Chapter 8
T he next morning after breakfast, Darlene wiped down the counter, the scent of maple syrup and coffee still lingering in the kitchen. Felicity loaded the dishwasher, humming softly under her breath. It was comforting to have her company even if they mostly worked silently side by side.
“I think that’s everything from breakfast.” Felicity closed the dishwasher and turned it on. “What are you packing for your picnic with Mr. Donovan?”
“Just a few sandwiches and some fruit.” She placed the items in a wicker basket. “I don’t want to make a fuss.”
“Gran, it’s okay to enjoy yourself.” Felicity smiled. “You deserve a break.”
“I know, but running the B&B is a full-time job.”
“And I’m here to help.” Felicity squeezed her grandmother’s hand. “Go, have fun. Explore the island with Mr. Donovan.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Thank you, dear.”
Just then, Mark popped his head into the kitchen. “Good morning, Darlene. Felicity.”
“Good morning, Mark.” She finished packing the basket, tucking in a small container of cookies and a thermos of lemonade.
Felicity dried her hands on a towel. “Perfect timing, Mr. Donovan. Gran was just finishing up your picnic lunch.”
“Please, call me Mark.” He smiled. “And thank you, Darlene. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
“It’s no trouble at all.” She picked up the basket.
“Gran, go.” Felicity made a shooing motion with her hands. “I’ll finish up here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.” Felicity grinned. “Now, you two have a wonderful time.”
She glanced at Mark, who offered her a reassuring smile. She untied her apron and hung it on the hook by the door.
“Shall we?” Mark gestured toward the door.
Darlene nodded, feeling a flutter of— what? — in her chest. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken a day for herself. As they walked out of the kitchen, she glanced back at Felicity, who waved encouragingly.
The door creaked open, and she blinked against the bright morning sunlight.
He held the screen door for her, his tall frame casting a shadow across the porch steps.
She paused to breathe in the fresh coastal air, letting it calm her unexpected nerves.
The familiar weight of the picnic basket grounded her as Mark led the way to where his car sat in the gravel driveway.
His rental car gleamed in the morning sun, its silver paint job reflecting the cloudless sky above.
A pair of cardinals darted past, red feathers bright against the green hedges bordering the driveway.
“Beautiful morning for a drive,” he commented, opening the car door for her with an old-fashioned courtesy that made her smile despite herself. The gesture reminded her of gentler times, when such manners were commonplace rather than remarkable.
“I’m really looking forward to this day trip. I appreciate you taking the time to show me around,” he said, his voice carrying a note of enthusiasm that made her earlier hesitation begin to fade. His genuine warmth helped ease the strange tension in her shoulders.
Darlene slid into the passenger seat of his car, and he placed the wicker picnic basket and the beach blanket she’d grabbed in the back seat.
As they drove toward the boardwalk, a comfortable silence settled between them, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine and the distant cry of seagulls.
The morning sun sparkled on the water, and a light breeze carried the scent of salt and seagrass through her open window.
He parked the car, and they got out. “The trailhead starts just past those trees,” she said, pointing to a wooden archway. “It’s an easy walk, perfect for spotting wildlife.”
They followed the sandy path, walking in comfortable silence. The air was filled with the gentle rustling of palm fronds and the chirping of birds. She breathed in the scent of wildflowers as the warm breeze surrounded them.
When was the last time she’d been here? She couldn’t even remember. She really should take a bit more time to smell the roses… or, in this case, the jasmine and free sea air.
They walked along the trail, side by side, and she pointed out various plants and trees, sharing tidbits of knowledge she’d gathered over the years. As they rounded a bend in the trail, Mark suddenly stopped, pointing toward the sky. “Look,” he whispered.
She followed his gaze and gasped. There, soaring majestically above the treetops, was a bald eagle. Its white head and tail gleamed in the sunlight as it circled lazily overhead.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” he murmured, his eyes never leaving the bird.
She nodded, transfixed by the sight. They watched in silence until the eagle disappeared from view, its presence lingering in the air like a whispered secret.
They continued wandering along the trails, enjoying the wildlife and the views, then headed back to the car. After retrieving the picnic basket, she led him along a narrow path that curved around the point of the island.
“Most tourists stick to the ocean side,” she explained as they walked. “But this is my favorite spot.”
The path opened onto a secluded cove, where gentle waves lapped at a crescent of sandy beach. A gnarled live oak spread its branches over a shaded area, creating a natural canopy.
“This is perfect,” he said as he looked around the area with appreciation.
They spread the blanket under the oak tree and Mark set down the basket. The breeze carried the softer, calmer scents of the bay—more brackish and earthy than the ocean side. She settled onto the blanket and opened the basket, laying out their simple lunch.
“I hope you like turkey sandwiches,” she said, unwrapping them from their paper. “And I brought some fresh fruit from the farmers’ market.”
“That sounds great.”
She poured them both a cup of lemonade and set her sandwich on a cloth napkin, watching the gentle waves of the bay lap at the shore. The peaceful setting made her feel at ease, despite the weight of running the B&B that usually sat on her shoulders.
“This is wonderful,” he said, biting into his sandwich. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
“Sometimes we forget to appreciate what’s right in our backyard.” She smiled, pulling out the container of fresh strawberries.
A flash of movement caught her eye, and she pointed toward the water. “Oh, look!”
Two dolphins broke the surface, their sleek bodies arcing gracefully through the air before they slipped back into the water. They played in the gentle waves, seeming to dance together in perfect synchronization.
He set down his sandwich, absorbed in watching them. “Nature’s best entertainment.”
As the dolphins disappeared beneath the water, a blue heron landed near the shoreline, its long legs carrying it through the shallow water with gangly steps.
“The wildlife here never fails to amaze me,” she said. Her thoughts drifted to their conversation the previous evening. “Mark, you mentioned someone named Sarah last night before Felicity came and interrupted us.”
He stilled, his sandwich forgotten on the napkin in front of him. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft splash of waves.
“Ah…” He cleared his throat. “Sarah was my wife.” His voice was quiet, barely audible above the water. “She passed away two years ago.”
“Oh, Mark. I’m so sorry.” She wanted to reach out to offer comfort, but held back.
“Cancer.” He picked up a strawberry but didn’t eat it. “It happened so fast. One day she was fine, and then…” He set the strawberry down. “She always believed in my writing more than I did. Even at the end, she gave me a notebook, told me to keep writing.”
“That must have been very difficult.”
“I haven’t written a word since she died.” He looked out at the water. “Every time I try, I remember how she used to be my first reader, how she’d curl up in her favorite chair with my latest chapters.” His voice cracked slightly. “I just can’t seem to find the words anymore.”
The blue heron took flight, spreading its wings wide as it disappeared around the curve of the shoreline. Mark stared after it, as if he wanted to flee with the majestic bird.
“I’m so sorry,” she said again softly.
He turned to her and smiled slightly. “Thank you. I know she’d want me to move on. To find a life without her. I just haven’t figured out how yet.”
“These things take time. Sometimes it takes us a while to figure things out when life throws us a big curve we weren’t expecting.”
He nodded.
She watched the water lap at the shore, giving him a moment with his thoughts.
The breeze rustled through the oak leaves above them, creating dancing shadows on their picnic blanket.
She understood loss—maybe not the same kind, but loss nonetheless.
The way it hollowed you out and changed your whole world.
“I’m sorry you’re having such a hard time finding your words again. Sometimes we need a fresh perspective, a new place to help us see things differently.” She smoothed a wrinkle from the blanket. “Maybe being here on the island will help.”
He picked up another strawberry, this time taking a small bite. “I hope so.” He gazed out at the water. “My agent keeps calling, asking about the next book. But every time I sit down to write…” He shook his head. “The words just aren’t there.”
“Give yourself time. The island has its own rhythm, its own pace. Sometimes slowing down helps us find what we’ve lost.”
“I hope you’re right.” He finished the strawberry. “Sarah would have loved this place. The quiet, the wildlife, even this little cove.” A small smile touched his lips. “She always did prefer the hidden gems to tourist spots.”
She watched as a pair of sandpipers scurried along the water’s edge on thin legs that moved in quick steps. “I think I would have liked your Sarah.”
He smiled at her. “I think she would have liked you, too.”
“Well, you’re welcome to stay here on the island as long as you need,” she said. “Sometimes finding our way back takes longer than we expect.”