We clung to each other, as if time had surrendered to our union, blending minutes and seconds into an endless embrace. With Erik by my side, the clock ceased to matter. We shifted positions without letting go, immersed in a silence heavy with thoughts.

Erik's words continued to resonate in my head, like a persistent echo of a surprising revelation. The vast world, the countless lives, and here we were, finding each other again. But my mind searched in vain, unable to find any memory of his existence in my mind.

I wanted to ask him about the sadness that seemed to have enveloped him in the past, but something held me back; I feared delving into old wounds.

"Are you alright?" he whispered, his warm breath brushing against my forehead.

"I want to tell you so many things. But the words..." I tried to explain.

"They get stuck," he completed, making me nod.

"Are you happy now?" I asked, and Erik let out a sigh, settling back on the couch, still holding me.

"I suppose so," he shrugged. "My life is simple, peaceful. There's no reason for sadness," he confessed.

Seeing him like this, I wondered if my own lack of sadness was enough to consider myself happy.

"What's your dream?" I asked, intrigued. "Did you always want to be a lighthouse keeper?"

He gently shook his head, getting up to return with an impressive camera in hand. It was clearly professional and expensive.

"I always wanted to be a photographer," he commented, sitting back down next to me and turning on the camera.

"A wedding photographer?" I inquired, surprised by the idea that didn't seem to fit him. He smiled and shook his head.

"Travel. Nature... of the world."

On the camera screen, a magnificent photograph of the lighthouse appeared. He enlarged it, and my heart skipped a beat seeing myself seated on a rock, by the cliff. That image must have been from the first day I visited the lighthouse, just a week ago.

"That's me," I affirmed, as if it needed confirming.

"Really?" he asked, furrowing his brow thoughtfully, then grinned "Ah, of course it's you!" he chuckled. "I didn't want to forget you in case you disappeared again."

"I'm not going to disappear," I asserted with determination. There was no reason to.

"You won't be trapped on this island forever," he said with a hint of sadness in his voice, showing me another picture of the sea and the cliffs. It was incredible, the composition, the light... it was a photograph worthy of a gallery.

"Who knows. Maybe," I replied, shrugging, looking at the next picture of the bay "Why aren't you a photographer? You're really good."

"My father always wanted me to be a firefighter, like him. And I was for 10 years," he said, showing me a picture of Pierowall harbor.

"You were a firefighter?" I asked, genuinely surprised. That explained his physique.

"I was, almost 6 years ago. Now I'm a lighthouse keeper," he said, moving on to the next picture of fluffy sheep in a green meadow full of colorful flowers.

"You lost someone, right?" I dared to ask, and he nodded "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," he reassured me, gently squeezing my forearm, though the unpleasant feeling in my chest persisted.

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"And why aren't you a photographer now?" I asked, turning my head to look him in the eyes. He seemed to ponder, his gaze lost in the void even though he was focused on me.

"I don't know. I suppose I've grown accustomed to this quiet, solitary life," he said calmly, observing my face.

"You're not alone, you have friends. In Glasgow," I reminded him, making him smile.

"And you," he reminded me.

"Yes, I'm here too," I said as I gently squeezed his forearm. Erik turned off the camera and placed it on the wooden table, next to the empty coffee cups. The trembling lump by the fireplace remained still, so I assumed that, after eating, drinking, and warming up, the puppy had fallen asleep under the towel.

"Do you like to travel?" he asked, wrapping an arm around my shoulders again so we returned to that comfortable position we were in before he went to get his camera.

"More or less. Yes, but... no," I replied; the answer was a bit complicated.

I loved traveling, I enjoyed exploring new places and discovering the history of the sites I visited, but my trips with Oliver had never been like that, at least not in the last 15 years. At first, we did some sightseeing together after his business meetings, went out to eat, or visited something in the area. But then, the trips became an obligation where I felt like I was an object being taken for a ride.

"Have you traveled the world?" Erik asked, and I shook my head.

"Just Spain. Well, and now Pierowall," I replied, letting my hand slide down his forearm, tracing the ink lines that adorned his skin.

"Scotland has a lot to offer, you should explore it," Erik turned his arm so that I could easily stroke the inner part, and he seemed to relax with the contact.

"Do you like to travel?" I asked, as my fingers explored the lines of his palm, gently, as if trying to decipher an enigma.

"I love traveling."

"Then, you should travel and take photographs," my hand slid to his fingers, caressing them softly.

"You're tickling me," he said, with a smile on his lips. I looked at him, confused as to what he meant, so he reached out the hand that was on my shoulders and tickled me.

"No, stop!" I said, laughing, trying to tickle him back. We both ended up laughing. Erik held my wrists, easily immobilizing them.

"Now you've gone too far with your antics," he said, looking at me intently, with eyes full of amusement.

I swear if I could at that moment, I would have started burning with more intensity than the flames consuming the logs in the fireplace. From nowhere, a fire so intense appeared inside me that I almost scared myself. I was sure I had never felt anything like that before. At least, not so strong. I tried to release myself, but Erik lifted my arms and brought them over my head, leaving me lying on the couch.

"Apologize to me," his deep voice didn't help to calm the fire burning inside me.

"No," I said firmly. Erik smiled challengingly.

"Andrea, don't play with fire," he warned.

"I'm the boss," I said, looking at his lips. I heard him softly growl, as if regretting telling me that— "I'm in control," I reminded him, and he bit his lower lip, squeezing my wrists a little tighter, but it didn't hurt me at all.

"Yes," he whispered.

"Let me go," I ordered, looking him straight in the eyes. I saw him hesitate, but he let go of me, never breaking eye contact. My hands, now free, returned to a more natural position although the right one approached his beard, which I gently stroked "Good boy," I didn't know what was happening to me, but I was completely eager for the fire inside me to engulf everything.

"You're going to get burned," he warned, his eyes dropping to my lips.

"You were a firefighter, right?"

"You don't want me to kiss you," he scoffed with a hint of bitterness in his voice. Technically it was true, but in reality, I was dying to kiss him.

"Close your eyes," I asked him. He did so without hesitation. I pulled his T-shirt toward me and kissed his cheek softly. He leaned his arm on the couch so as not to put all his weight on my body, and from how he was breathing, I knew he was struggling to keep control "Who's in charge?"

"You are, boss," he said, calmly and playfully "Are you playing with me?"

"I want to know if I really have control," I said. Erik opened his eyes and looked at me, barely inches away.

"Now and always," he asserted with such conviction that I could only believe him.

"Are you going to hurt me?" I asked, as his hands held my face, bringing his forehead to mine, brushing my lips but not kissing me.

"Never," he assured.

"How can you be so sure?" I whispered.

"Because you're the sun. My sun."