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“I will. Thank you.”

With that, she leaves and I’m left holding my shivering human.

“Come sweet mate, let’s go inside.” Caspian doesn’t speak as I open the door to the lighthouse and guide him in, one hand wrapped around his. It’s cold and dark inside, the space filling with a dim orange hue when I switch on the light positioned on the wall. I’m just closing the door behind us when there’s a quiet meow and a blur of movement at my feet.

“Bagel!” Caspian falls to his knees and drags the cat to him, holding her to his chest. “You’re okay.”

“Animals have a way of sensing danger,” I say, crouching down beside them. Tentatively, I lift a hand and reach out and pet the cat. For the first time since we met, she doesn’t hiss at me. “She probably knew to get away and find somewhere safe to wait.”

“What am I going to do, Sterling?” Caspian asks, his voice hollow, his attention on the bundle of fur in his arms.

“Nothing tonight. I’m going to take you upstairs, get you warmed up, and we’ll face it all in the morning. Together.”

“I have nothing left. Everything I owned was in that house. All my memories of Pops. All my clothing.” He starts to cry again and Bagel wiggles out of his arms, making a beeline for the stairs.

“Sshh.” I help him to his feet, resting my forehead against his temple. “You still have so much. You have your bakery. And your silly human friend. And your animals.” I point out the small window that overlooks the beach. “And you still have your land, Caspian. We will rebuild.”

He looks at me with glossy, red eyes and tear-streaked cheeks.

“We?”

“Of course. Because you have me and I’m never leaving.”

There is a barely there tip of his lips before he threads his hand into mine and heads for the stairs. I follow behind, walking up to the small bedroom I’ve been calling home.

He looks around the space, rubbing a hand along the dusty table and then to the thin, scratchy blanket on the bed.

“I always found this place creepy. But it feels good with you in it,” he says, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “I guess this is home now.” As if moving in slow motion, he leans to the side and then kicks his legs up onto the mattress, tucking his arms beneath him. Defeat radiates off his tired body. I strip off my clothing, then stretch out my limbs, pulling forward a shift. Caspian’s eyes don’t leave me as I do, tracking me as I move closer to him. Wordlessly, I pull off his shoes, leaving on his socks, and climb onto the bed, pulling him to me, his back to my chest. I wrap my fur-covered legs over him, the heat of my body warming his cool skin.

“Lighthouses are symbols of safety,” I say, breath ghosting the top of his head. He smells like smoke, but his unique scent is there too. “An emblem of hope and resilience. They’ve guided me my whole life, and this one brought me to you. You lost a lot tonight, sweet human, but you’re strong and brave and this won’t destroy you.”

“You’re so sure that I’m brave, Sterling. I don’t feel brave. I feel like maybe my dad was right. I can’t do this.” He sniffs, tears dripping down the end of his nose. “Maybe I should have sold the farm and packed up the few things I had left of Pops and moved into the village. Or back to London. At least then I would have had some of him left.”

Air catches in my lungs when I think about him leaving or about never having met him at all.

“You lost all your possessions, sweetheart. But you still have your Pops.” I tap his head. “In here.” I tap the space over his heart. “And here. I have owned nothing for all the years I have lived, but loving you is all I will ever need. The picture I have of you in my mind, of you smiling and laughing, flour on your cheek – that’s the thing I hold on to. If you close your eyes, those are the parts of Pops you haven’t lost.”

He sniffs again, rolling over so that we’re chest to chest.

“Close your eyes and tell me something about him. Something you’ll never forget.”

Caspian’s eyes fall closed, and he brings his hand to the back of my neck, fingers carding into my hair.

“He loved this lighthouse. Taigh-solais. That’s the Scottish Gaelic word for it. He taught me that the day I first visited. I remember he smelled like oil from where he’d been repairing an old generator. We stood at the top of the lighthouse, in the lamp room, looking out at the sea. He said the name was more beautiful in Gaelic because, directly translated, it meant house of light. A place of warmth and comfort.” Caspian nuzzles his nose against my throat. “He proposed to my Nan in here and then he took her to the beach for a picnic.” My mate lifts his head and looks at me, a smile trying to force its way onto his face. “It rained, and they stayed out in it, their sandwiches growing soggy as he spun my Nan around like they were in one of those old black and white films. He told me it was the greatest day of his life. He was a storyteller, my Pops. He loved words and their meanings, and he loved weaving them into tales.” He places a soft kiss on my lips. “He would have loved you. One of his stories come to life.”

I smile, loving the way the tension slowly melts out of his body. His eyes grow sleepy but he keeps talking about his Pops and how the man loved the sea and cream horns, about how he told scary stories around the campfire and dressed up as Santa for the church fête every year. He tells me about the time they took a trip to Northumberland so Pops could see how small puffins are in real life, and about the pony they once bought for his Nan’s birthday. Caspian talks until his words fade and his body stills, soft breaths falling from his lips. And I hold him through it all, moving only to make space for his cat to curl up at his feet.

THIRTY-THREE

CASPIAN

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Kiernan looks me up and down, once and then twice and then a third time, just to be sure.

“Yes. I’m okay.” I tug at the bright pink hoodie I’m wearing. “Thank you again for the clothing.”

“It’s no problem at all. Mum’s going to pick you up a few things when she goes into Edinburgh next week. She said she’ll try to find some of those fun t-shirts you like.”

I take the damp cloth from his hand and busy myself wiping down the counter, my throat tight with emotion.