Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

I feel the dust on the floor grind under my shoes, and no matter how
much we clean, there always seems to be more dirt. The lightkeeper’s house
is a shithole, but it’s our shithole, and it’s better than any mansion across the
tracks. The old wooden beams above me smell like years of hurricanes and
wind, and everything here is ours. Our stove, our table, our food, our bed.
The fireplace works, and if it ever gets so cold enough that I can’t keep
her warm, then a fire will.
We’re going to have so much fun renovating this place and making every
inch of it ours. Of course, we have to keep a certain aesthetic to maintain the
historical landmark status, but that’s no problem. We only want to make it
comfortable and enhance what’s already here.
I cut the stems of the flowers I bought at the market, and stick them in a
vase with water, placing it at the center of the table, and I spot headlights
outside, just as the sun starts to set.
In a moment, the front door closes, and I feel arms slide around my waist.
“I have to talk to you,” she whispers in my ear.
I damn near shiver, tilting my head into her breath more.
“Let me set this to simmer,” I tell her. “Then we can ‘talk’.”
I know what she wants.
She reaches over to my side, flipping open the old tin box I found this
morning.
She holds up the old snapshot. “Archie?”
“Yeah.” I nod, wiping off my hands. “Found it under a floorboard.”
She sifts through the box, looking at pictures of the previous inhabitants.
The corgi, Archie, and his human, the old lightkeeper.
“It’s him.” She smiles, finding the picture of the man in a torn, cable-knit
sweater and a beard.
“He looks just like I pictured,” I say. “An old sea dog.”
She searches through the pics in the box, looking again. “No girl,
though.”
I come around her and kiss her ear. “Someone was taking the pictures of
him.”
Her eyes light up, the mystery safe and sound that just maybe this cottage
was a hideaway for two other lovers before us.
I hug her tight, determined to keep the tradition going.
I turn down the temp on the stove, and she takes my hand, but instead of
leading me upstairs, she takes me outside.