by Darci Hannah
The Moose might not have been a swanky Midtown restaurant, but there was something surprisingly comfortable about it, just like the man across from me. Perhaps it was the fact that on the ride over he’d admitted that Wellington had been coming to his house every morning for the last two weeks. The first time Wellington had walked onto his front deck and pressed his nose to the window, Rory thought he was a bear. Then he saw the bushy tail. He was immediately let in and given a breakfast sausage. And once a person slipped Welly a treat, they were friends for life.
“I thought it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” Rory said, “until I ran out of breakfast sausage. He must have thought I hung the fish out for him.” Thankfully there were no hard feelings.
After we ordered, Rory leaned across the table. “So, why does a nice Wall Street banker like you purchase an old lighthouse in Beacon Harbor and plan to start a bakery?”
“You know I’m a banker?” I found that surprising.
“It’s a small town, Lindsey. Word travels fast. In fact, the moment the papers were electronically signed, Betty came pounding on my door to tell me the news.”
“Betty Vanhoosen?” I asked. “The real estate agent?”
Rory nodded. “Yep. Bought my cottage from her as well. She’s also a member of the town council, the development board, and the Chamber of Commerce. Nothing happens in Beacon Harbor without her knowing about it. So, why a bakery and why Beacon Harbor?” He was persistent.
“A change of scenery,” I said, which wasn’t a lie. “I was tired of the city. I’ve worked my tookus off; I’ve clawed my way up the ladder. I have a portfolio that would be the envy of any thirty-five-year-old. Why not start a bakery?”
Rory smiled. I found it enchanting. “I’m not exactly following the logic there, but I know you can bake.” He smiled at me, then addressed the waitress who’d come to take our order.
Karen, our slightly frazzled middle-aged waitress, had come with a frothy mug of beer in her hand and a basket of warm rolls. They were on a first-name basis, which I found charming, until she said, “You must be his agent,” giving me the once-over.
“His neighbor, I’m afraid. I’ll have a glass of Chablis.”
“Oh, sorry. I just assumed you weren’t from these parts on account that there’s a foot of snow outside and you’re in a dress and heels. Oh!” Another terrible thought struck her. “You’re on a date!” She turned and ran for the Chablis before Rory had a chance to correct her.
“Is it that obvious I’m not from these parts?” I asked him, grinning.
“The lack of camo must have tipped her off.” His lovely blue eyes were sparkling with mirth. “But don’t change a thing. The moment you walked in, this tired old lodge got an injection of class.”
I blushed. “I guess I need to watch a YouTube video on how to dress for success in Beacon Harbor. I don’t suppose they have a video for that yet?”
Rory chuckled. The sound of it was highly seductive. “You could make one, but don’t bother. Here’s a little tip. Get yourself some jeans, a good pair of boots, and a nice warm jacket for the winter. In the summer all you need is a thong bikini, the smaller the better.”
I stared a moment, then burst out in giggles. “I nearly believed you.”
“You’re more gullible than I thought,” he teased. “What gave me away?”
“You went too far. You should have stopped at ‘nice warm jacket.’ Also, I’m well-versed in all the health codes. Serving bakery goods in a bikini will get me shut down. Beacon Harbor isn’t ready for that.”
“Pity,” he teased. Then, looking more serious, he asked again, “But why Beacon Harbor? Why not the Florida Keys or Hawaii or some place with better weather?”
I leaned on my elbows. “Oh, you want a real answer, do you? Well, here it is. I used to come here every summer when I was a child.” This, I was happy to see, surprised him. “It’s true,” I said. “My dad grew up in Traverse City. His parents owned a bakery there. Every summer Mom and Dad would send me to my grandparents’ house for three weeks while they flitted across Europe.” I made a flittering motion with my fingers. It was then that I noticed a glass of Chablis had magically appeared near my elbow. I waved at Karen and took a sip.
“You weren’t angry that you weren’t flitting around Europe with them?” Apparently, Rory would have been furious with his parents if the tables were turned.
“No. I loved spending time with my grandparents. Nothing in New York City or Paris smelled as good as their bakery. My grandmother used to let me help her bake. Everything that came out of her oven tasted amazing. On warm summer days they’d close the bakery at noon and take me to Beacon Harbor. Although they were closer to Grand Traverse Bay, Beacon Harbor was their secret lakeside retreat. Gran loved the little shops, and Gramps kept his boat at the marina. Some of my best childhood memories happened in this town. I remember the year Grandma and Gramps retired to Florida. That was the year I was sent away to boarding school.”
I frowned at the memory. I missed my grandparents; I was sad at their passing—sad that I never got the chance to share my plans with them for my own bakery in Beacon Harbor. I finished my Chablis and placed the empty glass on the table. “I nearly forgot about this place until the old lighthouse popped up one day in a Google search. I’d been toying with the idea of opening a bakery. The moment I saw the Beacon Harbor Lighthouse, a light went off, and I thought how awesome it would be to have a bakery in an old lighthouse that’s a stone’s throw from the beach.” I strategically left out the part about catching my fiancé in the act, or that’d I’d been a bit tipsy when I made an offer on the lighthouse.
“And you just had to buy it,” Rory remarked, looking impressed.
“I did.”
“Must be nice,” he said, buttering a roll. “Everything you desire at the swipe of a charge card.” He smiled ironically and took a bite.
“It’s not that easy,” I told him, having dealt with peoples’ assumptions my entire career. “Wealth requires discipline. And never use a charge card unless you can pay off the balance. I’m lucky, yes. But I’ve also worked hard and invested wisely.” I went to take a sip of wine, but realized my glass was empty. Rory motioned to our waitress to bring another round. “Okay,” I confided, leaning forward. “Buying an old lighthouse wasn’t the wisest decision I’ve ever made. Probably would have never made it if not for a cheating jerk of a fiancé. But I did, and I’m glad.”
“I knew it!” he said, and raised his glass. “Had to be a jerk in there somewhere. Beautiful women don’t buy lighthouses in Beacon Harbor.”
“That’s because there’s only one lighthouse in Beacon Harbor, and I beat them to it.”
Karen set down two plates heaping with lightly breaded, golden-fried perch, perfectly baked potatoes, coleslaw, tartar sauce, and a wedge of fresh lemon. My mouth was watering just looking at it. The moment Karen left, Rory smiled and picked up his fork. “Well, I know two things for sure. Beacon Harbor is the perfect place for a fresh start, and you won’t get a better plate of perch than here.”
CHAPTER 5
I was smitten with Rory Campbell. There was just something about the man I found compelling. Maybe it was the fact that he was so different from Jeffery, whose subtle arrogance and carefully manufactured metrosexual looks had sucked me right in. Jeffery was big city swank, Rory was ex–Navy SEAL, which explained a lot. He oozed competence and masculinity with just a hint of danger, and I’m sorry to admit that I found it refreshingly sexy. Rory had admitted to me, while savoring his fried perch, that he would have spent the rest of his life in the navy, if it wasn’t for his dad’s failing health.
Unfortunately, Rory’s dad passed away two months before his last tour of duty had ended. His mom had been gone a while. Settling his parents’ estate had been a horrible experience, but it had gotten him thinking. He had a sudden desire to put down roots somewhere. He was still in the long process of grieving when he bought the log cabin in Beacon Harbor. H
e moved up after selling his childhood home in Grand Rapids, which, according to Rory, was two hours south. All his life he had vacationed in the area, but he admitted to a soft spot for Beacon Harbor. He had come in search of solitude and almost had it until Welly and I moved in. Rory Campbell was trying to write a book.
“I’ll tell you what,” I said as his big pickup truck pulled up the lighthouse drive. “Welly and I will try to be good neighbors. I’ll do my best to keep the noise and commotion to a minimum, and Welly will try to not eat your fish. All you have to do in return is to sample my baked goods from time to time and offer your honest opinion.”
“Sounds like I’m getting the better end of the deal. How about I sample your baked goods and you go out for dinner with me from time to time?”
“I think that can be arranged,” I said, schooling my careening emotions enough to offer a coy smile. On the inside I was cheering like a schoolgirl.
“And Wellington’s welcome at my place any time. He’s the best kind of neighbor: giant, fluffy, and silent. Besides, I’ve developed a real soft spot for him.”
“He’ll be glad to hear it,” I said, hoping Rory hadn’t noticed the copious amounts of drool Wellington produced. He might retract his offer. As for Wellington, a few hours away from the hammers and saws would do him good. “Thank you.” I was just about to open the door when Rory’s words stopped me.
“Say goodnight to the Captain for me.”
“The Captain?” I turned back and looked at him. “This is the second time you’ve mentioned him. Should I know him? Where does he live? Is he close by?” I looked across the lighthouse grounds to the cluster of distant lights on the hillside, twinkling through the woods. “Does he live in one of those homes over there? I suppose I should apologize to all my neighbors for the noise.”
“Actually, he lives in the lighthouse.”
“Funny,” I said as the hair on the back of my neck prickled. “Because last time I checked, I live in the lighthouse. Just Wellington and me.”
Rory, who’d been grinning, suddenly looked very serious. “Captain Willy Riggs lives here too, or so legend has it. He was the first keeper of Beacon Harbor Lighthouse, Lindsey, manning the station from eighteen-seventy-seven to eighteen-ninety-two. That’s when he died. The town of Beacon Harbor was a big shipping port back then, and Captain Willy, ever vigilant, saw something one night that got him killed. All that’s known was that he left the lighthouse one night and walked down the beach to confront an unknown party. Captain Willy was shot in the altercation, yet he managed to make it back to the lighthouse, where he climbed the lighthouse stairs for the last time. They found him two days later, dead in the lantern room.”
“What?” I shot him a troubled look. “That’s a terrible thing to tell me. Are you insinuating that my lighthouse is haunted?”
“I’m not insinuating. I’m telling you. It’s common knowledge around here. Haven’t you heard anything since you’ve moved in?” he prodded. “Anything strange?”
“No, I haven’t heard anything strange! I live in a drafty old lighthouse on Lake Michigan. All the rattling and creaking I hear I attribute to the arctic winds, which is what us sane people do.”
“Right. Okay.” Rory suddenly looked contrite.
“Oh, sure, I’ve seen the old rocking chair by the fireplace rock from time to time, but that I attribute to Wellington’s tail. He’s always whacking things with his tail. And maybe sometimes I hear footsteps, but then I realize it’s just one of the workmen, or my dog.”
“Yeah, that makes sense.” After dropping his little bombshell on me about some ghostly captain haunting my lighthouse, he was awfully quick to back down. I found it a bit patronizing. I found it a little infuriating. In fact, I found it downright disturbing. I mean, what if he was correct?
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s say Captain Willy Riggs is still here. What should I do?”
“Nothing,” he said plainly.
“But how do I get rid of him?”
“You don’t. He’s a ghost, Lindsey. And in my opinion, a good one to have around. He’s not going to hurt you or Wellington. He’s simply still here, doing his job, which is to keep a vigilant eye out for danger. In fact, Betty told me the day I was moving in that people have reported seeing a strange light blinking in the light room. The old Fresnel lens was removed years ago, and as far as I know the electric one’s been disconnected. But that strange light, Lindsey, folks around here say it’s a portent of danger.”
“What?” I’m sorry to say that my inner New Yorker flared. “Betty Vanhoosen? That bubbly, little pink-clad busybody knew the place was haunted and didn’t say anything to me about it? She knew my grandparents. She used to go to their bakery, or so she told me. So much for full disclosure.” I glared at him and shook my head. “And here I thought you Midwesterners were supposed to be friendly and honest!”
“Betty is friendly,” he stated. “And I’m honest.” Rory, damn him, was grinning at my little tirade. “Listen, Lindsey, don’t let it bother you. It probably slipped her mind. You have a beautiful place here, a real piece of Michigan history. And it’s going to make one heck of a bakery. Just stay focused on that. You want me to do a walk-through to make sure everything’s okay?”
“A walk-through? You just told me that the ghost of some old dead captain lives here. I don’t need a walk-through, Rory, I need a ghost hunter!”
“Relax, Lindsey.” He took hold of my hand. His own was large, warm, and very capable. “It’s just legend. Shouldn’t think a legend was any match for a New Yorker.” He smiled.
“You’re right,” I agreed and removed my hand. This was my new life, and I was determined to make the most of it. Beacon Lighthouse wasn’t haunted, and on the off chance that it was, Welly and I would just have to cross that bridge when we came to it.
“Okay. Well, thanks for coming to dinner with me. You’ve got my number if you need me. And regarding the Captain, Google him. See what you can find out. I think you’ll feel better once you’ve read a little bit about him.”
“Good advice,” I said and shut the truck door. For the second time since arriving in Beacon Harbor, I was filled with a whole new wave of trepidation.
CHAPTER 6
I might have wanted to Google Captain Willy Riggs, but I didn’t. In fact, I refrained from giving in to my fears, or to any thoughts of ghosts, and pushed on ahead with all my new plans. If I was being totally honest, living in the lighthouse was wonderfully freeing. Any creaking or rattling I heard was easily dismissed as wind, because there was plenty of that. And even if the Captain did still reside in the old lighthouse, he never made his presence known to me. I didn’t take that as an insult. On the contrary, I found that more than considerate. Rory, who made good on his promise to sample my baked goods, never mentioned him again, for which I was grateful.
Every evening after cleaning the kitchen and locking up after the construction crew, I took a glass of wine with me up the winding steps of the light tower to the lantern room. Wellington wasn’t a fan of the light tower. There were too many steps for his taste, and they were too steep, so he stayed below by the hearth. Once in the lantern room, however, the unobstructed view was spectacular. It was so vastly different from living in a high-rise penthouse apartment in the city. It was peaceful, serene, and enchanting. I kept a pair of binoculars up there and a flashlight, and had even hauled up an extra chair so that Rory could join me. The evenings we sat in the light room side by side were the ones I liked most.
Rory was still much of an enigma to me, disappearing for days at a time only to reappear on my doorstep with a case of beer, or deer sausage and crackers, or a fresh-caught fish. He was definitely the hottest man around, probably a player as well. I never pried. I didn’t feel I had the right to. And if I wasn’t so exhausted preparing for the bakery’s opening day, I might have tried harder to seduce him. My powers were failing me. I chalked it up to bad juju still lingering from Jeffery Plank. Since my move to Beacon Harbor, J
effery began calling me again. Mia had probably found him out for the arrogant pig he was. I didn’t care, and I wasn’t going to answer his calls. It got so bad that I finally had to block his number.
Thankfully, my days at the lighthouse were busy from sunup to sundown, giving me little time to worry about Jeffery. However, there was always time for a phone call from Mom. Every morning my phone would buzz, displaying her old Vogue cover. Mom was barely more than a teen when she did that cover, and it always made me smile. However, after the first month of living at the lighthouse, I began to dread that photo.
“Hi, Linds. Just checking to make sure you haven’t gone stir-crazy yet.” It was her opening line. At first it was funny, but with each passing day, the humor began to fade.
“Not yet,” I’d tell her, then fill her in on the progress I was making. I loved my mom, but she still couldn’t fathom why I had thrown my uber-lucrative career away to start a bakery in the wilds of Michigan. Mom loved hearing about my adventures at the lighthouse and of the friends I was making in the town, but she had never liked bakeries. I guess when one was always dieting, bakeries were a constant torment.
Dad, on the other hand, understood my career change a little better. He’d grown up in a bakery but had wanted to stretch his wings and make his own mark on the world. He had wanted to prove that Bakewells could hold their own on Wall Street as well as on Main Street. I was a Wall Street Bakewell and couldn’t resist the pull of my ironic name. Most of my New York friends were still laughing about it. But I strongly felt that stretching my own wings and owning my own business was the right thing to do.
