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He eyes me warily.

“Are you okay? You never lock this door when you’re in.”

He steps into the kitchen, and I rub the back of my neck as an embarrassed flush creeps onto my cheeks.

“Yeah, sorry. I…” How do I tell him that I can’t stop my mind from conjuring up monsters in the shadows or lights where there shouldn’t be any? How do I say that and not have him look at me like the stress is getting to me?

Because that’s what it probably is. Stress. And a lack of sleep.

“I’m good. Must have locked it accidentally.” I shrug and take the tray of buns to the oven.

“Hmm.” Kiernan doesn’t move from the spot and when I look at him, he’s studying me with narrowed eyes.

“What?” I snap, my nerves fraying at the edges.

Kee shakes his head. “Nothing. You’d tell me if something was wrong?”

“Yes. I promise,” I reply, turning back to my tasks for the morning. We work in silence for a few minutes, both of us moving around the kitchen in sync because we’ve done this a thousand times before.

“I was thinking I’d bring my camera down to the beach sometime soon. Get some shots of the sea lions, if that’s okay with you?” Kiernan asks, breaking the silence.

“Of course. You know you don’t have to ask, Kee. You’re always welcome down there.”

Like Pops was, Kiernan is fascinated by the blue nosed sea lions that have set up home on the beach. When they first showed up on the shore, Pops reached out to a biologist he knew over in Edinburgh, but he was unable to identify the exact species. For all we know, they are an unknown breed. It sparked a lot of chatter in the village, and a few nosey people who wanted to come down and investigate, but Pops was very selective about who he allowed onto the beach. He said the sea lions deserved to live in peace and not turn into someone’s lab rats.

So now, as far as anyone in Newbridge or the surrounding villages is concerned, the sea lions are protected by the Brody family. Which is now, sadly, just me.

“We could put a few pictures up in the lighthouse on the next open day,” Kee says, as he unpacks a few of the deliveries we got earlier in the week.

I smile at my friend.

“I love that idea. But I’m not sure I’ll be opening the lighthouse to the public again.”

He stops what he’s doing and turns to face me.

“You’re not planning to sell it, are you?” His eyes widen with concern.

I shake my head. “Hell no. Never. But it was Pops who enjoyed having people in to see the lighthouse. He loved telling them about the history and the folklore surrounding it. I just… I don’t…”

“You’re not a people person,” Kiernan finishes for me.

“Exactly. I can’t see myself filling his shoes in the same way.”

“No one expects you to, Cass. You’ll do things your way and if that means keeping the lighthouse closed, then so be it.”

A feeling of melancholy settles over me when I think of the lighthouse. It was decommissioned back in the eighties when a larger one was built further along the coast. Pops continued to open it once a month for people to come and explore. It brought in a little cash, but it was never about the money – it was about keeping its history alive. Once every few months, he would light it and we’d sit out on the Aurora, watching its glow from a distance.

With Pops and the Aurora gone, I don’t know that I ever want to do that again.

“Maybe one day,” I muse. Kiernan pats me on the shoulder, then heads to the front of the store. I hear him opening the blinds shortly before music plays softly through the speakers and there’s the distinct sound of the coffee machine brewing.

Once my first tray of sweet treats is ready, I stack them behind the glass case on the counter, then retreat to the sanctuary of my kitchen while Kiernan opens the store and serves the first customers who arrive. There’s a steady flow of chatter from the front after that. A few people call out a greeting to me, and I pop my head around the door and give them a wave.

I’m making a third batch of scones when I hear Kiernan say, “You need to leave right now,” in a tone of voice that I rarely hear from my best friend. Wiping my hands on my apron, I enter the front of the store, surprised to see the property developer from the funeral standing in front of the counter.

He’s wearing a dark grey suit and has his arms crossed over his chest.

“I need to speak to Mr Brody,” he demands. “I have something important to discuss.”