Chapter 3
T he sun was an hour from finally setting in the sky when Merritt finally emerged from her room.
She'd spent the afternoon unpacking and resting, listening to the muffled sounds of the inn—voices chattering in the parlor, the occasional burst of laughter, a dog barking at something outside.
The comforting white noise of a place with life in it.
Now, dressed in faded jeans and a light blue cotton blouse, she ventured downstairs. Her stomach growled, reminding her she'd driven straight through lunch in her eagerness to reach the island.
The main floor was quiet now, most guests having gone out for dinner. A warm breeze drifted through open windows, carrying the scent of flowers and salt. Merritt followed her nose toward the back of the inn, where light spilled onto a wide veranda facing the water.
Paolo Moretti stood at a grill, spatula in hand, chatting with a boy who was setting a large wooden table with blue ceramic plates. The boy looked up first, noticing Merritt hovering in the doorway.
"Hi," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "Are you the YouTube lady?"
Paolo turned, spatula raised. "Noah, that's not polite."
"Sorry," the boy mumbled, adjusting a fork that was already perfectly aligned. "Grandma said someone came because of Great-Grandma's video."
Merritt smiled despite herself. "I am from Maine, but I'm not exactly a YouTube celebrity stalker. I just...liked what I saw in the video."
Paolo's smile was warm and genuine. "You must be Merritt. I'm Paolo, Maggie's husband. And this helpful young man is Noah, our grandson."
"I'm almost twelve," Noah added, standing a little straighter as if trying to appear taller. "Almost in seventh grade."
"That's a big year." Merritt nodded seriously. "Very important."
This earned her a quick, shy smile before Noah returned to placing napkins with careful precision, his face screwed up in concentration.
"Are you hungry?" Paolo asked, gesturing to the grill where fish filets sizzled. "We're having a family dinner for a change, but there's plenty. Maggie would be delighted if you joined us."
Merritt hesitated. Family dinner sounded intimate, private—not something a stranger should intrude upon. But her stomach growled again, more insistently this time.
"I don't want to impose," she began.
"Nonsense," came Maggie's voice as she stepped onto the veranda carrying a large bowl of salad. "On Captiva, guests become family faster than you'd think. Especially ones who've traveled all the way from Maine."
Merritt found herself being guided to a chair before she could properly refuse. The table was laid for what looked like a small army—at least ten place settings.
"Is your whole family coming?" she asked, gesturing to the table.
"Just the local contingent," Maggie replied, arranging serving utensils. "Sarah and her crew, Chelsea and Steven if they can make it. You met Sarah earlier—she's my daughter. Noah is her eldest."
As if summoned by her name, Sarah appeared in the doorway, carrying a sleepy-looking toddler on her hip, while a girl of about five skipped ahead of her.
"Sophia, slow down," Sarah called. "And use the railing on those steps."
Sophia spotted Merritt and froze.
"You're sitting in Daddy’s chair," she informed her solemnly.
"Sophia." Sarah sighed, shifting the toddler to her other hip. "We don't have assigned seats. And Daddy’s running late anyway."
Sophia considered this, then shrugged and plopped down three seats away. "I'm Sophia. That's my little sister, Maggie. We call her Little Maggie so she doesn't get confused with my Grandma. She’s Big Maggie."
"Big Maggie?" Merritt raised an eyebrow at her host.
"Apparently that's me," Maggie said dryly. "Though I prefer just Grandma."
"I'm Merritt," she offered to Sophia, who was now arranging her silverware in precise alignment.
"That's a weird name," Sophia observed without looking up.
"Sophia!" Sarah exclaimed, settling Little Maggie onto a booster seat.
"It's okay." Merritt laughed. "It is kind of unusual. It was my grandmother's last name before she got married."
This seemed to satisfy Sophia, who nodded decisively before turning her attention to the basket of bread being placed on the table. Little Maggie banged her hands on the table, clearly approving of the meal preparations.
Within minutes, the table filled with platters of grilled fish, a colorful salad, roasted vegetables, and bread still warm from the oven. The sound of a car door slamming announced new arrivals, and moments later, Chelsea appeared with Steven in tow, both carrying covered dishes.
"Sorry we're late," Chelsea called. "Linda cornered us outside the Chronicle office. She's practically frothing at the mouth about some historical artifacts found at the café site."
"Oh?" Maggie raised an eyebrow, accepting the dishes.
Steven nodded, pulling out a chair next to Paolo. "They found some interesting items during the floor demolition. Linda's already planning a front-page spread, but Isabelle is insisting on authentication first."
"Smart woman," Paolo commented, serving fish onto plates. "Linda would have the entire island believing they'd found Ponce de León's personal effects by tomorrow morning."
Merritt listened quietly, taking in the easy banter and familial shorthand.
These people knew each other's rhythms, anticipated each other's thoughts.
It was fascinating to observe—and slightly intimidating.
The last family dinner she'd attended had been with her parents and David's family, planning wedding logistics with spreadsheets and timeline charts.
This casual gathering felt like a different universe entirely.
"So, Merritt," Chelsea said, turning to her suddenly. "Maggie tells us you're from Maine. What brings you all the way to our little island?"
All eyes turned to her, curious but not unkind. Merritt took a sip of water, buying herself a moment.
"I needed a change of scenery," she answered finally. "I saw a few of Grandma Sarah's videos, and something about this place just...called to me."
"My grandmother has that effect on people," Sarah said with a laugh. "She makes everything sound like a grand adventure waiting to happen."
"What did you do in Maine?" Noah asked, reaching for a piece of bread.
"I taught elementary school," Merritt replied. "Music and general education."
"Do you play instruments?" Noah asked.
Merritt nodded. "Guitar, mainly. Some piano."
"She brought her guitar with her," Maggie added, passing the salad bowl. "I noticed when she checked in."
Merritt felt her cheeks warm. "Just for personal enjoyment. I haven't performed in years."
"You should play for us sometime," Chelsea suggested. "The café could use some live music once it opens."
"Oh, I don't—" Merritt began, but was saved by the arrival of a tall, athletic-looking man who must be Trevor, Sarah's husband.
"Sorry I'm late," he said, bending to kiss Sarah's cheek before ruffling Noah's hair. "Marco wanted to go over the historical assessment of the café building. Those artifacts they found have everyone excited."
The conversation shifted to the café discoveries, much to Merritt's relief.
As the family discussed the possible significance of Spanish coins and Calusa pottery, she found herself relaxing into the warmth of the gathering.
No one pressed her for more personal information or seemed to notice her reluctance to discuss her music.
After dinner, as Paolo and Noah cleared plates, Maggie touched Merritt's arm gently.
"There's key lime pie for dessert, but some of us are going to take our coffee down to the beach to watch the last of the sunset. Would you like to join us?"
The invitation was casual, with no pressure behind it. Merritt hesitated, then nodded. "I'd like that. Thank you."
Minutes later, she found herself walking down a sandy path through sea grapes and palms, following Maggie, Chelsea, and Sarah toward the water. Each woman carried a mug of coffee, and Maggie had pressed one into Merritt's hands as well, the ceramic warm against her palms.
The beach opened before them, a wide expanse of white sand meeting turquoise water that was turning deep blue as the sun sank lower. A gentle breeze ruffled Merritt's hair, carrying the scent of salt and something flowering nearby.
They settled onto a weathered wooden bench facing the water. For a moment, no one spoke, all of them watching the sun's slow descent toward the horizon.
"This is my favorite time of day," Maggie said finally, her voice soft. "When everything pauses, just for a moment."
"Mine too," Merritt found herself saying. "In Maine, I'd sometimes drive to the coast after school just to catch the sunset."
"Different ocean, same magic." Chelsea nodded.
The four women watched as the sky deepened from gold to orange to crimson. Somewhere down the beach, a solitary figure walked slowly along the water's edge, a dog running circles around their legs.
"How long are you planning to stay on Captiva?" Sarah asked.
Merritt shrugged. "I've booked two weeks at the inn, but I don't have any firm plans after that. I took a leave of absence from my teaching position, so I have the whole summer, at least."
"Any particular reason?" Chelsea asked, then quickly added, "If you don't mind me asking."
Merritt stared out at the darkening water. "I needed to figure some things out. About what I want. Who I am when I'm not being who everyone else expects me to be."
She hadn't planned to say so much, but something about the moment—the fading light, the rhythmic sound of waves, the lack of pressure from these women who were strangers yet didn't feel like strangers—loosened the careful guard she usually kept on her words.
"Well," Maggie said softly, "Captiva has a way of helping people find those answers."
"Or at least asking better questions," Chelsea added with a smile.
As the last sliver of sun disappeared beneath the horizon, Merritt felt something inside her shift slightly—like a door that had been locked for too long creaking open just an inch to let in fresh air.
She didn't know what tomorrow would bring, but for the first time in months, she found herself looking forward to finding out.
After a while, the women gathered their empty mugs and started back toward the inn, where lights glowed golden through the windows and the sound of laughter drifted on the evening breeze. Merritt fell into step beside them, her footprints joining theirs in the cool sand.
Maybe she'd made the right choice in coming here after all.