“I had fun. Didn’t you?” he asks.
“Fun? Sure, if you call aching joints, atrocious hair, and a dirt mark on my butt from falling fun. I would call it something else, but we can go with that.” I smile even though I was going for sarcasm.
Jackson’s loud laughter fills the truck as he parks. A little nervous and afraid to see where he’s brought me, I decide to stare at him—the view is beautiful either way.
“You still look perfect even with messy hair and dirt on your ass—which I happen to be fond of.” Jackson’s brow raises and he shifts forward, coming so close our lips could brush. “I want to show you my favorite place in Virginia Beach, or would you rather go back?”
With his breath heating my face, I’m cognitively misfiring. He could ask me to strip and run the course again and right now, I would. “Here is fine.”
His smile is brighter than the sun. “Good, let’s go.”
I climb, or more like hobble, out of the truck. The sea air assaults my nose and seagulls fly overhead. I look around and it’s truly remarkable. The sand is a little whiter than by the hotel. There are no waves. It’s calm and peaceful. But what causes my breath to catch is the huge brick lighthouse. It’s very old but still perfect. The red is muted from years of wind, rain, and storms, but there she stands—steadfast and strong to guide the ships home.
I look at Jackson leaning on the hood of the truck, watching me take in the sights. He walks around and extends his hand. Instead of wavering, I eagerly give him what he wants, reveling in the way his hand engulfs mine.
“I used to come here a lot. Have you ever been to a lighthouse?” Jackson asks in a hushed tone.
“In Jersey there are tons of lighthouses. My uncle had a boat, and when I was young we used to fish right by one. I always thought they were magic.” I smile and Jackson pulls me closer to him as we walk.
“Magic, huh?”
I shrug, not wanting to share too much of my heart with him. I loved the stories my uncle would tell me about sailors and the women waiting for them to return. He was a silly old man but he always made it seem so romantic, talking about how men would be lost for days until the lighthouse guided them home. And how the lighthouse keeper would ensure it was lit, helping sailors find their beacon. He used to call my aunt his light-keeper and say she was the light he’d always find his way back to. All my life I’ve dreamed of sharing a love like that.
We stop in front of the steps that lead inside. The wind whips my hair forward and I realize I have to climb my way to the top. I’m not going to be able to walk for a week. Maybe we can go back to the hotel where there’s an elevator?
Jackson notices my body tense and rubs his thumb in small circles on the back of my hand.
I have two choices: either I suck it up and climb to the top to see the view, or I pout and go back to the car. Option two sounds like a better idea for my feet, but there’s no way I want to miss this. Even back home I couldn’t ever go inside the lighthouse.
I nudge Jackson as we enter the small building. “Just in case you’re curious, no matter who wins the bet, you owe me a massage. And a new pair of jeans.”
“Are you saying you want me to rub you down?”
I scoff and roll my eyes. “Let’s go, Muffin. We have about four hundred stairs to climb.” If he only knew how bad I want his hands all over me, I’d be in big trouble.
I hear him sigh deeply as I giggle to myself.
The inside is cramped and the spiral metal stairs are terrifying. I’m sure I’ll have blisters all over my hands from gripping the railing so tight. My legs are quivering—not sure if it’s from the previous workout or from fear of falling to my death. The only thing giving me any comfort is Jackson insisting on going behind me in case I lose my footing.
“How much farther does this go?” I ask.
Next thing I know I’m being hoisted over Jackson’s shoulder.
“Stop wiggling or I’ll drop you,” he says with a short laugh, seeming unconcerned as he carries me up the steps.
“You’re insane! You’re going to drop me anyway!”
“Only if you keep moving. I’ll put you down on one condition.” Jackson’s voice is loud and strong as he begins to lower me. He’s very good at getting his way.
“What’s that?”
“You let me carry you on my back.”
What? No. “I can walk up the steps.”
“Then you deal with being upside down,” he says and starts climbing the stairs again, throwing me back over his shoulder.
Jackson climbs about ten more steps and I slap his ass, giggling. “Jackson! Put me down!”
“Nah, this is more fun,” he says, gripping my legs tighter.
I can’t take another second of being hung upside down, staring and feeling suspended over the hundreds of feet below. “Fine! I give up. You win.”
For once, he doesn’t make a noise but I can feel his chest bounce as if he’s laughing. Cocky bastard. Instead of putting me down so I can climb on his back, he lowers me and scoops me in his arms. My arms naturally wrap around his neck as if it’s the most normal thing to be carried like this. Never once can I remember having this happen in any past relationship. His strong arms hold me close against his chest and I feel his heart racing through his shirt. I don’t say a word, afraid to break the moment between us. Safe and secure is the only way I can define this space in time.
Once we reach the top of the lighthouse, he sets me down. My arms fall to my sides as he leans forward and places a kiss on the top of my head. I swallow and try to regulate my breathing and slow my pulse.
He weaves his fingers with mine again and guides me to the windows.
“I used to come up here after my run in the mornings,” he says quietly as we look out at the horizon.
“So you worked out and then climbed the stairs? By choice?” I ask with a raised brow.
His throaty laugh echoes through the building and he pulls me close. “Not all of us find exercise dumb. There are lots of activities that can be”—he coughs and smiles—“enjoyable.”
Jackson’s innuendo makes my cheeks flush. Him and his mouth!
“Well, only if you do it right,” I say boldly.
He leans in conspiratorially. “I always do it right,” he says in my ear. Then he walks past me.
“I’m sure you do,” I mutter.
“What was that?”
Of course he heard me.
“Nothing. Just admiring the view,” I lie and stare out the window.
We walk around the lighthouse, viewing the ocean from all angles. Times like this you realize how small you really are. Up here, looking out, I see endless seas and skies. Jackson and I are the only ones standing here, and as I take it all in I wonder who would light the way home for me?
I’m lost in thought when Jackson comes behind me, pressing against my back. His heat comforts me and I lean back a little. “Look over there,” he says against my ear, pointing toward a huge bridge.
I look over but it’s not the bridge that causes me to gasp. It’s the huge aircraft carrier that’s floating over where the bridge becomes a tunnel.
“Ships come in and out through there. You see the white?” Jackson asks.
I squint to get a better view. It looks like there’s a white lining around the deck of the ship. I nod, still trying to get a closer look.
“That’s called manning the rails. When a ship goes in or out of port for a deployment, they stand around the side of the ship and watch their home either go out of view or come into view,” Jackson explains.
I wonder how many times he’s done that. How many families have watched their loved ones leave, knowing they were about to spend countless nights alone? How many have stood waiting, anticipating their love’s return, serving as lighthouses to guide them home?