Chapter 5
Chapter Five
C harlotte pulled up to Indigo Bluff Plantation, where Grant's truck was already parked beneath a canopy of bare oak branches. The January sun hung low in the afternoon sky, casting long shadows across the grounds. Milo's tail thumped against the passenger seat as he spotted Grant leaning against his truck.
From this elevation, she could see why they'd chosen this spot for the main house. The bluff overlooked acres of dormant rice fields that stretched to the water's edge, the geometric patterns of the old irrigation systems still visible in the winter light.
She grabbed her camera bag, and Milo bounded out ahead of her, making a beeline for Grant. The plantation house rose behind him. It was a grand antebellum structure with white columns and wrap-around porches that took full advantage of the elevated view.
"Perfect timing," Grant said as she approached. "Light's just right."
He'd dressed up a bit, she noticed. Dark jeans instead of his usual work pants, and a blue sweater that made his eyes look even deeper. Not that she was paying attention to such things.
"This is incredible," she breathed, taking in the scope of the property. Even in winter, it held a haunting beauty. The bare trees were draped with Spanish moss, their branches creating intricate patterns against the pale sky.
"The original owners grew both rice and indigo here," Grant explained as they started up the main drive. "That's how it got its name. They used the bluff for indigo processing, and the lower grounds for rice cultivation. The elevation helped protect the house during storm surges."
"Smart planning."
"Wait till you see the gardens." Grant gestured for her to follow. "The winter roses are blooming early this year. They're not original to Indigo Bluff, but they were planted in the 1920s when the Murray family restored the property."
They walked along a brick path, their shoulders occasionally brushing. Grant's voice took on that tone she'd come to recognize. The one that meant he was sharing something he truly cared about.
"This was one of the largest rice plantations in the area," he explained. "The family who built it... well, it's a complicated history. Beauty and struggle all wrapped up together. We've tried to preserve it in a way that honors all the stories, not just the pretty ones."
Charlotte nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. She raised her camera, capturing the way shadow and light played across the weathered columns of the main house.
"Here," Grant said softly, stepping close behind her. His hand brushed her elbow, gently adjusting her position. "If you shoot from this angle, you'll catch the reflection in the pond."
Charlotte's breath caught at his proximity, but she managed to focus enough to take the shot. The image in her viewfinder was stunning. Indigo Bluff's facade reflected perfectly in the still water, framed by winter-bare branches.
"Perfect," he murmured, still standing close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.
A sudden commotion made them both turn. Milo had caught sight of a deer at the edge of the garden and had managed to tangle himself thoroughly in the strap of Charlotte’s camera bag, which she'd temporarily set down to get the reflection shot. The bag tipped precariously as he pulled against the strap.
"Milo, no!" Charlotte lunged for her equipment, but Grant was faster. He caught the bag with one hand and Milo's collar with the other, somehow keeping both the expensive camera gear and the excitable dog from disaster. The movement brought them chest to chest, Charlotte's hands landing on Grant's forearms as she helped stabilize her gear.
"Nice catch," she breathed, suddenly very aware of how close they were standing. Grant's hands were warm and steady under hers.
"Just doing my part to protect the valuable equipment." His voice had dropped lower, and his eyes seemed to linger on her face before he looked down at Milo. "Both the camera and our four-legged troublemaker."
"At least he's consistent with his timing," Charlotte said, reluctantly stepping back to untangle her camera strap from around Milo's legs.
"You noticed that too?" Grant's eyes met hers, and something in his expression made her heart skip.
They ended up sitting on an old wooden bench while Milo caught his breath. The dog sprawled at their feet in a patch of winter sunlight. Charlotte traced her fingers over initials carved into the bench's arm.
"J.L. plus M.H.," she read. "1943."
"My grandparents," Grant said quietly. "They used to walk the grounds of Indigo Bluff every Sunday after church. Grandmother always said it was the most peaceful place on the island."
Charlotte turned to look at him, struck by how deep his connections to this place ran. "That must be nice," she said. "Having so much history in one place."
"Sometimes I wonder if I'm too rooted here." He was staring out at the water, his profile strong against the afternoon light. "Never really left, never saw the world the way you have."
"The world's overrated," Charlotte found herself saying. "All these years of traveling, and I'm still looking for something that feels like..." She trailed off, not sure how to finish the thought.
"Like home?" Grant suggested softly.
She nodded, suddenly very aware of how close they were sitting, how easy it would be to lean into him.
"You know," Grant said, his voice low, "sometimes home isn't about where you've always been. Sometimes it's about where you finally stop running."
Charlotte turned to look at him, her heart pounding. His eyes held hers, and she watched as his gaze dropped to her lips. The air between them felt charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.
A cold, wet nose pressed between them as Milo decided he was ready for attention again.
Charlotte laughed shakily, running her fingers through the dog's damp fur. "Your timing is something else," she told him, but she couldn't quite meet Grant's eyes.
As the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across Indigo Bluff's grounds, Grant pulled a silver thermos from his truck. "Coffee break?" He produced two ceramic mugs from a small canvas bag. "Thought you might need warming up."
"You thought ahead." Charlotte followed him to a massive live oak, its bare branches creating a natural canopy above them. Someone had placed the old wooden bench beneath it years ago, the weathered seat smooth from countless visitors.
Milo flopped down at their feet, apparently worn out from his earlier excitement with Charlotte's camera gear. The evening air had grown colder, and Charlotte found herself sitting closer to Grant than she'd planned as he poured the coffee.
"Thanks." She wrapped her hands around the warm mug. "Perfect timing, actually. My fingers were starting to freeze."
"Hazard of the job?" He settled back against the bench, his arm brushing hers.
"Photography in winter? Definitely." She took a sip, pleasantly surprised by the rich taste. "This is good."
"Mitch’s special blend. He guards that recipe like a state secret."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the sun paint the sky in shades of pink and gold. A cool breeze rustled through the oak branches, and Charlotte instinctively leaned closer to Grant's warmth.
"Town's getting decorated for Valentine's Day," Grant said casually. "Miss Doris is already planning a get-together."
Charlotte groaned. "Don't remind me. Most commercial holiday of the year."
"Not a fan?"
"It's ... I don't know. All the forced romance and pink hearts everywhere." She stared into her coffee. "Though I did love those little candy hearts when I was a kid. You know, the ones with messages on them?"
Grant turned toward her, interest sparking in his eyes. "Sweethearts?"
"Mm-hmm." Charlotte smiled at the memory. "I used to sort them by color and save my favorites. My dad would bring me a box every year." She laughed softly. "I was probably the only kid who got excited about chalk-flavored candy."
"What was your favorite message?"
"'Be Mine' was classic. But I liked the weird ones better. 'You Rock' or 'Far Out.’ They were like tiny conversations in a box." She glanced at him. "Did you ever have them?"
"Sometimes." His voice had gone soft, thoughtful. "If I could design one for you, I know what it would say."
Charlotte's heart skipped. "Oh?"
"'Found My Home.'" He said it simply, his eyes meeting hers in the fading light.
The words hung between them, weighted with meaning she wasn't sure she was ready to examine. "Because of the book project?" she managed.
"Maybe." But his tone suggested otherwise. "You see this place the way I do. Not just the buildings or the history, but the heart of it."
Charlotte became acutely aware of every point of contact between them. The way their shoulders and arms touched, the way his knee had come to rest against hers. The evening had grown darker, the first stars appearing above the oak's branches.
"Grant, I?—"
Milo chose that moment to sit up and rest his head on Grant's knee, looking between them with what Charlotte could have sworn was exasperation.
Grant laughed, breaking the tension. "I think someone's ready to head home."
They gathered their things in the growing darkness, Grant's flashlight beam creating pools of light on the path back to their cars. Charlotte felt oddly unsettled, like something important had shifted but she couldn't quite name it.
At her car, Milo already settled in the passenger seat, Grant handed her the thermos. "Keep it. In case your fingers get cold tomorrow."
"But it's yours."
"I've got others." He stepped back, hands in his pockets. "Drive safe, Charlotte."
She watched his truck's taillights disappear down the plantation's drive, the words "Found My Home" echoing in her mind. Next to her, Milo let out a small whine.
"I know," she told him. "I know."
On the drive home, Charlotte realized she'd taken dozens of photos but couldn't remember half of what she'd shot. All she could think about was the warmth of Grant's shoulder against hers, the way his voice had softened when he talked about home, and how many times she'd caught him looking at her when he thought she was focused on her camera.
Milo dozed in the passenger seat, still slightly damp and smelling of pond water. "You're not very subtle," she told him. "But maybe that's not such a bad thing."
Through her rearview mirror, she could see Indigo Bluff growing smaller, its windows catching the last light of day.