LOVING A GHOST.

CHAPTER 8.

The day started with a kind of brightness that didn’t belong to summer — thin light, stretched pale across the sky, cool enough that I tugged my sweater sleeves over my hands as I stood on the porch. The sea was calm, its rhythm unhurried, and somewhere in my chest, a rhythm tried to match it, steadier than I felt.

Alan had said he’d see me tomorrow. He had said it as easily as someone confirming the weather, and yet, the promise of it made me restless. I’d found myself checking the clock more than once, pretending I wasn’t.

When the knock came eventually, my pulse betrayed me anyway.

Alan stood there, hair still damp from what looked like a morning wash, his shirt loose, his color stronger than yesterday. He looked like himself again — steady, quiet, with that faint smile that never showed all its teeth but somehow reached his eyes.

“You look better,” I said, leaning against the frame.

“I feel better,” he replied. “Thanks to a certain overbearing caretaker.”

“Overbearing?” I repeated, arching a brow. “I save your life with tea and blankets, and this is the gratitude I get?”

His mouth twitched into a proper smile. “I stand corrected. Heroic caretaker.”

“Better.”

He glanced past me toward the horizon, then back. “I want to show you something. If you’re up for a walk.”

My curiosity stirred. “What kind of something?”

“You’ll see.”

---

The path curved along the cliffs, narrow and rough in places where the grass grew tall. Alan led with unhurried steps, steady despite the uneven ground. I followed close, my sweater catching on thistles, the sea roaring faintly below us.

After a while, he slowed and pointed to a dip in the rocks ahead. “There.”

We scrambled down a narrow trail, the rock damp beneath our shoes, until the path widened and opened into a cove I never would’ve found on my own.

It was small, almost hidden — a curve of sand tucked between high cliffs, where the water slipped in quietly, calmer here than out in the open. The world above felt distant, muffled.

“It’s beautiful,” I breathed, turning slowly to take it in.

Alan watched me more than the scenery. “I thought you’d like it.”

“You’ve been keeping this place a secret?”

“Some things are better when they’re not crowded,” he said simply.

I walked toward the edge of the water, toes brushing the damp sand. The tide pushed in softly, curling around my shoes. Behind me, Alan picked up a flat stone, weighing it in his hand before flicking it across the surface. It skipped once, twice, then sank.

I grinned. “That’s your best?”

He smirked faintly and handed me another stone. “Show me.”

I crouched, picked my angle, and sent it flying. It skipped once, awkwardly, before disappearing.

Alan’s laugh startled the gulls overhead. “Impressive.”

“Oh, shut up.” I turned, mock-glowering, and nearly collided with him.

He’d stepped closer without me noticing, close enough that I could see the flecks of gray in his eyes, the faint dampness still clinging to his hair. For a second, neither of us moved.

The teasing hung in the air, unfinished. His gaze dipped, almost imperceptibly, then flicked back to mine.

And before I could overthink it, the space between us closed.

The kiss was gentle at first — testing, like he wasn’t sure how far to go. Warmth spread through me, startled and sure all at once. I leaned in, and it deepened briefly, enough to steal my breath before we broke apart.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The sound of the tide filled the silence, soft and steady.

“That…” I started, then laughed quietly, shaking my head. “That wasn’t very subtle.”

Alan’s lips curved faintly. “Subtlety is overrated.”

---

We sat after, near the rocks where the sun had begun to warm the stone. I hugged my knees, still trying to slow the rhythm of my pulse. Alan leaned back on his hands, his gaze drifting toward the horizon.

“I used to come here all the time,” he said, voice softer than usual. “Before.”

The word lingered. My head turned. “Before what?”

His jaw shifted, almost as if he regretted speaking. “Just… before now.”

“No,” I pressed, leaning forward slightly. “That’s not what you meant.”

He kept his eyes on the sea. “You’re imagining things.”

“I’m not,” I said, sharper than I intended. “Alan, you said it like—like something happened. What was it?”

He exhaled slowly, still not looking at me. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

Finally, he turned, his eyes meeting mine, guarded. “Why can’t you just let it be?”

“Because you’re not making sense,” I said, the words spilling faster now. “You disappear, you show up, you never talk about your life, and now you’re dropping half-answers like I’m supposed to just accept them.”

His voice rose, sharper than I’d ever heard it. “Because it’s not something I want to talk about, Elaina!”

The sound of it echoed off the cliffs, startling in the quiet cove. My breath caught.

Alan froze, as if realizing his own tone, his expression flickering between frustration and regret.

I stared at him, heart hammering, not from fear but from the shock of the distance he’d just put between us with a single outburst.

The tide washed closer, pulling back again, steady and unbothered.

When I finally spoke, my voice was low. “You didn’t have to yell.”

Alan’s mouth opened, closed. He ran a hand through his hair, the tension visible in every line of him. “I’m sorry.”

The words were there, but they didn’t undo the weight in the air.

I stood, brushing sand from my hands. “We should head back.”

We walked in silence, the cliffs towering above us, the sea at our side.

When we reached the lane, Alan paused as though he wanted to say more. But the words never came. He only nodded once, distant again, before turning toward his cottage.

I stood there, watching him go, my chest tight with questions I wasn’t sure I wanted the answers to.