Chapter 6 Matt
MATT
Key West glowed like a string of lanterns along the waterline as the private Lost Love Cove ferry nosed into the slip. Arno tossed a line over a cleat with the lazy ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times and tipped them a wink as they stepped off.
“Go enjoy your evening,” he said. “Text when you’re ready to come home.”
Home.
The word settled in Matt’s chest like a warm stone. He offered Carrie his arm, and she slipped her hand through it with a soft smile that did strange, unsettling things to his pulse.
They walked the boardwalk toward the small restaurant he’d picked, a tucked-away bistro that looked over the marina, with hurricane lanterns on the tables and a little chalkboard sign out front that read fresh catch, key lime tart, live guitar on the hour.
The storm had left the palms scrubbed and gleaming, and somewhere nearby someone was laughing too loudly at something that wasn’t that funny.
It felt good to hear it. It felt good to hear it all.
The host recognized them like locals and led them to a table on the rail. The harbor bobbed with the gentle motion of boats rocking against their slips. The guitarist tuned up and let a quiet run of notes fall like water.
“Is this all right?” Matt asked, even though he’d checked the place three times in his head and twice in person.
Carrie looked around at the soft lamplight, the worn wood rail, the way the water held the reflection of the moon like a secret it didn’t mind sharing. “It’s perfect,” she said.
They ordered iced tea and, later, a glass of wine each, and split a basket of warm bread that came with whipped butter and sea salt.
The server rattled off the list of fresh fish, and Matt, falling into easy habit, told him to bring whatever they were proudest of.
Carrie laughed at that and shook her head, delighted.
“Do you always do that?” she asked.
“When the cook knows what’s best, it’s best to let him show off,” Matt said, all nerves slipping away as he relaxed into the evening.
“Noted,” she teased. “I’ll remember that.”
They talked while the light slipped deeper and the harbor shifted from rose to indigo.
They talked about little things at first, like the progress on the trim in the guest room, whether the porch swing should be hung a little to the left, and how many screws Cody had pocketed like treasure that afternoon.
Then the conversation softened, turned quieter, as if the night itself had leaned in to listen.
“Tessa emailed me a checklist,” Matt said with a low groan. “I think she could run a courtroom and a construction site at the same time.”
“She could. And that’s why she's gunning to be a judge,” Carrie said, pride running under the words like a current. “She likes you, you know.”
“That's because I signed everywhere she told me to sign.” He grinned.
“That helped,” Carrie admitted, eyes bright. “But no. She said you listen. And you’re kind to her mother.”
He didn’t know what to do with the sudden lift in his chest, so he took her hand instead. Her fingers were warm, steady, and familiar now. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the simple intimacy of reaching for someone and finding them there.
“What about Maggie?” he asked. “Still calling Alisha twice a day?”
“Sometimes three,” Carrie said, laughing. “But it’s good. Alisha is good for her. She’s gentle when she needs to be, firm when she needs to be. She’s helping Maggie untangle some hard knots.” Carrie’s smile gentled. “Trent’s good with them, too. Very… present.”
“Yeah,” Matt said, thinking of how naturally Trent had stepped into the chaos. Fixing what needed fixing, seeing what needed to be seen, all while giving the kids a sense that the world was safe again. “He’s a good man.”
“I know,” Carrie said softly. “Even when I don’t know everything about what he does. I guess I just have to trust him.”
Matt gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “He’s trusted you with your work over the years, and that couldn’t have been easy for young kids. Especially when you got divorced.”
Carrie sighed. “You’re right. It often worried Connor and me that both of our kids’ parents were cops in Boston.”
“I can imagine,” Matt said, and it suddenly hit him how dangerous Carrie’s job was. His eyes dropped to her side, where she’d told him she’d been shot, and a terrible feeling hit him in the chest. He never wanted to lose her.
He was distracted when the server arrived with dinner: grilled mahi with citrus butter and charred lemon, a tangle of greens, and rosemary potatoes.
The plates smelled like summer itself. For a while, they ate, passed the salt, squeezed the lemon, and let the conversation rest. Music threaded in and out of the quiet: a familiar tune played slow, a voice that didn’t push too hard.
“Tell me something,” Carrie said at last, setting down her fork. “When the paperwork’s finished, when the last hinge is straight and the paint dries and all of this settles… what do you want this place to be?”
It surprised him, the rush of answers that wanted out. Matt swallowed, searching for the truth beneath all the simple ones.
“I want mornings on the deck,” he said after a moment.
“I want coffee before the heat climbs. I want laughter in the kitchen. The small things, you know? A life with no… jagged edges.” Matt looked at her, felt his throat tighten, and pushed through anyway.
“I want to build something steady. With you. If that’s what you want, too. ”
Carrie’s expression didn’t change dramatically; it softened by inches, the way the tide eases over sand. She reached across and rested her palm on the back of his hand, her thumb brushing lightly as if she were memorizing the shape of him.
“I do,” Carrie said. “But I need you to know I still have rough days. Scars tug in strange weather.” She lifted one shoulder, wry. “Sometimes literally.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Matt said simply. “I know what loss feels like. I know how it lingers.”
Carrie’s eyes shone, not quite tears, more like light catching on something deep. “Thank you,” she whispered.
They finished their meal, shared a key lime tart, and argued, but in the friendliest possible way, about whether the meringue should be toasted more. Matt paid the bill, and they stepped back onto the boardwalk, the night folding around them like a soft coat.
They walked without hurry. The ocean was all hush and dark silver.
A few tourists ambled past with melting cones and sunburned noses, the world delightfully ordinary again.
Carrie looped her arm through his, and Matt felt, suddenly and fiercely, like a man who had been given a second chance and meant to do it right.
“Do you ever talk to her?” Carrie asked after a while, her voice low. “To Sherri?”
Matt didn’t answer quickly. The question didn’t hurt the way it might have once. It felt… tender. Honored.
“Sometimes,” Matt said. “Not out loud. Just… you know, when you feel someone’s hand on your back? Like a quiet push in the right direction?”
Carrie nodded. “Yes.”
“Like that,” Matt said. “And lately it’s like she keeps saying, ‘Go on.’ As if she’s pointing me forward.” He laughed softly, shook his head. “I know how it sounds.”
“It sounds like love,” Carrie said.
They reached the small stretch of public beach, and Matt kicked off his shoes, rolled up his cuffs, and held out a hand in invitation.
Carrie pretended to consider, ever the tease, then slipped off her sandals and stepped with him into the surf.
The water was warm, smoothing around their ankles, drawing little crescents of foam as it went out and came back again.
“Do you remember the first time we walked this beach?” he asked.
“You mean the time we were spying on Alisha?” she teased.
“Besides that time,” he said, laughing. “The day I found out that my house wasn’t really my house.”
Carrie’s smile turned wistful. “You kept glancing back like you expected the clouds to come running after us.”
“I kept glancing back because I was hoping that it was all an awful dream. But not being here with you. Just the mess with my house,” Matt replied. “And now… now it feels like a dream that I don’t ever want to wake up from.”
She stopped then, the water pulling threads of moonlight between them, and slid her hands up to the back of his neck. “I know how you feel.”
He kissed her, slow and certain. The kind of kiss that didn’t hurry anywhere, the kind that said we have time. When they parted, she rested her forehead against his, and the simple quiet of it felt like a promise.
On the way back toward the marina, his phone buzzed. He almost ignored it, but Carrie nodded, so he checked.
A text from Alisha: All good here. Cody is asleep on the couch, clutching a wrench. Maggie won Uno. We left a porch light on. Enjoy your date, Dad. You earned it.
He showed Carrie. She laughed softly. “It’s nice when your kids check in.”
“I know,” Matt said, pride and something like relief threading together. “I keep thinking of Cheryl and her relationship with her mother and then her son.” He shuddered. “I’m so glad to have had a good one with my parents and now with my daughter and grandson.”
“I know,” Carrie agreed. “I’ve been thinking about that too, and it’s the reason why I’ve not gone after Trent about lying to us all these years about where he works or what he does.
I’m just glad he still comes around, calls to ensure I’m okay, and has this great relationship with his twin sister and his niece. ”
Matt looked at his watch. “Good grief, where did the time go?”
“We’d better message Arno,” Carrie said, and he could hear the reluctance in her voice that mirrored his own about having to end this magical night.
The ferry ride back was darker, quieter. Arno didn’t tease this time; he just tipped his hat and hummed under his breath as he steered. The island looked peaceful from the water—small lights marking familiar places, the kind of map you feel more than see.
They walked up the path from the dock with their shoes in their hands. The night air smelled like jasmine and salt. At the top of the steps, Matt paused and looked out at the cove. The waves moved in their patient way. The shore held steady.
“Do you know what I keep thinking?” Carrie asked.
“What?”
“That this place isn’t cursed,” she said. “It’s blessed. Not with ease. That’s not how blessings work. But with second chances.”
He swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat. “I think you’re right.”
As they stepped off the ferry dock, they walked a few feet down the beach, stopping to glance at the full moon. They could see their houses from where they were, and the light Alisha had promised glowed softly.
“You know,” Carrie said, her voice hushed in the dark, “I’m so glad I let Lori talk me into this vacation.”
“I am too,” Matt assured her.
They stood for a few minutes without speaking, the waves gently swishing at their feet, marking the quiet minutes. Somewhere down the beach, a dog barked twice and then decided against it. The world had the decency to hush.
Matt threaded his fingers through hers and, without looking away from the silver path the moon had laid over the water, said, “I love you, Carrie.”
He didn’t plan it. He didn’t test it in his head first. It arrived as all true things do—simply, when it’s time.
Her fingers tightened around his, and when he finally turned to look at her, he found her watching him with that same seeing look that had disarmed him from the start.
“I love you, too,” she said.
He let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding for years. The breeze picked up as if the night breathed back, and at their feet, a small wave folded itself on the shore and then quickly disappeared as if not to interrupt this moment as his lips crushed hers.
THE END