1. Carrie #2
Matt nodded, and they started back toward her car in silence, their footsteps crunching over sun-bleached gravel.
The late afternoon sun pressed against her shoulders like a physical weight, but Carrie hardly noticed the heat.
She could still see Matt's defeated profile out of the corner of her eye—the slump of his broad shoulders, the downward curve of his mouth that had laughed so easily just days ago, the way his calloused hand absently rubbed at the back of his neck.
Something in her chest ached, a tender spot she thought had scarred over long ago.
"Thank you," he said, his voice barely audible as they reached the SUV. His eyes locked with hers, burning with an intensity that made her breath catch. His fingers brushed against her arm, lingering for a heartbeat too long. "You didn’t have to do this for me.” A tight smile crossed his lips, and his eyes were haunted.
“Nobody's helped me like this since…” He swallowed and looked away. “Since Sherri.”
"It's no trouble," Carrie told him, her voice sharper than she intended, the words cutting through the humid air between them.
Her fingers gripped the car keys until the metal teeth bit into her palm.
"Besides, I needed to park my car on this side anyway. The island permit expired today, and the last thing I need right now is another battle with authority.”
"You know where to leave it?" he asked as they climbed inside. The leather seats of her SUV had baked in the Florida sun, radiating heat through her thin cotton shorts.
"I have a vague idea." Carrie adjusted the air conditioning vents, aiming the cool blast directly at her flushed face. Outside, palm fronds swayed against a sky so intensely blue it hurt to look at.
"I'll show you," Matt said, fastening his seatbelt with a decisive click. His forearm brushed against hers, leaving a whisper of warmth that had nothing to do with the weather.
Forty-four minutes later, Carrie's car was parked securely in the gravel lot, and they had managed to find the private ferry that serviced Lost Love Cove docked on the mainland side.
The weathered wooden vessel, its blue paint peeling at the edges, rocked gently beneath them as they crossed the glittering channel.
Carrie leaned against the sun-warmed metal railing, letting the salt-laden breeze cool her flushed cheeks and tangle through her hair.
Below, emerald water slapped rhythmically against the ferry's hull, sending up tiny rainbows of spray that evaporated almost instantly in the late afternoon heat.
She turned back to Matt, the wind whipping strands of her hair across her cheeks. The ferry's weathered deck swayed beneath her sandals as a gull cried overhead.
"It's a relief there's a private ferry for the cove," Carrie said, watching sunlight dance across the water's surface like scattered diamonds. "I don't know what we'd do otherwise. Swim across with our groceries tied to our heads?"
A grin split Matt's weathered face for the first time in hours, crinkling the sun-etched lines around his eyes into a map of hard-earned laughter.
He nodded, resting his forearms on the ferry's salt-crusted railing.
"It takes a little longer to get it if it's out, but it's worth the wait.
We can bring vehicles across when we need to.
I've got a special permit for my pickup because of the renovations.
Costs extra, but beats hauling lumber on your back across that channel. "
Carrie let the detail sink in. She remembered Lori mentioning the ferry family, the Marshalls, who ran it year-round. “Lori always said she and Trevor came to know the ferry family well over the years.”
Matt’s gaze shifted toward the young man piloting the boat. “That’s Arno,” he explained. “Ian’s son. Ian usually runs it, but he and his wife are away on vacation. Arno’s home from college and covering for the summer.”
The ferry nudged into its slip with a hollow thunk against the weathered rubber bumpers.
As they rolled off the wooden ramp, its planks creaking beneath their weight, Matt slowed his pace.
His eyes caught on a sleek black Lincoln sedan parked near the waiting area, its tinted windows reflecting the late afternoon sun.
The vehicle was angled toward the ramp as though poised for a quick departure, engine still ticking with residual heat.
Matt's shoulders squared beneath his faded t-shirt, and his jaw tightened into a hard line.
“That car…” he murmured, pointing and turning towards Arno, who was securing a rope to the dock. “Do you know who that belongs to?”
Arno wiped his hands on his shorts and shrugged. “Some gentleman my father knows. He’s here on business with someone staying at the resort.”
Carrie frowned. “Why would he need a car on the island for that?”
"He said he had something too big to carry," Arno replied with a lazy shrug, his sun-bronzed face betraying neither curiosity nor concern. He squinted against the glare bouncing off the water, one hand absently toying with a frayed rope end as gulls wheeled overhead in the cloudless sky.
Matt’s jaw tightened. “What’s his name?”
Arno’s brow furrowed, uncomfortable. “I’m not sure. I stay out of my father’s business. I just ferry for him.”
Carrie’s instincts sharpened. “What business does he have with your father besides the ferry?”
Arno straightened, and for the first time, a grin slipped across his face, careless and a little cocky. “Real estate. You didn’t think we lived in that big house on ferry money alone, did you?”
Carrie and Matt exchanged a sharp glance. Her gut cinched tight.
Arno added casually, almost as an afterthought, “My father used to work with the same company as the man whose house you’re staying in for the summer did!”
Carrie froze. Her pulse thudded hard against her ribs.