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"Hey, with your Great-Uncle Ian, who knows?" I shrugged and moved closer to the boulders we'd scrambled down. "The man had a lighthouse beacon attached to his house. I wouldn’t put anything past him."
As we swept our flashlights across the ground, we fell into a comfortable rhythm. Waves lapped at the shore and a solo bird called in the distance. Every few minutes, the beacon’s light would sweep over us, lighting the entire cove for a few seconds before leaving us in darkness again.
"You know," Ronan called out after a while, his voice carrying easily in the still night air, "I’m starting to think Great-Uncle Ian had a thing for rocks. There are so many of them, and they all look the same."
I laughed and stood up straight to stretch my back. "Maybe he was really a geologist. It would explain all the traveling."
As the darkness deepened, the temperature dropped. A cool breeze from the lake made me shiver, and I watched Ronan pull his jacket tighter around himself.
"You doing okay over there?" I asked, the concern evident in my voice.
"Yeah, I'm fine, but it's a little colder than I thought it would be." His flashlight beam bobbed up and down as he moved.
"Hey, Tyler! I think I found something." Ronan’s voice cut through the darkness.
I felt a sudden jolt of adrenaline as I rushed over, nearly tripping over a piece of driftwood on the way. My flashlight's beam bounced wildly across the sand. "What is it? What did you find? Show me."
Ronan crouched near the water's edge, shining his flashlight at something half-buried in the sand. As I approached, a piece of metal flashed a reflection around the cove.
"I'm not sure." Ronan was already starting to dig it out. "It's definitely man-made, not natural."
I knelt beside him, brushing my shoulder against his as I leaned in for a better look. The cool, damp sand seeped through my jeans, but I barely noticed. I was too excited by the discovery.
With a final tug, Ronan pulled the object free. For a moment, we both held our breath. Then, as he turned it over in his hands, our excitement deflated like a punctured balloon.
"It's... a can," His voice was flat, and I sighed with disappointment. "An old soda can."
A few seconds later, I couldn’t help but laugh. "Well, at least we know you're doing a thorough search. Maybe it's a sign we should take a break and grab a drink from the water bottles in my backpack?"
Ronan chuckled too as he vehemently crushed the can with his foot and shoved it into his jacket pocket. "Yeah, I guess so, and then back to the search?"
"Yep, then we'll go back to the search. The night’s still young, and who knows what other exciting trash we might find?"
I spotted a piece of driftwood large enough for both of us to sit on it. As we sat, the weight of our frustration settled around us like a heavy fog.
"Well, that was a bust," Ronan sighed, rubbing his face.
My mind began to wander down an unpleasant path. The soft lapping of waves almost sounded like a countdown, ticking away the moments until Ronan would decide to leave Blue Harbor—and me.
I glanced at him in the dim light. His profile was etched against the darkness, the beacon’s sweeping light occasionally illuminating the furrow of concentration between his brows. He looked tired, disappointed, and suddenly very far away.
A knot formed in my stomach as I imagined him packing his bags, saying goodbye to the town that had barely gotten to know him. I saw him boarding a plane, while I watched helplessly from the airport. He would return to his high-rise apartment and fast-paced tech world, leaving behind the quaint charm of Blue Harbor—and me—as nothing more than a brief, pleasant memory, a vacation from more important matters.
The thoughts produced a physical ache in my chest. In the short time we’d known each other, Ronan had become more than just a romantic interest or a partner in a treasure hunt. He'd filled spaces in my life that I didn't know were empty. When I thought about the emptiness coming back, I shivered.
I wanted to reach out and take his hand and ask him to stay, treasure or no treasure. Unfortunately, the words caught in my throat and wouldn't budge. We’d known each other for such a short time—what right did I have to ask him to upend his life for me? How could I ask him to choose a small town that must seem painfully provincial compared to the exciting world he came from?
Instead, I silently pleaded with the universe, with Great-Uncle Ian's ghost, and with any spirit that might be listening. Please let us find something. Give me a solid reason to ask him to stay.'
But the cove remained silent. It refused to give me any answers or miraculous discoveries. The beacon's light swept over us once more, as indifferent to my inner turmoil as the stars twinkling coldly overhead.
When we resumed our methodical exploration, the thrill of our initial search was over. Each sweep of our flashlights revealed more sand, more rocks, and more disappointment. The beacon's light, once a promise of rare and unique treasure, now seemed like an impossibly bright finger pointing to our failure.
An hour passed. My back ached from bending over, and my eyes strained to see into the darkness. I wondered how much time my flashlight's battery would last. At least the one on my phone could serve as an emergency backup.
"This is hopeless," Ronan muttered after another false alarm. This time it was a piece of driftwood that had momentarily looked like it might be carved with symbols. "We've been at this forever, and what do we have to show for it? A soda can and a sore back."
I ran a hand through my hair, fighting my own sense of defeat. "Maybe we're just not looking in the right place. Or maybe we're missing something obvious."
