Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
L ate that afternoon, Amanda took a long beach walk, enjoying the gentle coastal breeze as it tossed pieces of her hair that escaped her French braid. The waves lapped gently over her feet, inviting her to pause and savor their soothing rhythm. She breathed in the fresh, salty air and relished the sense of relaxation that flowed through her. A feeling that just a few short weeks ago would have been totally foreign to her but now wrapped around her with familiarity. She finally turned around and headed home, surprised that her cottage did feel like home for her here on Magnolia Key.
As she neared her cottage, she saw the doors were wide open to Connor’s workshop. Intrigued, she paused, observing him from a distance. He sat inside working, his head bowed over his workbench, deep in concentration. She wasn’t sure if she should disturb him. She knew he was adamant about his solitude when he worked.
Right then he glanced up, his eyes meeting hers. He waved and motioned for her to come. She crossed the distance and stood in the doorway. “I don’t want to bother you.”
“You’re not.”
“But you’re working.” She nodded at the piece of wood on the table before him.
“I am…” He paused for a moment, a slight hint of uncertainty crossing his features. “But I wouldn’t mind some company.” He motioned to a stool beside the workbench.
His unexpected offer caught her off guard. “I can… watch you work?”
He nodded. “Sure.” He gestured once more to the vacant stool.
The man was full of surprises. She went and perched quietly on the stool near his workbench. He turned back to the wood, and she watched his hands work, fascinated by their skilled movements. She sat there in silence, mesmerized as the wood began to take shape under his talented hands. The corners of his eyes crinkled with his concentration.
Time seemed to slow, the world outside fading into the background. The intimacy of the moment tugged her into its embrace. The golden light filtering into the workshop. The sounds of his tools scraping the wood. It was just the two of them existing in their own little world.
“Oh, it’s a pelican.” The words slipped out. Amanda worried that he didn’t want her chattering while he worked, disrupting his creative process.
To her surprise, he look up and smiled at her. Did he know his smile was becoming almost commonplace? Where was the gruff woodworker she’d met when she first came to the island?
“It is a pelican. Or will be. Been working on it a few days.” His eyes lit up with passion as he talked about his work.
“I think it’s magical the way you can create something so incredible from just a piece of wood. And then it becomes something… beautiful. It comes alive.”
He looked at her closely, as if truly seeing her for the first time. “Thank you,” he said softly, his voice filled with appreciation for her understanding and recognition of his art.
The golden light spilled into the workshop, illuminating the moment, as the two of them shared this intimate appreciation for the transformative power of creativity and craftsmanship.
“I think it must be so wonderful to create something like that. Take something raw and transform it into something beautiful and real.”
“Do you paint or draw or do any kind of art?” He tilted his head, his eyes filled with curiosity.
“No. Not really. I never had time to try my hand at anything.” A wistful smile played at her lips.
“Maybe you should. You never know what hidden talents you might have.”
“Maybe I will.” Not that she had any inkling of what she might try or where to even begin.
With a soft groan, he stood up and rolled his shoulders. “I should probably quit for the day. Losing the light too.”
Disappointment tugged at her. The moment was broken. “Oh, I should go.” She could have sat there for hours watching him work and being sucked into his world.
“I—” His forehead crinkled. “Actually… would you like to come in and have a drink? I don’t have any wine like I know you prefer. Just beer.”
“Beer sounds perfect.” She said the words almost too quickly. His offer was yet another surprise, and she was happy to have a drink with him and prolong their time together. Although he probably just wanted to talk about the festival plans.
“Good. Let’s go.” He closed the workshop doors, and they headed up on his porch, the boards creaking softly under their steps. “Just take a seat. Be right out with the drinks.”
He returned quickly and handed her a bottle of icy cold beer. “Thanks.”
“Oh, did you want a glass? Where are my manners?”
“No, the bottle is fine.”
He sank onto the chair next to her and stretched out his long, tanned legs. A faint dusting of sawdust clung to this shirt, and he absentmindedly swiped at it before taking a swig of his beer.
She took a sip of hers, enjoying the rich, amber liquid as it slid down her throat. “This is so good.”
“This is a local craft beer I pick up when I’m over in Moonbeam Bay. Have you been there? Or over to Belle Island? There’s this little cafe right on the beach that I went to once. Magic Cafe. Great food. Have you explored around the area much?”
“No, just here on the island.” Her gaze drifted out to the expanse of beach before them and the swaying fronds on the palm trees. “And I’m not sure I feel like I’ve seen everything the island has to offer yet. I am planning on going to a play. I’m anxious to see what Tori has done with the theater.”
“I’ve heard a new show is opening. Maybe we should both go.”
“You mean together?” she blurted out in surprise.
A low chuckle rumbled from Connor’s chest. “Yes. Unless you’d prefer to see it alone.”
Heat crept across her cheeks as she stumbled on her response. “No. I mean yes. I mean, sure, let’s go together.” She nervously tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“I could pick up the tickets. Saturday work for you?” he asked casually, as if the whole thing wasn’t any kind of big deal.
She nodded, still stunned at his offer and not sure exactly what the offer was. Was he thinking it was a date? Had he asked her out? Or was it simply friends heading to a play together?
“Connor, you know what?”
“What?” He stopped mid-sip and looked at her over the top of his beer.
“You’re different than I expected.”
“Different how?”
“Well…” She considered her words carefully, “You were kind of… gruff when I first met you.”
“Megan would say I was rude.” He laughed. “I’ve just been on my own for a while now. Working alone. I’m not much of a people person. It’s just… I do like my solitude.” He shrugged, downplaying the admission.
“Yet you asked me to join you in your workshop tonight. Watch you work.”
He stared at her for a long moment, his forehead wrinkling. “Because… you don’t feel like people. You feel like… a… friend. And you’re easy to be with. Nice to talk to.” His voice was low as if he were revealing something deeply personal. Then he quickly shrugged, as if dismissing his thoughts. “I just felt like having you there with me.”
Her heart fluttered at his unexpected candor. “And I was thrilled to be there. Watching you work was… moving, Connor. Really. You are so talented.”
He held up a hand, a self-deprecating chuckle escaping his lips. “Okay, but can we come to an agreement?”
“Sure.”
“You won’t nag me to show my art like Megan does.” A hint of pleading flickered across his features, revealing a touch of vulnerability that contrasted with his rugged exterior.
She snapped her fingers. “That reminds me. The piece you donated. The doves? It sold. It sold for enough to cover the fireworks.”
His eyes widened, then narrowed. “It did? Who bought it?”
She detected a hint of wariness in his tone. “I don’t know. Beverly said someone came in and saw it. Asked if it was a Connor Dempsey piece of work. Examined it closely. She said they even turned it over to look at the bottom of it. Then he wrote a big check and left.”
He frowned. “He looked at the bottom of it?”
“Yes. Why?”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I carve a symbol on the bottom of my work. Kind of my personal signature. The symbol is one I found in my grandmother’s old sketchbook.”
“So someone who knew of your work would know you do that?”
“I do it now on all my more recent carvings. But my older pieces, from when I was first starting out…”
A bit of a disgruntled look crept over his rugged features. And she’d swear a hint of anger flashed in his eyes before he let out a long sigh.
“You okay?”
“Yep, I’m fine.” The corner of his mouth quirked up in a wry grin. “Just thinking about the follies of youth. The mistakes we make when we don’t know better.”
She was thoroughly confused by his cryptic answer but didn’t want to press him. He’d opened up to her, and she didn’t want to break the moment.
They sat on his deck, watching the breathtaking display as the setting sun painted the sky in magnificent streaks of orange and yellow. The colors danced and wove together, creating a mesmerizing view that stretched across the horizon.
She finally broke the comfortable silence and turned the conversation to Megan and Brooklyn, asking questions about them. He regaled her with stories of Brooklyn’s antics, and his love for his niece shone clearly in his eyes.
As the evening wore on, she finally looked at her watch. “Oh, it’s getting late. I should probably go,” she said reluctantly, not wanting the moment to end but knowing it was time to go.
Connor stood, his tall frame unfolding gracefully. “Here, I’ll walk you home.”
She stood up beside him and wondered where was the man who’d refused his sister’s request that he walk her home after their spaghetti dinner? He still had his hard edges. He still had an air of mystery about him. But there was a softer side to this man that hinted at a depth of character and a capacity for kindness that she felt herself drawn to.
They descended the steps together, their footsteps muffled by the soft sand beneath their feet. As they crossed the beach in the gathering darkness, he took her elbow, a touch that was both reassuring and electrifying.
They climbed the steps to her porch. Suddenly, the moon popped out from behind the clouds and threw silvery rays of light around them. He stood there in front of her. Just stood there. His eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat.
She held her breath. A flutter of anticipation stirred in her chest.
“Good night, Amanda,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Then with a slight nod, he turned and went down the steps before jogging across to his cottage.
Left alone in the moonlight, she gazed up at the stars. A question hung in the air as real as the breeze caressing her skin. Had Connor Dempsey been on the verge of kissing her?
And an even more intriguing question—had she wanted him to kiss her? The attraction between them was undeniable. At least, she thought it was. Maybe. As she slipped inside her cottage, the questions lingered, promising to occupy her thoughts long into the night.
Connor, buddy. What have you done?
Connor trudged up the steps to his cottage, retrieved their empty bottles, and walked inside. He put the bottles in the recycling, the sound of glass on glass breaking the silence of the cottage. He rinsed out his coffee cup from this morning and put it in the dishwasher. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he really should eat.
But instead, he found himself drawn back outside. The worn boards were smooth under his bare feet. The gentle breeze played with his hair. The stars stretched above him in a dance of constellations. All of it was so familiar—and yet so different.
Had he truly asked Amanda out on a date? The question hung in the air, twisting and spinning like the mobile he’d made for Brooklyn when she was a baby.
Did she think that’s what he’d done? Well, he kind of did, didn’t he?
She was just so effortless to be around. And he admired so many things about her. The way she organized this festival and didn’t seem to let anything ruffle her feathers. The way she seemed to enjoy Brooklyn’s boundless energy. The way she’d looked at him tonight…
And he’d felt an intimate connection with her when she sat there silently watching him work. He never allowed anyone to watch him work, guarding his solitude carefully. But tonight he’d glanced up a few times, seeing her eyes light up with recognition and appreciation of the craftsmanship of his work. And he’d been delighted when she realized he was carving a pelican with her keen observation and admiration.
He shoved his hand through his hair, looking out at the moonlight glistening on the waves, his mind in turmoil, surging like the tides.
Yes, Connor Dempsey. What have you done? What have you set in motion with this lowering of your carefully constructed walls of protection?