The Lighthouse Keeper's Heart

Chapter 1 The salt-tinged wind whipped through Zinnia Carmichael's honey-blonde curls as she stood before the weathered storefront that would become her new flower shop. Paint peeled from the shutters like old love letters, and the windows were so salt-stained she could barely see through them. But where others might see decay, Zinnia saw potential blooming like wildflowers after rain. "Perfect," she whispered, clutching the rusty keys tighter. "You must be joking." The deep, gravelly voice made her spin around. A man emerged from the morning fog like something conjured from the sea itself—tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair that looked perpetually tousled by ocean winds. His gray eyes, the color of storm clouds, swept over her yellow sundress with what could only be described as disdain. "Excuse me?" Zinnia tilted her chin up, refusing to be intimidated by his scowl. "This place." He gestured at her building with a dismissive wave. "Been empty for three years. Hurricane Delilah took out half the roof. Foundation's probably rotted through by now." "And you are?" "Caspian Blackwood." He said it like she should know the name, like it carried weight in this small coastal town. "I keep the lighthouse." His gaze flicked to the tall white tower visible beyond the dunes. "Which means I know when something's a lost cause." Zinnia's smile never wavered, though something sharp flickered behind her green eyes. "Well, Mr. Blackwood, I'm Zinnia Carmichael, and I specialize in making lost causes bloom." She jingled her keys. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a flower shop to resurrect." She turned her back on him, fitting the key into the stubborn lock. Behind her, she heard him make a sound somewhere between a snort and a laugh. "Give it two weeks," his voice carried on the wind. "You'll be running back to wherever you came from." The lock finally gave way, and Zinnia pushed open the door. "We'll see about that," she called over her shoulder, but when she looked back, he was already disappearing into the fog like a ghost. The interior of the shop was worse than she'd imagined. Water damage had warped the floorboards, and something that might once have been wallpaper hung in sad strips. The air smelled of brine and abandonment. But the bones were good—high ceilings, large windows facing the street, and a back room perfect for arranging flowers. Zinnia pulled out her phone and scrolled to a photo of her last shop in Portland. Bright, airy, filled with blooms that brought joy to everyone who entered. She could do this again. She had to. Her phone buzzed with a text from her sister: *How's paradise?* *Salty,* she typed back. *And apparently protected by a very grumpy lighthouse keeper.* *Sounds intriguing. Is he cute?* Zinnia glanced toward the window, though Caspian Blackwood had long since vanished. She thought of his storm-gray eyes and the way his jaw had tensed when he looked at her. *I wouldn't know,* she lied. *Too busy scowling to tell.* Chapter 2 Three days later, Zinnia had made remarkable progress. The windows gleamed, the floors were restored to their original pine beauty, and she'd managed to patch the worst of the roof damage with help from Saltwind Bay's surprisingly enthusiastic handyman, Old Pete. She was arranging her first delivery of flowers—hardy coastal varieties that could withstand the salt air—when a shadow fell across her doorway. "Still here, I see." Caspian Blackwood filled her doorframe, somehow managing to loom even in broad daylight. Today he wore a thick fisherman's sweater that clung to his broad chest, and his dark hair was damp, as if he'd just walked through the morning mist. "Did you come to gloat or to buy flowers?" Zinnia asked, not looking up from the sunflowers she was arranging. "Neither. Came to warn you." That got her attention. She straightened, noting the serious set of his jaw. "About what?" "Storm's coming. Big one. You'll want to board up those windows." Zinnia glanced outside. The sky was overcast but hardly threatening. "When?" "Tonight. Maybe tomorrow." He shifted his weight, and she caught a whiff of his scent—salt air and cedar, with something darker underneath. "I monitor the weather patterns. Part of the job." "And you're telling me this because...?" Something flickered across his face, too quick for her to interpret. "Because broken glass and flowers don't mix well." Before she could respond, he was gone again, leaving her staring at the empty doorway and wondering why the lighthouse keeper seemed to appear and disappear like the tide. That afternoon, Zinnia walked into Saltwind Bay's only hardware store in search of plywood and answers. "Caspian Blackwood?" The elderly woman behind the counter—her name tag read 'Dottie'—practically lit up. "Oh honey, you don't want to go bothering him." "I'm not bothering him. He bothered me." Zinnia selected a hammer from the display. "Twice now." "That boy's been through enough heartbreak for ten lifetimes." Dottie's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Lost his wife in a sailing accident three years ago. Same storm that damaged your shop, matter of fact." Zinnia's hands stilled on the tool display. Three years. The same storm that had left her building empty. "He used to be different," Dottie continued, ringing up her purchases. "Laughed more. But after Melody died..." She shook her head. "Shut himself up in that lighthouse like a hermit crab in its shell." Driving home with plywood stacked in her pickup truck, Zinnia found herself looking toward the lighthouse. It stood sentinel against the darkening sky, its light not yet lit for the evening. She imagined Caspian inside, alone with his weather instruments and his grief. Her heart clenched unexpectedly. The storm hit that night with a fury that made Zinnia grateful she'd taken his warning seriously. Rain lashed her windows, and wind howled around the small apartment above her shop like a living thing seeking entry. She'd done her best with the boards, but she was no carpenter. Around midnight, a tremendous crack of thunder shook the building, followed immediately by the sound of splintering wood. "Damn," she muttered, grabbing a flashlight and her rain slicker. The back door to her shop hung half off its hinges, held only by the top hardware. Rain poured through the opening, already pooling on her newly refinished floors. She tried to force the door closed, but the wind was too strong, and the frame was warped. "Here." She spun, flashlight beam catching Caspian's face in the darkness. Water streamed from his dark hair, and his clothes were plastered to his body. He held a drill in one hand and a piece of plywood in the other. "You're soaked!" she called over the storm. "So are you." Without another word, he pushed past her and began securing the plywood over the damaged door. His movements were quick and efficient, clearly familiar with emergency repairs. Zinnia held the flashlight steady, trying not to notice the way his wet shirt clung to the muscles of his back or how competent he looked handling the tools. When he finished, the howling wind dimmed to a manageable whistle. They stood in the sudden relative quiet, both dripping and breathing hard. Caspian's gray eyes met hers in the flashlight's glow, and for a moment, something electric passed between them—something that had nothing to do with the lightning outside. "Thank you," she said softly. He looked away first. "Couldn't let you flood out on my watch." "Your watch?" "I keep the light. That means I keep the town safe." He was already heading for the door. "Storm should pass by morning." "Caspian, wait." The words escaped before she could stop them. He paused, hand on the door frame. "Would you like some coffee? You're drenched, and it's the least I can do..." For a heartbeat, she thought he might say yes. Something in his expression softened, and his gaze lingered on her face. But then his walls slammed back up. "I need to get back to the light," he said gruffly, and disappeared once more into the storm. Chapter 3 The next morning dawned clear and deceptively peaceful, as if the storm had been nothing but a bad dream. Zinnia surveyed the damage to her shop—minimal, thanks to Caspian's intervention—and felt a complicated mix of gratitude and frustration. She was sweeping up debris when Dottie appeared in her doorway, carrying a casserole dish and wearing a knowing smile. "Heard you had some help last night." "News travels fast in a small town." Zinnia leaned on her broom. "Especially when it involves our lighthouse keeper venturing out to play Good Samaritan." Dottie set down the casserole. "Tuna noodle. Figured you might be too busy cleaning up to cook." "That's very kind." Zinnia accepted the dish gratefully. "Dottie, can I ask you something?" "Shoot, honey." "How long has Caspian been taking care of everyone?" The older woman's eyebrows rose. "What do you mean?" "You said he keeps the town safe. He warned me about the storm, then came out in the middle of it to help me. That doesn't sound like a man who's completely shut himself away." Dottie was quiet for a long moment. "You're more observant than most," she said finally. "Caspian likes to pretend he doesn't care about anything anymore. But every time there's trouble—storms, accidents, folks in need—he's there. Never sticks around for thanks, though." "Why?" "Because caring hurts. And that boy's already been hurt enough." That afternoon, Zinnia baked chocolate chip cookies—her grandmother's recipe, guaranteed to soften even the hardest hearts. She packed them in a tin and walked the winding path to the lighthouse. The white tower stood ninety feet tall, its base surrounded by a small keeper's house with blue shutters and a garden that had once been well-tended but now grew wild. Zinnia knocked on the front door and waited. No answer. She tried again, then walked around the building. The back of the house faced the ocean, and she found Caspian there, sitting on a weathered dock that extended into the rocky cove. He was cleaning what looked like weather instruments, his movements methodical and precise. "I brought cookies," she called out. He looked up, squinting against the afternoon sun. "You don't need to pay me back." "It's not payment. It's being neighborly." She walked onto the dock, noting how sturdy it was despite its weathered appearance. Like its owner, she thought, it was stronger than it looked. Caspian returned his attention to his instruments. "I don't do neighborly." "So I've noticed." Zinnia sat down beside him, close enough to catch his scent again—that intoxicating mix of salt and cedar. "Good thing I'm neighborly enough for both of us." Despite himself, the corner of his mouth twitched. "You don't give up, do you?" "Not when I see something worth fighting for." The words came out more loaded than she'd intended, and the air between them suddenly felt charged. Caspian's hands stilled on the anemometer he was cleaning. "Zinnia..." "Tell me about the weather station," she said quickly, sensing his retreat. He hesitated, then seemed to decide she was harmless enough. "It's not just about the lighthouse anymore. I monitor conditions for the Coast Guard, track storm systems, issue warnings to the fishing fleet." "That's a lot of responsibility for one person." "I like the solitude." "Do you?" She studied his profile—the strong jaw, the way his eyes constantly scanned the horizon. "Or do you just tell yourself you do?" His head snapped toward her, gray eyes flashing. "You don't know anything about me." "I know you rushed out in a hurricane to help a stranger. I know you warn people about storms and keep them safe. I know you loved your wife enough that losing her made you afraid to love anything else." The weather instrument clattered to the dock as Caspian surged to his feet. "Don't." But Zinnia stood too, refusing to be intimidated. "Don't what? Don't see that you're still a good man underneath all that grief?" "You want to know what I am?" His voice was rough, dangerous. "I'm the man who let his wife sail into that storm because I was too busy monitoring instruments to pay attention to what was happening right in front of me. I'm the man who chose duty over the person I loved most." The pain in his voice hit Zinnia like a physical blow. She reached for him instinctively, but he stepped back. "I'm the last person who deserves your chocolate chip cookies and your sunshine optimism," he said harshly. "So do us both a favor and stay away from me." He turned and strode toward the lighthouse, leaving Zinnia standing alone on the dock with her tin of cookies and a heart that ached for reasons she didn't fully understand. Chapter 4 For the next week, Zinnia threw herself into preparing for her grand opening. She hung bunting, arranged displays, and tried not to look toward the lighthouse every five minutes. She told herself she was respecting Caspian's wishes, giving him the space he'd demanded. She was lying. The truth was, she couldn't stop thinking about the raw pain in his voice when he'd talked about his wife. The way he'd blamed himself for a tragedy that sounded like nothing more than cruel timing. The glimpse she'd caught of the man he'd been before grief built walls around his heart. Her grand opening dawned bright and beautiful, with half the town turning out to wish her well. Business was brisk, and Zinnia found herself laughing and chatting with customers, feeling more at home in Saltwind Bay than she had anywhere in years. "Beautiful arrangements, dear," Mrs. Henderson from the bakery said, purchasing a bouquet of late-season roses. "We've missed having fresh flowers in town." As the afternoon wore on, Zinnia noticed she kept glancing toward the lighthouse. Its white tower was clearly visible from her shop window, and she found herself hoping for just a glimpse of its keeper. "He won't come, you know." Zinnia turned to find a woman about her own age, with auburn hair and kind eyes, holding a small arrangement of wildflowers. "I'm sorry?" "Caspian. I saw you looking toward the lighthouse. He won't come." The woman extended her hand. "I'm Dr. Coral Waverly, by the way. I run the medical clinic." "Zinnia Carmichael. And I wasn't—" "Yes, you were." Coral's smile was gentle. "It's okay. Half the single women in town have tried to crack that particular nut. He's been impenetrable since Melody died." "You knew her?" "We were friends. She was... radiant. Like you, actually. All sunshine and laughter." Coral's expression grew thoughtful. "She would have liked you." Something twisted in Zinnia's chest. "I'm not trying to replace anyone." "Of course not. But maybe that's exactly what he needs—someone who isn't trying to be anyone but herself." Coral paid for her flowers and headed for the door. "Don't give up on him, Zinnia. Some walls are worth climbing." As evening approached and the last customers departed, Zinnia was cleaning up when she noticed something that made her heart skip. The lighthouse beam was sweeping across the harbor as usual, but it lingered on her shop windows just a moment longer than necessary—almost like a caress of light. Was Caspian thinking of her too? Chapter 5 The answer came two nights later, when Zinnia woke to the sound of someone pounding on her door. She grabbed a robe and rushed downstairs, heart hammering. "Zinnia!" Caspian's voice, rough with urgency. "Open up!" She fumbled with the locks, and he burst in, bringing the scent of night air and desperation. "What's wrong?" she asked, taking in his wild hair and the storm in his gray eyes. "Coral's missing. Her boat never came back from her supply run to the mainland. Coast Guard's mobilizing, but..." He ran his hands through his hair. "The fog's too thick. They can't launch the helicopter." Zinnia was already moving, grabbing clothes from the pile she'd left on her counter. "What do you need me to do?" "You don't understand. I need to take my boat out, search the coves she might have sheltered in. But I can't leave the lighthouse unmanned, not with other boats still out there, and—" "I'll stay." The words came without hesitation. He stared at her. "You don't know how to run a lighthouse." "Then teach me. Quickly." Something shifted in his expression—surprise, gratitude, and something deeper that made her pulse quicken. "Are you sure?" "Caspian, a woman is missing. Of course I'm sure." The lighthouse's interior was a maze of circular stairs and equipment she couldn't begin to understand. But Caspian was a good teacher, explaining the essential controls with quick efficiency. "The light rotates automatically," he said, showing her the beacon room at the top. "But if the fog gets worse, you'll need to sound the horn every thirty seconds. This button here." "Got it." "Radio's on channel 16. Coast Guard will coordinate from there. If you hear anything—anything—about Coral, call me immediately." He pressed a handheld radio into her hands, his fingers brushing hers. The contact sent sparks shooting up her arm, and from the way his breath caught, she knew he felt it too. "Be careful out there," she whispered. For a moment, his guard dropped completely. She saw fear in his eyes—not just for Coral, but something deeper. The terror of a man who'd already lost too much. "Caspian?" Before she could react, his hands framed her face and his mouth came down on hers. The kiss was desperate, hungry, full of words he couldn't say. She melted into him, her hands fisting in his jacket, tasting salt air and need on his lips. When he pulled back, they were both breathing hard. "I can't lose anyone else," he whispered against her forehead. "You won't," she promised. "Find her and come back to me." He searched her eyes for a long moment, then nodded and disappeared into the night. The next four hours were the longest of Zinnia's life. She maintained the light, sounded the foghorn when visibility dropped, and monitored the radio chatter with growing anxiety. Search and rescue boats called in their positions, but there was no sign of Coral's vessel. Just after dawn, when Zinnia was beginning to fear the worst, Caspian's voice crackled through the radio. "Lighthouse, this is Search Boat Seven. I've got her. Coral's alive. Heading back to harbor now." Zinnia sagged against the radio console, tears streaming down her face. "Thank God," she whispered. By the time Caspian returned to the lighthouse, Zinnia was asleep in the keeper's chair, exhausted from the night's vigil. He stood in the doorway watching her, this woman who'd dropped everything to help save his friend, and felt something crack open in his chest. She'd stayed. When he needed someone, she'd stayed. "Zinnia." His voice was soft. She stirred, green eyes focusing on his face. "You found her?" "Boat engine died in the fog. She anchored in Miller's Cove and waited it out. Cold and scared, but fine." He moved closer, drawn by the warmth in her eyes. "Thanks to you." "I didn't do anything." "You kept the light burning. You were here when I got back." He reached out, brushing a curl behind her ear. "That's everything." This time, when he kissed her, it was different. Slower, deeper, full of gratitude and something that felt dangerously close to hope. She responded without hesitation, her arms winding around his neck, her body fitting against his like she belonged there. "Zinnia," he murmured against her lips. "I can't... I'm not ready for..." "I know." She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "I'm not asking for promises, Caspian. I'm just asking you not to run away again." He rested his forehead against hers, breathing in her scent—flowers and sunshine and something uniquely her. "I don't know how to do this anymore." "Then we'll figure it out together." Chapter 6 Over the next few weeks, they did exactly that. Caspian began stopping by her shop during his rounds, ostensibly to check the weather gauges he'd installed on her roof, but really just to see her smile. Zinnia started bringing him dinner when she noticed he was living on nothing but coffee and stubbornness. They were careful with each other, dancing around the attraction that sparked between them like electricity. But the walls around Caspian's heart were beginning to crumble, one shared meal at a time. "Tell me about Portland," he said one evening as they sat on his dock, sharing fish and chips from the town's only restaurant. "What do you want to know?" "Why you left." Zinnia was quiet for a moment, watching the sunset paint the water gold. "I had a flower shop there. Successful one. And I was engaged to a man who seemed perfect on paper." Caspian tensed beside her. "Seemed?" "Marcus was... safe. Predictable. Our whole relationship was scheduled and planned and utterly without passion." She glanced at him sideways. "I realized I was settling for a life that looked right instead of one that felt right." "So you came here." "So I came here. To a town I'd never seen, to start over completely." She smiled ruefully. "My sister thinks I lost my mind." "Did you?" "Maybe." She turned to face him fully. "But sometimes losing your mind is the only way to find your heart." The words hung between them, heavy with implication. Caspian reached out, tracing her cheek with one finger. "You scare me," he admitted. "Why?" "Because you make me want things I thought I'd given up on." "Like what?" Her voice was barely a whisper. Instead of answering, he kissed her. This time there was no desperation, no fear—just heat and want and the promise of something neither of them had dared hope for. She responded eagerly, her hands sliding up his chest to tangle in his dark hair. When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, the stars were coming out overhead. "Stay," Caspian said against her lips. "Tonight. Stay with me." "Are you sure?" In response, he stood and pulled her with him, leading her toward the lighthouse keeper's house. His bedroom was simple, masculine, dominated by a large bed with windows facing the sea. Moonlight streamed through the glass, painting everything silver. They came together slowly, reverently, hands relearning the geography of desire. When Caspian traced the curve of her shoulder with his lips, Zinnia arched against him with a soft gasp. When she pressed kisses along his collarbone, tasting salt and want, he groaned her name like a prayer. "Are you sure?" he asked one more time, his gray eyes searching hers. "I've never been more sure of anything," she whispered. They made love like the ocean itself—sometimes gentle as lapping waves, sometimes fierce as storm surge. In the lighthouse keeper's bed, with the beacon sweeping across the walls, they found in each other everything they'd been missing. Afterward, Zinnia lay curled against Caspian's chest, listening to his heartbeat steady beneath her cheek. His fingers traced lazy patterns on her bare shoulder. "I haven't done this since..." he began, then stopped. "I know." She pressed a kiss to his chest. "We don't have to talk about it." "I want to." His arms tightened around her. "Melody was... she was like summer lightning. Beautiful, electric, impossible to hold onto. We were young when we married, thought we had forever." Zinnia listened, her heart aching for his loss. "The night she died, I was up here monitoring a storm system. She wanted to take the boat out one more time before the weather hit, said she needed to clear her head after an argument we'd had." His voice roughened. "I was so focused on my instruments, I didn't realize she'd actually gone until it was too late." "Caspian—" "I could have stopped her. Should have been paying attention to my wife instead of barometric pressure readings." Zinnia raised herself up on one elbow, meeting his tortured gaze. "It wasn't your fault." "Wasn't it?" "No." Her voice was fierce, certain. "You can't control the weather, and you can't control other people's choices. Even people you love." For a long moment, he just stared at her, as if seeing her clearly for the first time. "How do you do that?" he whispered. "Do what?" "Make everything seem possible again." Instead of answering, she kissed him, pouring all her feelings into the contact. He responded hungrily, rolling her beneath him, and they lost themselves in each other once more. Chapter 7 The first frost came early that year, painting the lighthouse windows with delicate crystals. Zinnia woke in Caspian's arms, watching the sunrise paint the ocean pink and gold. They'd been together for three weeks now, and she'd never been happier. "Morning," Caspian murmured against her hair, his voice rough with sleep. "Good morning." She turned in his arms, smiling at his tousled appearance. "Sleep well?" "Better than I have in years." He traced her cheek with one finger. "You?" "Perfect." And she meant it. Everything about this—about them—felt perfect. They might have stayed in bed all morning, but the lighthouse phone rang insistently. Caspian groaned and rolled away to answer it. "Blackwood... What?... When?... I'll be right there." He hung up and was already reaching for his clothes. "That was the Coast Guard. We've got three boats overdue from yesterday's fishing run, and there's another storm system moving in." Zinnia was up and dressing before he finished speaking. "What can I do?" "You don't have to—" "Caspian." She grabbed his hands, stilling his frantic movements. "What can I do?" He looked at her for a long moment, then pulled her close for a quick, fierce kiss. "Come with me to the station. We'll need all hands for the search coordination." The Coast Guard station was chaos—radios crackling, maps spread across every surface, worried family members pacing the floors. Zinnia found herself manning phones, taking reports from other vessels, feeling useful in a way she never had in her old life. "You're a natural at this," Coral observed, appearing at her elbow with coffee. The doctor looked fully recovered from her own ordeal. "Just trying to help." "Caspian's lucky to have you." Zinnia glanced across the room to where Caspian was bent over weather charts with the Coast Guard commander. "We're not... I mean, it's still new..." "Honey, that man looks at you like you hung the moon. And for him, that's saying something. He hasn't looked at anything with hope in three years." Before Zinnia could respond, a shout went up across the room. "We've got them! All three boats, anchored safely in Gull Harbor. They rode out the night there when the engine trouble started." The relief was palpable. Families rushed forward to embrace their returned loved ones, and Zinnia felt tears prick her eyes at the joy on their faces. "Another crisis averted," Coral said with a smile. "Thanks to our lighthouse keeper and his crew." Caspian appeared at Zinnia's side, looking exhausted but relieved. "Ready to go home?" "More than ready." She slipped her hand into his, noting how natural it felt. As they walked back to the lighthouse together, Caspian was unusually quiet. "What's wrong?" Zinnia asked finally. "Nothing's wrong. That's the problem." She stopped walking, forcing him to turn and face her. "Explain that." "This." He gestured between them. "Us. It's too easy, too perfect. Something's going to go wrong." "Why does something have to go wrong?" "Because it always does." His voice was flat, defeated. "Because I'm not meant for happy endings." Zinnia felt her heart break a little at the resigned pain in his voice. "You don't get to decide that." "Don't I?" "No." She stepped closer, forcing him to meet her eyes. "You don't get to sabotage this because you're scared. You don't get to push me away because loving someone means risking loss." "Zinnia—" "I love you." The words tumbled out before she could stop them. "I love your grumpy morning face and the way you take care of everyone while pretending you don't care. I love how gentle you are with me and how fierce you are when people need protecting. I love you, Caspian Blackwood, and I'm not going anywhere." He stared at her, something raw and vulnerable flickering in his gray eyes. "You don't know what you're saying." "I know exactly what I'm saying. The question is: what are you going to do about it?" For a heartbeat, she thought he might retreat again. Then his hands were in her hair and his mouth was on hers, kissing her with a desperation that spoke of walls finally crumbling. "I love you too," he whispered against her lips. "God help me, I love you too." Chapter 8 The storm that hit two days later was unlike anything Zinnia had experienced. It came up fast and vicious, turning the ocean into a churning mass of gray-green fury. The lighthouse shook under the assault, and Zinnia found herself grateful for its solid construction. "How long will this last?" she asked, watching Caspian check his instruments with practiced efficiency. "Hard to say. Could be hours, could be days." He looked up from his barometric readings. "You should go back to your shop. This old place will hold, but I can't guarantee—" "I'm staying." "Zinnia, be reasonable—" "I am being reasonable. The lighthouse is the safest place in town during a storm, and more importantly, you're here." She moved to his side, slipping her arms around his waist. "Where else would I want to be?" He held her tight, and she could feel some of the tension leave his body. "I keep waiting for you to realize what a mistake this is." "What mistake? Falling in love with a man who keeps people safe? Who rushes out in hurricanes to help strangers? Who makes love to me like I'm precious?" She pulled back to meet his eyes. "The only mistake I made was waiting thirty years to find you." Before he could respond, the lighthouse phone rang. Caspian grabbed it on the second ring. "Blackwood... What?... How many?... We'll be ready." He hung up and was already moving toward his emergency gear. "Tour boat got caught in the storm. Forty-three people on board, including kids. They're trying to make harbor, but the engines are failing." Zinnia's blood chilled. "What do we do?" "We guide them in." His movements were quick, efficient, born of years of training. "But the regular beacon won't be enough in this visibility. I'll have to man the light manually, coordinate with the harbor pilot." "I'll help." "You'll stay safe," he corrected firmly. "This is going to be dangerous, and I can't—" The lighthouse phone rang again before he could finish. This time, the voice on the other end was loud enough for Zinnia to hear: the harbor pilot was injured, couldn't make it to the lighthouse. "Christ," Caspian muttered, running his hands through his hair. "I can't guide them and coordinate with the Coast Guard and—" "I'll be your harbor pilot," Zinnia said quietly. "Absolutely not. You don't know—" "Then teach me. Like you did before." She grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to focus on her. "Caspian, those people need us. Both of us." He stared at her for a long moment, and she saw the exact moment he made his decision. "It's going to be dangerous." "I trust you." "Stay close to me. Do exactly what I say, when I say it." "Done." The next three hours tested every ounce of courage Zinnia possessed. Perched in the lighthouse beacon room with the storm raging around them, she helped Caspian coordinate the rescue operation. He directed the light manually while she relayed information between the Coast Guard, the tour boat, and the emergency crews waiting in the harbor. "Tour boat Salty Sue, this is Saltwind Light," she called into the radio, her voice steadier than she felt. "Adjust your heading to three-two-zero degrees. You're drifting toward the rocks." "Copy that, Saltwind Light. Coming to three-two-zero." Beside her, Caspian worked the lighthouse beam with expert precision, cutting through the storm to illuminate the treacherous waters. His concentration was absolute, his movements economical and sure. "There," he pointed through the rain-lashed windows. "I can see them." Zinnia looked where he indicated and saw