“You’re welcome,” I murmured, scooping my hair away from my neck. The sun was making me hot, the inside of my hair getting wet from sweat. I propped my arm under my cheek and curled up, watching him work. There was something hypnotic in his movements, the way his back moved as he scattered color over the canvas. Something I committed to memory, just in case. My eyes closed just for a second.

Here’s to the dream. And to the dreamer.

The next thing I knew, Levi was gently shaking my shoulder.

“Whaa?” I groaned.

“Babe,” he whispered insistently, “there’s a huge group of people coming up the hill. I think they’re heading here.”

Levi’s face flickered in my vision for a few minutes, golden and tanned against the backdrop of the sun. Then his features focused—a narrow nose and disheveled hair sticking straight up from the wind.

“Oh, right on time.” I sat up, stifling a yawn. “I’ve got to get started. Are you okay here on your own?”

“My own?” Levi’s brow furrowed. “The people—”

“Are tourists,” I finished. “They’re here for a tour of the lighthouse.”

Every summer I did lighthouse tours, Friday to Sunday. “You can watch,” I told him. “But it’s not that exciting, so if you wanted to just sit around looking artistic, that’s cool, too.”

“You mean be your prop?”

I could tell he got a kick out of it by the way he tucked his paint-flecked brush behind his ear.

“Exactly.” I launched myself upright, teetering for a second, but his hand shot out to steady me. “Thanks.”

A few minutes later, the sweaty, red-faced tourists had reached the top of the hill and I was waiting for them with a cooler of water, juice, and soft drinks. The cooler’s lid was open, and on the inside was a giant yellow Post-it, the price written in thick black Sharpie.

“Welcome to the Oar’s Rest Lighthouse!” I said. “There are ice-cold drinks available in the cooler! Just two bucks each.”

Levi quirked an eyebrow. “Isn’t that kind of expensive?” he asked in a low voice as I passed by.

“Supply and demand,” I whispered.

The tour lasted about thirty minutes. I walked them around the lighthouse, told them a little bit about the history of the fishing town of Oar’s Rest, peppered with humorous anecdotes about local life. The kids were especially interested in the ghostly legends and seafaring superstitions that I’d grown up hearing, and the adults couldn’t keep their chuckles at bay, either.

After a quick walk-through of the grounds, I brought everyone to the lighthouse keeper’s quarters, the home next to mine where originally, the keeper and his family would have lived. It was a tight squeeze, but we all got inside in the end.