Chapter 3
Chapter Three
C harlotte pushed open the door of Palmar Island Hardware and Feed, a brass bell jingling overhead. The warmth inside was a welcome relief from the January chill. The store smelled of fresh-cut lumber, rope, and that indefinable scent that all hardware stores seemed to share. Milo trotted in behind her, his nails clicking against the worn wooden floors.
Old-fashioned displays lined the aisles. There were galvanized buckets filled with nails, coils of rope hanging from hooks, and the shelves were stocked with everything from work gloves to water filters. The building itself was a testament to the island's history, with its exposed brick walls and pressed tin ceiling. Charlotte made a mental note to ask about photographing the interior for her book.
"Well, if it isn't our newest resident and her shadow." Kenny Brown looked up from where he was restocking shelves, his weathered face creasing into a smile. He set down a box of brass fittings and dusted off his hands. "What can I help you find today?"
"Some basic supplies." Charlotte pulled out her list, written on the back of one of Grant's business cards. Not that she'd admit to anyone why she'd kept it. "And treats for this one. He's earned them."
"Has he now?" Kenny chuckled, coming around the counter. "That pup used to spend every morning following Grant Lawson around. Now look at him. He traded in sawdust for camera equipment. Smart upgrade, if you ask me."
"Does everyone on this island know everyone else's business?" Charlotte asked with a smile.
"That's half the fun of living here." Kenny winked. "Speaking of Grant, he's working on our exterior brick today. Building's original to 1875, you know. Might be worth a chapter in that fancy book of yours."
"I'd love to photograph it," Charlotte said, watching Milo nose his way along a shelf of garden tools. "This is exactly the kind of place I'm looking for. Somewhere with character." She reached down to scratch Milo's ears. "Milo here has been great company while I explore. Makes the island feel a little less unfamiliar." She ran her fingers along a display of old brass hardware. "Everything here feels like it has a story."
"That's because it does." Kenny pointed her toward the pet supplies. "Treats are down that aisle. Let me know if you need anything else.”
Charlotte was comparing different types of dog biscuits, trying to decide between chicken and beef flavors, when she realized Milo was no longer at her feet. She turned to find the store's front door slightly ajar, the bell still swaying.
"Oh no." She rushed outside, spotting Milo's tail disappearing around the corner. The cold air bit at her cheeks. "Milo! Get back here!"
The dog ignored her, trotting purposefully down the sidewalk. Charlotte hurried after him, her boots echoing against the brick buildings. Ahead, she could see scaffolding set up against the hardware store's exterior wall, and below it, a familiar figure examining the brickwork. Grant was focused intently on his work, carefully removing old mortar with specialized tools she didn't know the names of.
Milo made a beeline for Grant, circling his legs with an enthusiastic bark.
"I'm so sorry," Charlotte called out, slightly out of breath. Her cheeks felt warm despite the cold. "He just took off?—"
Grant was already crouching down to scratch Milo's ears, a broad grin on his face. "Let me guess, he escaped the hardware store?" His toolbelt clinked as he moved, and Charlotte noticed how his hands, rough from work, were surprisingly gentle with the dog.
"He did." Charlotte stared at the two of them. “How’d you know?”
"He used to do it to me all the time. The door doesn’t always close properly and Milo's figured out how to nose it open when that happens." Grant's eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. "He's smarter than he looks."
Charlotte couldn't help but laugh. "So this is a regular thing for him? Should I be jealous he's still coming to find you?"
"Oh yeah. He's got some kind of radar." Grant stood, brushing brick dust from his jeans. The winter sun caught the auburn highlights in his hair. "When I first started seeing him around, he'd show up at whatever building I was working on. Didn't matter if it was clear across the island."
"How long has he been here?"
"Showed up last summer. Started following me around, then decided the whole island needed supervising." Grant leaned against the scaffolding. "Pretty soon he had half the town feeding him. Mary at the diner saves him bacon scraps. Miss Doris started keeping treats in her garden for him. Even old Mr. Peterson, who claims to hate dogs, sneaks him sausage links every now and then."
Charlotte watched as Milo settled contentedly at Grant's feet, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "And apparently he's appointed himself my photography assistant."
"Lucky you." Grant gestured at the brick wall behind him. "Speaking of photography, I'm uncovering some interesting details here. The original mason left his mark in some of these bricks. And there's this small island with a historic lighthouse. A small path heads to what's left of the original lighthouse keeper's cottage. Not many people know about it, but the view's incredible. Might be worth a shot for your book."
"Really?" Charlotte felt a flutter of excitement, both at the prospect of discovering a hidden gem and at the offer itself. She'd been hoping for exactly this kind of local insight. Raising her camera, she took a few shots, moving around to get the detail he he was pointing out.
"I could show you, if you want. I'm heading that way tomorrow afternoon to check on some structural issues with the cottage foundation. It's not stable enough for regular visitors, but I know which areas are safe."
"I'd like that." Charlotte tried to keep her voice casual, though her heart had picked up speed. "What time?"
They made plans to meet at two, and Charlotte turned to head back to the hardware store. "Come on, Milo. You've caused enough trouble for one day."
The dog looked between her and Grant, tail wagging, before finally trotting after her. She could have sworn he looked smug.
"You found him," Kenny said with a wink when she returned to buy the treats. He was writing up her receipt with deliberate slowness. "That dog always seems to know exactly where he's needed."
Charlotte felt her cheeks warm. "He just likes attention."
"If you say so." Kenny's knowing smile suggested he thought otherwise. "You know, Grant usually works through lunch when he's focused on a project. Man could use someone to remind him to take breaks now and then."
"Kenny..." Charlotte warned, but she was smiling as she gathered her purchases.
Back in her car, Charlotte looked at Milo, who was already curled up in the passenger seat. "You're not as subtle as you think you are," she told him, reaching over to ruffle his fur.
Milo just wagged his tail and closed his eyes, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Charlotte sat for a moment, her hand resting on the steering wheel, thinking about the way Grant's eyes had lit up when he talked about the lighthouse keeper's cottage. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.
Charlotte pulled her coat tighter as she approached the harbor. The morning sun sparkled on the water, but did little to ward off the January chill. Grant was already there, helping Milo hop into a small boat tied to the dock.
"Morning," he called out. "Hope you don't mind a short boat ride. Should've mentioned the lighthouse isn't exactly walking distance."
Charlotte paused at the edge of the dock. "We're going out to that island?" She pointed to where the lighthouse stood in silhouette against the bright sky.
"That's the one." Grant held out his hand to help her into the boat. His palm was warm against hers, steady and strong. "Don't worry, the water's calm today."
The boat ride took less than half an hour, but Charlotte found herself stealing glances at Grant as he navigated. He looked completely at home on the water, one hand on the wheel, the other absently scratching Milo's ears. The wind had brought color to his cheeks and ruffled his hair.
When they reached the small island, Grant secured the boat while Charlotte got her first close look at the lighthouse. It rose stark and beautiful against the winter sky, its white paint weathered by decades of salt air and storms.
"The last keeper lived here well into the 1980s," Grant said as they walked up the trail. "Even after they automated the light. Wouldn't leave his wife behind."
"His wife?"
Grant nodded toward a cluster of trees. "She's buried here, along with others who lived on the island. Whole families made their lives here, only going to the mainland for supplies."
They wandered through the small graveyard, reading the worn inscriptions. Charlotte found herself moving closer to Grant as they studied the stones, drawn to the quiet reverence in his voice as he shared the stories.
"Look at these dates," she murmured, crouching to photograph a cluster of small markers. "Three children, all in 1877."
"Probably influenza," Grant said softly. "Living out here, medical help would've been hard to reach in bad weather."
Milo chose that moment to wedge himself between them, nearly knocking Charlotte off balance. Grant caught her elbow, steadying her. His hand lingered a moment longer than necessary.
"Thanks," she said, hoping the cold air explained her flushed cheeks. "Your assistant isn't very subtle, is he?"
"Never has been." Grant's smile made her pulse skip. "Want to see the keeper's cottage next? What's left of it, anyway. Hurricane Hugo took most of it."
They picked their way through the undergrowth to the cottage's foundation. Charlotte noticed how Grant automatically offered his hand at rough patches, and how natural it felt to take it.
"The cottage would've been small," Grant explained, "but sturdy. Had to be out here." He traced a finger along the weathered stone. "See these grooves? That's where the original door frame sat."
Charlotte raised her camera, capturing the way the winter light played across the ruins. When she lowered it, she found Grant watching her with an intensity that made her breath catch.
"You see it too, don't you?" he asked quietly. "The beauty in these old places?"
"I do." She found herself stepping closer. "It's not just about the structures. It's about the lives lived here, the stories?—"
Milo chose that moment to charge into the surf, sending up a spectacular spray of icy water. His happy barking broke the moment, and they both laughed.
"Milo!" Charlotte called. "Get out of there, you crazy dog!"
But Milo had other ideas, shaking himself vigorously and soaking them both. Without hesitation, Grant pulled off his jacket, trying to corral the wet dog.
"Here," Charlotte said, moving to help. She grabbed one end of the jacket while Grant held the other, both of them attempting to wrap it around the squirming dog. Their hands brushed, and Charlotte felt the contact like an electric current through her cold fingers.
The winter air had painted Grant's cheeks red, but his hands were warm when they touched hers. She found herself noticing things she shouldn't. The way his henley pulled across his shoulders as he leaned forward, how the muscles in his forearms flexed as he tried to hold Milo still. His laugh lines deepened when he smiled, and this close, she could see the flecks of gray in his blue eyes.
"Hold still, you mutt," Grant chuckled, his voice carrying that low, rough quality that made Charlotte's stomach flip.
She was acutely aware of how little space separated them as they worked together. Every time Milo moved, they shifted closer. Grant's breath warmed her cheek. If she turned her head just slightly...
Their eyes met over Milo's damp fur. Grant's smile faded into something more intense, and Charlotte forgot about the cold, about the wet dog, about everything except the way he was looking at her. His gaze dropped to her lips for just a moment before meeting her eyes again. A heartbeat later, she wondered if she imagined it.
Charlotte's heart hammered against her ribs. The air between them felt charged, like the moment before a storm breaks. Grant leaned forward slightly, and she found herself swaying toward him.
Milo chose that exact moment to shake again, spraying them both with cold water and effectively shattering the moment.
"He'll be fine," Grant said, his voice still carrying that lower register that made her shiver. And not from the cold. "Dog knows exactly what he's doing."
Charlotte wasn't sure if he meant the swim or the way Milo kept pushing them together, but her pulse was racing and her skin tingled where their hands had touched. She watched as Grant ran a hand through his hair, leaving it charmingly disheveled, and tried to remember that she was here to photograph historic buildings, not daydream about almost-kisses with handsome carpenters.
The sun was high overhead by the time they headed back to the boat. As Grant steered them toward the mainland, he cleared his throat. "There's an old rice plantation about a mile inland. The gardens are still there, winter roses blooming. Might make for good photos, if you're interested."
Charlotte smiled, watching the lighthouse grow smaller behind them. "I'd like that."
Milo, curled up at their feet, thumped his tail against the boat's hull, and Charlotte could have sworn he looked pleased with himself.