Chapter 6
Chapter Six
G rant stood at his workbench, studying the pair of mahogany doors he'd brought in from the Thompson house. They'd survived a century of coastal winters, and with some careful restoration, they'd survive a hundred more. He ran his hand along the decorative panels, feeling for rough spots in the wood.
Usually, this kind of detail work absorbed him completely. But today, his thoughts kept drifting to Charlotte. To the way she'd looked in the fading light at Indigo Bluff, how her eyes had widened when he'd mentioned the Sweetheart candy message.
"Focus, Lawson," he muttered, reaching for his sandpaper. The doors weren't going to restore themselves.
Mid-morning sun streamed through the workshop windows, catching dust motes in its beam. The familiar scents of wood shavings and varnish filled the air, along with coffee from the mug on his bench. It was his third of the day. He'd been here since seven, though he'd accomplished less than he'd like to admit.
His eyes kept straying to the brass sheet metal in the corner of his workshop. He'd bought it months ago for another project, but now... Setting down his sandpaper, Grant walked over and picked up the metal, testing its weight. Perfect for what he had in mind.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he grabbed his sketchbook and a pencil. The design came quickly. A simple wooden box with brass hinges, sized to hold tokens cut from the sheet metal. Each token would be a heart, small enough to fit in a palm, engraved with messages that said everything he wasn't sure how to say out loud.
"Found My Home" would be the first one, of course. Grant sketched it quickly, adding details for the engraving. Then "Stay Awhile," because he liked the way it could mean both the island and him. "Be Brave.” That one made him smile, remembering how she'd followed Milo into all sorts of adventures.
He was halfway through sketching "True North" when he realized what he was doing. Planning a Valentine's gift for a woman who'd made her career out of never staying in one place.
Grant set down his pencil and walked to the workshop door, pushing it open to let in some fresh air. The breeze carried the salt smell of the ocean, and he could hear the distant sound of boats in the harbor. Everything that had always meant home to him.
But now home meant something else too. It meant the way Charlotte's face lit up when she captured the perfect shot. The sound of her laugh when Milo got into trouble. The quiet moments when she really listened to the island's stories, understanding their worth.
"You're in deep, aren't you?" he said to himself, but he was already walking back to his workbench. He pulled out his tools and began measuring the brass, marking where he'd cut the first token.
The morning passed in a blur of careful cuts and precise measurements. By lunch, he had the first token cut and polished, ready for engraving. Grant held it up to the light, the brass catching the sun like a promise.
A scratch at the door made him look up, half-expecting to see Milo. But the workshop remained empty except for him and his projects. There were the doors he should be working on, and the gift he couldn't stop himself from making.
Grant set the heart-shaped token down beside his coffee mug and picked up his sandpaper again. The doors needed his attention, and he had restoration work to complete. But he knew he'd be back at his bench later, cutting more tokens, carefully engraving each message.
Maybe these small pieces of metal could tell Charlotte what he wasn't ready to say. That she'd found more than just a story on Palmar Island. That she'd found him.
Grant walked along the beach, hands tucked into his jacket pockets against the February wind. He'd left the brass tokens cooling on his workbench, needing to clear his head before he started the engraving. The afternoon sun hung low over the water, and the beach was nearly empty. Only a few locals were walking their dogs and then he spotted her. Charlotte.
She stood near the water's edge, camera raised to capture something in the distance. Milo darted back and forth, chasing seagulls and leaving paw prints in the wet sand. Before Grant could decide whether to turn back, Milo spotted him and came bounding over, tail wagging.
Charlotte lowered her camera and turned, a smile spreading across her face. "Hey, stranger."
"Hey." He fell into step beside her as she started walking again. "Getting some shots of the sunset?"
"Among other things." She gestured to where Milo was now digging enthusiastically in the sand. "He's been my main subject today. Though he's not very good at staying still."
Grant laughed. "Never has been. Even as a stray, he was always moving, always exploring."
They walked in comfortable silence for a while, their shoulders occasionally brushing. The wind had brought color to Charlotte's cheeks, and loose strands of hair escaped her ponytail to dance around her face. Grant fought the urge to brush them back.
"I love it here this time of day," Charlotte said softly. "Everything feels quieter somehow. More real."
"The tourists haven't discovered our winter beaches yet." Grant watched a pelican dive into the waves. "Locals joke that February is when we get the island back to ourselves."
"I can see why you never left." Charlotte stopped to adjust her camera strap, then fell back in step with him. "Every day I find something new to love about this place."
Grant's heart skipped at her words. "Yeah?"
"Mm-hmm." She was quiet for a moment, watching Milo chase the foam at the water's edge. "The community, mostly. The way everyone knows everyone else's story. How Miss Doris brings you lunch, and Mary saves bacon for Milo, and Kenny at the hardware store treats every customer like family."
"And here I thought it was just our historic architecture that caught your eye."
Charlotte laughed, the sound carrying on the wind. "Well, that too. Especially when it comes with such a knowledgeable tour guide." She bumped her shoulder against his. "Your passion for this place is contagious. The way you tell the stories, how much you care about preserving everything. Not just the buildings, but the memories they hold."
Grant felt warmth spread through his chest despite the cold air. "The island's lucky to have you capturing it. You see things others miss."
"Maybe I'm seeing it through your eyes." The words seemed to surprise her as much as him, and she quickly added, "Though Milo probably deserves most of the credit for helping me explore."
"Smart dog." Grant watched as Milo trotted back to them, dropping a piece of driftwood at their feet. "He knew you belonged here before any of us did."
Charlotte's steps faltered slightly. "I've been thinking about that, actually. Belonging somewhere."
Grant's pulse quickened, but he kept his voice casual. "Oh?"
"It's strange." She picked up the driftwood and tossed it for Milo. "I've spent so many years moving from place to place, always looking for the next story to tell. But lately..." She trailed off, watching Milo bound after the stick.
"Lately?" Grant prompted softly.
"I don't feel that pull anymore. To keep moving." She wrapped her arms around herself against a gust of wind. "For the first time in years, I feel still."
Without thinking, Grant shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. She looked up at him, surprise flickering in her eyes.
"You'll freeze," she protested, but made no move to return it.
"I'm fine." His hands lingered on her shoulders a moment longer than necessary. "So, what's next for you? After the book is finished?"
Charlotte pulled his jacket closer around her. It was too big for her, making her look smaller, more vulnerable. "I don't know. That's what's strange. I always know what's next. Always have a plan, another project lined up." She gave a small laugh. "But now? I keep thinking about that message you mentioned. 'Found My Home.'"
Grant's heart thundered in his chest. He thought of the brass tokens waiting in his workshop, of all the things he wanted to say but couldn't find the words for.
They had reached a cluster of weathered pilings, remnants of an old pier. Charlotte leaned against one, and Grant stood close enough that their shoulders touched, sharing warmth against the growing chill. Milo flopped down at their feet, apparently worn out from his beach adventures.
The sun was setting in earnest now, painting the sky in deep oranges and purples. Out on the water, a shrimp boat headed home, its running lights just visible in the gathering dusk.
"Whatever you decide," Grant said carefully, "the island would be lucky to keep you."
Charlotte turned to look at him, and for a moment, Grant thought about closing the small distance between them, about finally showing her exactly what he felt. But before he could move, Milo jumped up, shaking sand everywhere and making them both laugh.
"I should head back," Charlotte said, reluctantly shrugging off his jacket. "I've got some photos to edit before tomorrow."
"Right." Grant took his jacket, trying not to notice how it smelled like her now—like salt air and something floral. "Thanks for the company."
"Thanks for the jacket." She smiled, then surprised him by rising on her toes to kiss his cheek. "See you around, Grant."
He watched her walk back up the beach, Milo trotting at her heels, until they disappeared around the bend toward the parking lot. The spot where her lips had touched his cheek tingled in the cold air.