Chapter 25
Justin showed up at the bungalow that evening with a bag of takeout and a bottle of wine.
“I'm not checking up on you,” he said when she opened the door. “I just thought you might be hungry.”
Merritt almost smiled. “That's what Paula said when she came over with soup.”
“Great minds.” He held up the bag. “It's from the kitchen. Crocker made his chowder tonight. Said you needed something that sticks to your ribs.”
She stepped aside to let him in. The bungalow was dim, lit only by the fading evening light coming through the French doors. She hadn't bothered to turn on any lamps. She hadn't bothered to do much of anything since coming home from the park.
Justin set the food on the kitchen counter and looked around. His eyes landed on her, taking in her rumpled clothes, her bare feet, the shadows under her eyes.
“Have you eaten today?”
“I had coffee.”
“That's not food.”
“It's something.”
He shook his head and started unpacking the bag. Two containers of chowder, a loaf of crusty bread, two slices of key lime pie wrapped in wax paper. He moved around her kitchen like he belonged there, finding bowls and spoons, pulling out plates for the bread.
“Sit,” he said, nodding toward the table. “I'll bring it to you.”
She sat. The vase Crocker had given her caught the last of the sunset light, the blues and greens glowing softly. She traced her finger along the rim while Justin worked, listening to the familiar sounds of someone else taking care of things.
He brought the food to the table and sat across from her. For a few minutes, they ate in silence. The chowder was good, rich and creamy, full of clams and potatoes. Merritt hadn't realized how hungry she was until she started eating.
“Crocker talked to me,” she said finally.
“I know. He told me.”
“What did he say?”
“That he gave you some hard truths and you took them better than he expected.” Justin tore off a piece of bread. “He likes you, you know. He doesn't say it, but I can tell.”
“He called me a pretty girl with a guitar and good intentions.”
“Sounds about right.”
She looked up at him, surprised by the hint of humor in his voice. He was watching her with those steady eyes, the ones that always seemed to see more than she wanted to show.
“I made such a mess of things,” she said.
“You made a mistake. There's a difference.”
“Is there?”
“Yeah. A mess implies you broke something beyond repair. A mistake is just a wrong turn. You can come back from a wrong turn.”
She pushed her spoon through the chowder, watching the cream swirl. “Ray's still missing. Gregory's dead. I don't know how to come back from any of it.”
“Gregory's death isn't your fault. You know that.”
“I know. But it still hurts.”
“It's supposed to hurt. That's how you know it mattered.”
They finished eating in a comfortable silence. Justin cleared the plates and washed them in the sink while Merritt sat at the table, too tired to protest, too grateful for his presence to send him away.
When the kitchen was clean, he came back to the table and sat down across from her again.
“How are you really doing?” he asked. “And don't say fine. I've known you long enough to know when you're lying.”
She thought about brushing him off, giving him the easy answer that would let them both pretend everything was okay. But she was too tired for pretense. Too worn down by the weight of the past few days.
“I feel like I'm drowning,” she said. “Like I'm underwater and I can't find which way is up.”
Justin nodded slowly. “I felt that way when my mom died. Like the whole world had gone sideways and I couldn't figure out how to stand.”
“How did you get through it?”
“I didn't, for a while. I just kept sinking.” He leaned back in his chair. “I was in Boston when she passed. Had this big job, this important life, this girlfriend who was already planning our wedding. And then one day I got the call, and none of it mattered anymore.”
“What happened?”
“I quit the job. Ended things with Kira. Packed up my apartment and drove down here with no plan, no idea what I was doing.” He smiled faintly.
“Crocker took me in. Gave me a job, gave me a place to crash, gave me time to figure out who I wanted to be now that everything I thought I wanted was gone.”
“And did you? Figure it out?”
“Some days. Other days I'm still working on it.” He met her eyes. “But that's the thing about grief. You don't get over it. You just learn to carry it differently. The weight doesn't change, but you get stronger. Eventually you find a way to keep moving.”
Merritt felt something loosen in her chest. It wasn't comfort, exactly. More like recognition. The acknowledgment that someone else understood what she was going through.
“Do you want to sit outside?” she asked. “I could use some air.”
They took the wine and the key lime pie out to the deck. The sun had set while they were eating, and the sky was fading from pink to purple, the first stars appearing over the water. The wind chime sang softly in the breeze.
They sat in the Adirondack chairs, side by side, looking out at the Gulf. The waves rolled in, steady and eternal, the same rhythm they'd kept for thousands of years. Merritt let the sound wash over her, let it fill the empty spaces inside her.
“I talked to my dad today,” she said. “Told him everything. About Ray, about what I did, about how guilty I feel.”
“What did he say?”
“That he loves me. That everyone makes mistakes. That I need to forgive myself before I can move forward.” She took a sip of wine. “He also said he's flying down next week. Wants to be here for the closing on the bungalow.”
“That's good. You could use the support.”
“I know. I just wish I didn't need it.” She set down her wine glass. “I'm so tired of needing people to prop me up. I came here to figure out how to stand on my own, and instead I keep finding new ways to fall apart.”
“That's not falling apart. That's being human.”
“It doesn't feel human. It feels pathetic.”
Justin turned to look at her, his expression serious. “Merritt. Listen to me. You are not pathetic. You're one of the strongest people I've ever met.”
“That's not true.”
“It is true. You spent years taking care of your mother.
You walked away from a wedding because you knew it was wrong.
You drove a thousand miles to start over in a place where you didn't know anyone.
You got a job, found a home, built a life.
And yeah, you made a mistake with Ray. But one mistake doesn't erase everything else.
It doesn't make you weak. It makes you real.”
She didn't know she was crying until she felt the tears on her cheeks. They came silently, sliding down her face, dropping onto the weathered wood of her chair. She didn't try to stop them. She didn't have the energy.
Justin moved without thinking. He reached over and took her hand, his fingers warm and solid against hers. She held on, grateful for the anchor, grateful for someone who wasn't going anywhere.
“I'm sorry,” she said, her voice thick. “I can't seem to stop crying lately.”
“Don't apologize. Cry as much as you need to.”
“I'm just so tired. Tired of feeling guilty. Tired of worrying about Ray. Tired of missing Gregory and my mom and everyone I've ever lost.” She wiped her face with her free hand. “I thought coming here would make things easier. I thought I could outrun all of it.”
“You can't outrun grief. Believe me, I tried.”
“Then what do you do?”
“You sit with it. You let it hurt. And eventually, one day, it hurts a little less.” He squeezed her hand. “You're not alone, Merritt. I know it feels that way, but you're not. You've got Paula and Crocker and your dad. And you've got me. I'm not going anywhere.”
She looked at him then, really looked at him. The kind eyes, the gentle smile, the quiet strength that radiated from him like warmth from a fire. He'd been there since the beginning, steady and patient, never asking for anything, always giving whatever she needed.
“Why?” she asked. “Why do you care so much?”
“Because you matter to me. Because from the first night you walked into Shorebirds, something clicked. I don't know how to explain it. I just knew you were someone worth knowing.”
The words hung in the air between them. The waves kept rolling in. The stars kept appearing overhead. And something shifted, some invisible line that had always been there between them.
She leaned toward him without meaning to. He leaned toward her. And then, before either of them could think about what they were doing, his lips were on hers.
The kiss was soft. Gentle. It tasted like key lime pie and salt air and something else, something that felt like hope. She let herself sink into it, let herself forget for just a moment all the grief and guilt and worry that had been drowning her.
Then Justin pulled back.
His face was flushed, his eyes wide. He dropped her hand like it had burned him.
“I'm sorry,” he said quickly. “I shouldn't have done that. That was completely inappropriate. You're grieving, you're vulnerable, and I just took advantage of that. I'm so sorry.”
“Justin.”
“No, I mean it. That was wrong. You don't need me complicating things right now. You need a friend, and I just made everything weird.” He stood up, nearly knocking over his wine glass. “I should go. I'm sorry. I'll go.”
“Justin, wait.”
But he was already moving, already heading for the door. He paused just long enough to look back at her, his expression torn between embarrassment and something deeper.
“I'll see you at Shorebirds,” he said. “Take care of yourself, Merritt. Please.”
And then he was gone, his footsteps fading across the sand, the sound of his truck starting in the distance.
Merritt sat alone on the deck, her lips still tingling, her heart still racing. The kiss had lasted only a few seconds, but she could still feel it, like an echo in her body.
She should have stopped him. Should have told him it was okay, that she'd wanted it too, that he hadn't done anything wrong. But the words hadn't come fast enough, and now he was gone.
The wind chime sang. The waves rolled in. And Merritt sat in the darkness, touching her lips with her fingers, wondering how everything had gotten so complicated.
She'd come to Sanibel to start over. To find herself. To build a life that was hers alone.
She hadn't planned on falling for anyone. Hadn't planned on any of this.
But here she was, sitting on the deck of a dead man's bungalow, missing a kiss from a man who'd just apologized for giving it to her.
Life never went the way you planned. She knew that better than anyone.
She picked up her wine glass and drained it, then went inside and closed the French doors against the night. Tomorrow she would figure out what to do about Justin. Tomorrow she would think about Ray and the funeral and all the things she still had to face.
But tonight, she let herself sit with the memory of that kiss, soft and sweet and full of possibility.
Tomorrow could wait.