowed my head that felt a bit lighter by the time I stood. “Of course, how could I forget?”

Tom groaned a little. “I really wish you would.” he chimed.

The streets of Widow’s Bay were deserted, streetlamps barely flickering alive. I was relieved to not see any fog now at all because that was one part I did want to forget about tonight, including Lee’s serious warning about it all. The only thing that truly guided our way was the full moon ahead, somehow making my shoulders brush with Tom’s as we walked like it was capable of controlling more than just the tide. 

We reached the door of the quiet inn, only a lamp on behind the window. 

I took a deep breath and turned to face Tom. “Well, thank you for a lovely dinner where nothing else out of the ordinary occurred.” 

He grinned, head dipping gratefully. “It was my pleasure.”

When his eyes lifted again back onto mine, a pit formed in my stomach, flipping like a stone overturned in a current. A lazy smile seemed to instinctively formed on his lips and I knew I had to go now before I did something stupid. 

“So, uh,” Tom cleared his throat. “I will meet you here in the morning and take you to the Driftwood for coffee?”

I tilted my head up at him. “I didn’t know that was on the itinerary?”

“It is now.” Tom said, hands anxiously stuffed in his pockets. “That’s if you’re a breakfast person. If not then there’s–”

“I will be here bright and early and waiting.” I cut him off. 

He laughed nervously and I turned away to go into the inn after saying goodnight.

I settled in bed that night with the curtains drawn, moonlight spilling in like an extra blanket on top of me, dreaming of the ocean that sparkled just beyond my vision. 

Part Two