Cassie had not expected to see him again so soon.
After JM's unexpected visit the day before, she thought he might retreat into whatever historian's cave he came from, leaving her alone to clean dust and chase memories. But that morning, as she walked toward the small town library with a notebook tucked under her arm, she spotted him standing near the docks.
He looked impossibly at home there — hands in his pockets, eyes on the horizon as if cataloging the sea itself.
Cassie considered pretending she hadn't seen him. But the truth was, she had questions. Too many. And he seemed like the only one who might hold pieces of the puzzle.
So she cleared her throat. "You again."
JM turned, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. "Good morning to you too, Miss Policarpio."
"Cassie," she corrected automatically.
His gaze lingered on her for a moment, thoughtful. "Cassie, then."
The way he said her name made her pulse quicken. She wasn't sure she liked that.
They walked in silence for a few steps before she finally asked, "Do you always appear in lighthouses unannounced? Or docks?"
"I told you," he said mildly, "the lighthouse has history. I care about history."
"That's not really an answer."
He gave a small shrug, his expression unreadable. "Maybe I prefer partial answers."
Cassie rolled her eyes. "Great. Just what I need. A historian who talks in riddles."
"You'd be surprised," he said, glancing at her. "Sometimes riddles are truer than straight answers."
She stopped walking, planting her feet. "Okay, fine. Then answer this one without riddles: do you know anything about someone named Cassie connected to the lighthouse? Someone from the past?"
His gaze flickered, subtle but sharp. "Why do you ask?"
Her hand tightened around the notebook. She wasn't ready to admit she'd found a hidden letter. Not yet. "Curiosity," she said quickly. "You said families are tied to the lighthouse. Mine. Maybe others. I just... wondered."
JM studied her, his silence stretching long enough to make her fidget. Finally, he said, "There are stories. Old ones. But stories change depending on who tells them."
"That's not helpful," Cassie muttered.
"Maybe not. But sometimes you have to collect the fragments before you see the whole picture."
They reached the library steps. The old building smelled of salt and paper, its wooden door heavy with age.
"Are you following me?" she asked as he opened the door for her.
"Maybe," he said with a trace of humor. "Or maybe this is where I work."
Inside, the air was cool and lined with shelves that carried more dust than visitors. Behind the counter sat Peggie Parreño, the librarian Jenny had mentioned over the phone. A petite woman in her fifties, Peggie looked up with bright eyes.
"Ah," Peggie said, rising. "You must be Cassie. Word travels quickly."
Cassie laughed awkwardly. "So I've noticed."
Peggie's gaze darted between her and JM, something sly flickering in her expression before she smiled warmly. "Welcome. If you're looking for history, you've come to the right place. JM has been keeping me busy with archives for years."
"Busy is one word for it," JM said dryly.
Cassie followed Peggie to a table stacked with old town records. The pages smelled of mildew, the ink fading.
"Start here," Peggie said, patting the pile. "But fair warning — nothing is organized. You'll need patience."
Cassie smiled. "Patience I can handle. Dust mites, maybe not."
Peggie chuckled. "You'll get used to it. And JM—" She turned to him with a knowing look. "—you can answer her questions, can't you?"
He raised a brow. "Depends on the questions."
For the next hour, Cassie sifted through brittle newspapers and handwritten ledgers while JM leaned against a shelf, arms crossed, offering commentary that was equal parts useful and infuriating.
"Storm of '62," he said, pointing to an article. "Took out half the fishing fleet. The lighthouse barely held."
"Who was keeper then?" Cassie asked.
"Manuel Pizarras," JM answered smoothly. "His family's been here for generations. You'll probably meet his granddaughter, Celine."
Cassie jotted notes, chewing her lip. "Did Manuel have a daughter named Cassie?"
JM tilted his head, studying her. "No. But names repeat in families. Why are you fixed on that name?"
Her pen froze. She forced a smile. "I told you. Curiosity."
He didn't look convinced.
By the time the sun slanted through the library windows, Cassie's notebook was half-filled with names and dates that felt more like puzzle pieces than answers. She stretched, groaning.
"This is going to take forever," she muttered.
"That's history," JM said. "It never gives itself up easily."
She looked at him, exasperated. "Do you always sound like you're narrating a documentary?"
For the first time, he laughed — a low, warm sound that surprised her. "Maybe. Comes with the job."
Something in her chest softened. She hadn't realized until that moment how much she'd missed the sound of laughter, even if it wasn't hers.
As she packed up her notes, Peggie called from behind the counter, "Careful, Cassie. Our historian here has a way of making people fall in love with the past."
Cassie flushed. JM's eyes flickered toward her, unreadable, but she caught the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his mouth.
"I'll keep that in mind," Cassie said quickly, shoving her notebook into her bag.
Outside, the evening air was cool, the sky streaked with pink and gold. Cassie paused at the top of the library steps, notebook pressed against her chest.
JM stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets again, gaze distant.
"Thank you," she said finally.
He looked at her, his expression softening for just a breath. "For what?"
"For... not being completely useless," she teased, though her voice was lighter than she expected.
He chuckled. "High praise."
For a moment, the world was still. The sea, the gulls, the fading light — everything seemed to fold into silence around them.
Then JM said quietly, "Be careful with what you find, Cassie. Some histories don't stay buried without reason."
Before she could ask what he meant, he turned and walked down the street, leaving her alone on the steps with the sound of her name still hanging in the air.
Cassie hugged her notebook tighter.
She wasn't sure what unsettled her more — the mystery of the lighthouse or the man who seemed to know too much about it.
Either way, she knew one thing for certain: she was no longer alone in this story.
📖 End of Chapter Three
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