Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
G rant sat on his front porch, watching dawn creep over Palmar Island. Steam rose from his coffee mug, disappearing into the February morning. The small craftsman he'd restored himself sat on a quiet street just off Main, close enough to hear the small amount of traffic on clear mornings like this one. Far enough away that the sound of the ocean had a chance to filter through.
He couldn't stop thinking about last night. About the way Charlotte's eyes had lit up when she opened the box, how she'd traced each token with careful fingers. The way she'd tasted like coffee and salt air when he kissed her, and how perfectly she'd fit against him as they watched the sunset.
The porch swing creaked as he shifted, the same swing where he'd spent countless evenings planning restoration projects. Now all his plans seemed to revolve around Charlotte. Places he wanted to show her, stories he wanted to share, moments he hoped they'd build together.
If she stayed.
The sound of tires on gravel pulled him from his thoughts. Miss Doris's Oldsmobile rolled to a stop in front of his house, and the woman herself emerged carrying her usual basket.
"Beautiful morning," she called out, making her way up the path he'd laid himself, brick by brick. "Perfect for sharing some company and these blueberry muffins I pulled out of the oven."
Grant smiled, standing to help her up the porch steps. "You just happened to bake them?"
"Well." Miss Doris settled into the porch chair he kept just for her, smoothing her skirt. "I might have had a feeling you'd need breakfast this morning. Seeing as how you were otherwise occupied yesterday afternoon."
Heat crept up Grant's neck. "News travels fast."
"Small island." She pulled a cloth off the basket, revealing muffins that still steamed slightly. "Though I didn't need the gossip to know you were planning something special. You've been distracted for days, working on that secret project in your workshop."
Grant took a muffin, remembering how carefully he'd polished each brass token, how many times he'd revised the messages before engraving them. "It wasn't anything fancy. A small gift."
"Mm-hmm." Miss Doris's steel gray eyes studied him over the rim of the coffee mug he'd brought her. "And did this 'small gift' have anything to do with why your truck was parked at Miller's Cove until well after sunset?"
"You checking up on me?"
"Someone has to." She patted his hand. "Now, tell me honestly. How did our Charlotte like her Valentine's present?"
Our Charlotte. The words made his heart twist pleasantly. "She liked it. We talked about her staying. Maybe."
"Maybe?" Miss Doris's eyebrow arched. "Grant Lawson, that girl looks at you like you hung the moon. And I've seen how you watch her when you think no one's looking."
"It's not that simple." Grant stood, walking to the porch railing. Below, the garden he'd never quite gotten around to maintaining was showing the first hints of spring. "She has a whole life, a career. I can't ask her to give that up."
"Did she say that's what it would mean?"
"No, but?—"
"Then maybe you should let her decide what she's willing to give up. Or change." Miss Doris rose, gathering her basket. "You know, when my husband first asked me to marry him, my mama thought I was crazy to consider it. Said I'd be giving up my whole future."
Grant turned to look at her. In forty years of knowing Miss Doris, he'd never heard this story.
"But you did it anyway?"
"Best decision I ever made." She smiled, the morning sun catching her silver curls. "Sometimes the future you're afraid of losing isn't half as precious as the one you're afraid to choose."
She patted his cheek as she passed. "Think about it, dear. And tell Charlotte those winter roses she photographed at Indigo Bluff? They're nothing compared to what my garden will look like come spring. In case she's wondering about the changing seasons here."
Grant watched Miss Doris's car disappear around the corner, her words echoing in his mind. The harbor bells rang in the distance, marking the hour. Another work day was starting. He had doors to restore, buildings to save.
But for the first time in his life, preserving the past didn't feel like enough. He wanted to build something new. Something with Charlotte.
He looked down at his coffee, now gone cold, and made himself face a cold, hard truth. He was in love with her. Completely, terrifyingly in love. And whether she stayed or went, that fact wouldn't change.
The morning sun climbed higher, warming the old wooden boards beneath his feet. Somewhere on the island, Charlotte was probably already up, camera in hand, finding beauty in things he'd seen a thousand times before. Making his home feel new again, just by being in it.
Grant stood, ready to start his day. Whatever Charlotte decided, he'd support her. But Miss Doris was right. He had to let her make that choice herself.
Even if waiting for her answer felt like holding his breath underwater, hoping the surface wasn't too far away.
Grant was working on the Thompson house doors when he heard the crunch of tires on gravel for the second time today. His hands stilled on the sandpaper as Milo's familiar bark echoed through the workshop. Charlotte's car door slammed, and Grant's heart kicked against his ribs.
Through the open workshop door, he watched her approach. She wore jeans and that blue sweater he loved, her camera bag slung over one shoulder. But it was the look in her eyes that made him set down his tools. It was a mixture of determination and something else he couldn't quite read.
"Hey," she said, hovering in the doorway. Afternoon sun streamed around her, catching gold highlights in her dark hair.
"Hey." He wiped his hands on a rag, buying time. "Didn't expect to see you today."
"I've been thinking." She stepped into the workshop, Milo trotting behind her. The dog immediately went to his usual spot near Grant's workbench, clearly at home among the sawdust and wood shavings.
"Sounds serious." Grant tried for a light tone, but his voice came out rough.
Charlotte set her camera bag on his work table, careful to avoid the scattered tools and brass fittings. "I had a meeting this morning with Evelyn Sutton."
Grant's stomach clenched. This was it. She was going to tell him about her next assignment, her next destination. He leaned back against his workbench, trying to prepare himself.
"She introduced me to someone from the historical society," Charlotte continued. She was fidgeting with her camera strap, a habit he'd noticed when she was nervous. "They're looking for someone to document the island's restoration projects. Create a permanent record of the work being done here."
Grant's breath caught. "Charlotte?—"
"Let me finish?" She stepped closer, close enough that he caught the scent of her shampoo mixing with the workshop's familiar smells of wood and varnish. "I've spent so many years chasing the next project, the next story. Always searching for something I couldn't quite name." Her voice softened. "But then I came here, and you showed me all these beautiful old places. You taught me how to see the stories in every brick, every carved detail."
She reached for his hand, her fingers sliding between his. "And somewhere between that first morning at the Carroway Building and last night at the cove, I realized something. I wasn't just photographing a place anymore. I was finding my way home."
Grant's heart thundered in his chest. "Are you saying?—"
"I'm staying." She smiled, and his whole world brightened. "The historical society job is perfect. I can still travel sometimes for other projects, but Palmar will be my base. My home." She squeezed his hand. "If that's okay with you."
Instead of answering, Grant pulled her closer. His hands found her waist as hers slid up his chest. When he kissed her, he tried to pour everything he was feeling into it. His joy, his relief, his love. Charlotte made a soft sound against his mouth and pressed closer.
A wet nose nudged their joined hands, followed by an impatient whine.
"I think someone approves," Charlotte laughed against Grant's lips.
"Smart dog." Grant kept one arm around her waist as he reached down to scratch Milo's ears. "Knew you belonged here before any of us did."
They sat on the workshop's small porch, Charlotte tucked against Grant's side while Milo dozed at their feet. The afternoon light painted everything golden, and the air was warm despite the February chill.
"I can't promise I'll never want to travel," Charlotte said softly. "There are still stories out there I want to capture."
Grant pressed a kiss to her temple. "I wouldn't want you to give that up. But now you'll have somewhere to come back to. Someone to come home to."
She turned to look at him, her eyes bright. "I like the sound of that."
As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the workshop floor, Grant thought about all the moments that had led them here. The careful restoration of old buildings parallel to the careful building of something new between them. How sometimes the most beautiful things were created slowly, with patience and dedication and love.
"What are you thinking about?" Charlotte asked, noticing his smile.
Grant pulled her closer. "About how some projects turn out even better than you planned."
She laughed and kissed him, and Grant knew that whatever they built together would be his finest restoration yet—not of an old building, but of two hearts finding their way home.
Milo's tail thumped against the porch boards in agreement.