Lost Love Cove (Sunset Keys #1)
1. Carrie
CARRIE
The first thing Carrie Ware noticed about Sunset Keys was how the air smelled like salt and hibiscus.
It drifted through the partially open window as she drove the final stretch of road and was the kind of air that seemed determined to coax the tension from her shoulders.
But no matter how she tried, the knot in her chest refused to let go.
The houses along the narrow lane looked like something out of a postcard, painted in cheerful pastel shades with wide porches that seemed made for evenings spent with a cold drink in hand.
Bougainvillea spilled over white fences, and palm fronds swayed lazily in the late afternoon breeze.
The island rhythm pulsed all around Carrie, and she wondered if it was possible to feel out of place somewhere so welcoming.
Carrie glanced at the back seat, where her ten-year-old granddaughter, Maggie, dozed, and it warmed her heart.
At first, she didn’t think it would be a good idea to bring Maggie with her because of the long drive from Nantucket to Florida.
But Maggie had turned out to be stimulating company and kept her mind from wandering to morbid thoughts.
She turned into the gravel drive of her lifelong best friend, Lori Carlton’s house, and cut the engine.
The car quieted, leaving only the ocean’s distant murmur and the rustle of leaves.
For a long moment, she sat gripping the wheel, letting the silence press against her.
She told herself this was what she needed: distance, stillness, a chance to remember who she was outside the uniform.
But the quiet pressed too heavily, and the memory of her ex-husband’s engagement announcement slipped through the cracks.
She forced it away, reaching for her purse instead, and turned to the backseat.
“Maggie, sweetheart, wake up. We’re here,” Carrie said to the young girl, coaxing her awake. “Let’s go take a look at where we’re spending the summer.”
Maggie opened her eyes, blinked two or three times, then stretched in the exaggerated, feline way only a twelve-year-old could get away with. “We’re in Florida?” she said, her voice still gummy with sleep.
“Yes, we are.” Carrie smiled and pushed open the car door, stretching out her cramped limbs and aching back. The simple act sent a sharp reminder through her side, the old wound pulling tight after so many hours behind the wheel.
Her blouse tugged faintly where the scar ran across her ribs, the reminder of her healing injury as sharp as ever.
It had been months since the shooting, and still her body spoke the language of pain whenever she moved the wrong way.
She leaned on the car door for a few seconds, determined not to let the ache undo her.
The sticky warmth of the air was heavy with the scent of the sea and drenched by the warmth of the sun.
Carrie popped the trunk, pulling out her bag while Maggie wrestled her own suitcase and tote bag free.
Together, they slung straps over their shoulders and gathered handles in tired hands, the weight awkward after so many hours of travel with only a brief three-hour stop along the way.
Carrie and Maggie carried their luggage toward the porch, oblivious to the beauty of the scenery around them as they walked from the driveway to the front of the house.
She stopped at the base of the stairs and looked up.
The house looked every bit the coastal retreat Lori had promised.
Shutters painted a soft teal, the porch lined with wicker chairs, the faint scent of Trevor Carlton’s favorite jasmine plant curling through the garden beds.
Trevor, Lori’s late husband, had been gone two years, but his presence still lingered in the small details.
Carrie felt a pang of sympathy for Lori, who had filled this house with love and laughter, then had to learn how to live in its silence.
Feeling the exhaustion set in, Carrie climbed the stairs with a sluggish Maggie trailing behind her.
She found the keys where Lori said they would be, beneath the cushion of the old swing seat that sat beside the front door.
The thought of a fresh cup of coffee, a shower, and maybe a nap pushed her tired body forward.
Inside, the house opened up in a rush of brightness and warm welcome.
Lori had kept it simple but tasteful—pale wooden floors bleached by the sun, walls softened in sandy tones, and wide windows that let the ocean light spill through.
The living room carried the faintest scent of lavender polish, with a row of family photographs still lined up neatly on the mantel.
Shells and bits of driftwood sat artfully in a bowl by the entry.
Maggie dropped her bag and darted from room to room, calling out discoveries: a reading nook tucked by the window, the quilt folded at the foot of the bed in the guest room, the balcony that looked straight out to the cove, which Carrie felt was aptly named, Lost Love Cove.
She followed more slowly, steadying herself against the ache in her side, but was already starting to feel something loosen in her chest. Lori's house welcomed her like an old friend, offering shelter from a storm.
By the time they each chose their rooms, Maggie claimed the smaller one with a view of the beach, while Carrie settled into the master with its wide windows and sheer curtains that fluttered in the breeze; nearly an hour had slipped away.
Carrie unpacked, quietly admiring the view and peace from her room, and stored her bags away before wandering back to the kitchen.
She made a light snack, something to tide them over until she figured out groceries, while Maggie, fully awake now, explored again with the restless curiosity only a child could sustain after such a long trip.
Carrie was setting fruit on a plate when a sound cut through the stillness, the low crunch of tires on gravel. She froze, glancing toward the front.
“Someone’s here,” Maggie said, already bounding toward the window.
They stepped onto the porch just as a car pulled into the drive. The sight of a young woman climbing out made Maggie’s eyes widen.
“It must be the dog sitter!” Maggie cried, excitement spilling from her in waves.
They were barely out the door when the woman pushed open the gate, waving with a cheerful smile.
Her arm was shaking as she held the leash, which was being tugged forcefully in her hand.
As soon as the excited dog straining against the leash saw Maggie, the dog sitter gave up and let go, and thundering paws hit the ground in a sprint.
Luna, Lori’s Dalmatian, burst through the open gate in a flash of white and black spots, her tail wagging furiously as the dog bolted forward, ears flying, as she closed the distance between herself and Maggie.
Maggie squealed and dropped to her knees without hesitation. “Luna!” she cried, delighted.
The Dalmatian skidded to a halt, then pressed her spotted head against Maggie’s chest with a whine of pure delight.
Maggie wrapped her arms around Luna’s neck, laughing as the dog showered her with sloppy kisses.
Carrie stood back, watching as Maggie dissolved into giggles while Luna wriggled and bounced around her. For the first time since their long journey, Maggie’s weariness lifted completely, replaced by a light that made Carrie’s chest loosen.
Carrie crouched behind Maggie and reached over to greet Luna with a scratch behind her ears. A wet lick brushed across her hand, and she let out a quiet laugh. “She's glad to see you,” Carrie said, straightening up as her knees started to protest. “Why don’t you go get her food and water?”
Carrie chuckled as she watched her granddaughter spring into motion, dashing off with Luna at her side to do as her grandmother asked.
“Thank you for bringing Luna home,” Carrie said to the young woman.
“No problem at all.” The easy smile lit the woman’s blue eyes. “I’m Pam, by the way.”
“Oh, sorry, Pam, I’m half asleep,” Carrie apologized for her rudeness. “I’m Carrie, and that young lady bounding off with Luna is Maggie, my granddaughter.”
“It’s nice to meet you both,” Pam said. “Lori explained that you’re here for the summer.”
“That’s right,” Carrie said, smiling back.
“Well, if you need me, my number is on a post-it on the refrigerator,” Pam told Carrie. “I’m also the local vet, should you need me.”
“Thank you, Pam.” Carrie walked the young woman back through the gate and watched her drive off.
Carrie turned to admire the cove glistening before her, taking a deep breath of the salty air and enjoying the peace that was settling over her.
A smile tugged at her lips as the laughter from inside the house carried across the lawn, light and untroubled, but almost immediately the joyous sound and quiet were swallowed by a harsh, mechanical growl.
Carrie stiffened. The unmistakable bite of a power saw split the calm, followed by steady hammering. The peaceful hush of the neighborhood was shattered in an instant.
She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, her fists curling at her sides.
Of course. The universe had handed her a postcard-perfect cove and then parked a construction site right next door.
The steady thud of a hammer carried across the yard, too precise to be casual, too insistent to ignore.
Carrie turned and walked toward the noise, her sandals crunching against gravel until she reached the property line.
The house next door was being renovated, its shutters had been removed, the paint stripped, and lumber stacked across the porch.
A man stood among it all, broad-shouldered, shirt damp with sweat, focus trained on the plank balanced across his sawhorses.
His movements were steady, methodical, confident in the way of someone who’d been doing this work for years.
Carrie caught herself staring longer than she meant to.
He looked like he belonged on the cover of some glossy “island handyman” calendar, all grit and muscle that strained as he worked.
The man didn’t look up until the weight of her glare pulled his attention.
Hazel eyes met hers, startlingly direct, as if he had been expecting her to appear at any moment.
The contact sent an unexpected jolt through her, causing heat to prick at the back of her neck.
Without a word, Carrie raised her chin, making sure he knew she was irritated by the noise, before she broke the stare and turned on her heel and strode back inside with her head held high, determined to put a wall between herself and whatever that look had stirred.
By the time the last of the supper dishes were stacked and Maggie was tucked into bed, the steady rhythm of hammering still carried across the darkened yard.
Carrie pulled her robe tighter, fatigue weighing on every step as she stepped out onto the porch.
The night air was thick with salt and the hum of cicadas, but it was all drowned out by the ceaseless strike of wood and nail and some high-pitched sawing machine.
Carrie knew she should step back inside and close all the windows, but she craved the calm, quiet, and to be lulled to sleep by the distant whoosh of the sea.
She’d also had a long drive with hardly any sleep in between, and her temples were starting to pound, made worse by the construction noise next door, which sparked her irritation.
Pulling her robe tightly around her, Carrie stormed toward the wall that separated the houses, where she found the man lining up a board with a saw.
“Excuse me!” Carrie called over the wall. “Are you planning on stopping anytime soon?” Her voice was sharper than she meant it to be. “You know it is eight pm?”
When the man straightened and glanced her way, she pressed on, lowering her tone but not her edge. “Look, I can see you have a lot of work to do, but I’ve just come off more than a full day’s drive. Could you at least stop for just tonight?”
The man’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned against the sawhorse, wiping his brow with the back of his arm, his expression unreadable before he drawled, “Lori told me no one would be in her house until Friday.”
“I left a few days early,” Carrie bristled at having to explain herself to a stranger. “Lori didn’t mention that her neighbor was renovating his house.”
“I need to finish the porch before morning,” the man told her. “I shouldn’t be much longer.”
“How much longer?” Carrie persisted. “I need to get some sleep.”
The man stared at her for a long moment, his eyes narrow as if trying to see right through her. “Half an hour?”
Carrie’s jaw tightened, her irritation mixing with fatigue and making her want to demand he stop right then and there.
But the law was on his side, and he was not technically breaking any rules yet.
So she nodded and, without another word, spun around and walked back into the house, ignoring his words that floated over to her.
“Have a good rest,” he called after her. “But fair warning, I’ll be starting renovations at eight tomorrow morning.”
Carrie took a deep breath and closed the front door behind her, deciding to make herself some camomile tea before attempting to get some sleep through all the racket coming from next door.
At eight-thirty on the dot, the hammering next door had stopped, and the cove settled into a hushed silence, leaving only the sound of the waves brushing the shore.
Inside, Carrie breathed a sigh of relief, finally slipping beneath the covers and settling in against the soft pillows.
It was going to be a long summer if that man next door was going to be continuing that racket.
Tomorrow, when she wasn’t so tired and could think straight, Carrie was going to have a word with her neighbor, laying down some ground rules about being a decent neighbor and not jackhammering people’s ears off before dawn and spoiling their planned peaceful summer vacation.