Chapter Nineteen
Brandee
B runch with the girls on Sunday was so fun. Avie’s friend Amiya is a brilliant, sassy badass who invited herself along for today’s island hop.
The truck hums beneath us as we merge onto the highway, the early morning light pouring through the windshield like liquid gold. Amiya has her sunglasses pushed up into her blonde hair, her bare feet resting on the dashboard, with a grin that keeps spreading as she sings along to the radio.
“Remind me again how you talked me into waking up this early?” she asks, sipping iced coffee through a paper straw.
“You said, and I quote, ‘I love Bald Head Island, and I could use a day out of the house.’” I smirk at her. “Then you pulled your phone out at the table and booked your ticket right then and there.”
She laughs. “Oh, right. Sunday brunch me is so much more adventurous than Tuesday morning me,” she says as she pulls the glasses over her eyes and lays her head back against the seat.
“We should have gotten you an extra shot of espresso.”
“I’ll be fine once we’re on the bicycles,” she says. “I can use the exercise. We are renting the bicycles, right?”
“There will be bikes,” I promise, turning up the music just a little. Something soft and folksy, the kind of thing that makes you want to roll the windows down and stick your hand out like you’re slicing through water. “I canceled my golf cart reservation yesterday and booked two.”
Sandcastle Cove fades behind us, sleepy and sun-drenched, and the road stretches toward Southport, where we have to catch the ferry.
By the time we pull into the port, the ferry terminal is already alive with motion—couples in matching sun hats, families herding kids toward shaded benches, cyclists loading their gear onto racks. Amiya and I hop out, stretch, and grab our backpacks.
“You ever been to Bald Head before?” she asks as we get in line.
“Once, when I was younger,” I say. “Barely remember it. I think I got sunburned. But I remember the ferry.”
Amiya grins. “It’s a neat place. Like Sandcastle Cove’s older, more sophisticated sister.”
“Time to lather up,” I say, pulling out sunscreen.
The ferry’s horn sounds low and long as we board, seagulls circling overhead like they’re chasing the sound. We find seats at the back, the breeze whipping our hair as the boat pulls away from the dock.
Bald Head appears gradually, first as a sliver of land, and then the lighthouse comes into view, rising like a tower from a storybook.
The ride takes about twenty minutes, but it feels like only five.
Amiya talks about her partner—Sebastian’s brother, Lennon—who I learn used to serve in the Navy, but now works for the Coast Guard at a station near Caswell Beach.
When we dock, it feels like we’ve stepped into a painting. No cars. Just bikes, golf carts, and the soft crunch of foot traffic. The air smells like marsh and ocean and something sweet—maybe winter honeysuckle.
We rent two powder-blue cruiser bikes from a little shop near the ferry dock, the kind with wide tires and woven baskets. Mine squeaks when I test the brakes. It’s perfect.
We pedal off without a real plan, letting the shady paths lead us. Bald Head Island wraps around us like a whisper—still and colorful and full of old Southern coastal charm.
We ride through winding trails, tall seagrass brushing against our legs.
There are houses tucked back from the road—some of them cottage style with big porches and rocking chairs, others looking like someone built a dream beachside mansion with all the modern amenities.
It’s the kind of place that makes you want to write letters, not emails.
We stop for iced tea at a corner café and sit under a striped umbrella, watching a lizard crawl up the wooden railing. Amiya scrolls through her phone and snaps pictures.
“So,” she says after a while, “what’s it really like, living in the mountains? You talk about Balsam Ridge like it’s some sort of wonderland.”
I smile as I sip my tea. “It’s beautiful—quiet in a way that gets under your skin. It’s the kind of peace you can feel in your bones, the kind you won’t find in any crowded city. I love it.”
She tilts her head and replies, “Yeah, that’s how I feel about Sandcastle Cove.
When Avie and Leia first moved up here, I thought it was just a cute but boring little vacation spot.
I was so used to the hustle and bustle of Atlanta.
But the more I visited to spend time with them, the more I fell in love with the quiet. I realized it wasn’t boring at all.”
“Right? I grew up in a house that backed right up to the woods. I’d wake up to birdsong and sometimes the rustle of deer moving through the trees. We’d get bears too—mostly at night, sniffing around for garbage. It’s peaceful for sure, but it’s a wild kind of peace, you know?”
Amiya nods, listening.
“In fall, the leaves light up like fire. Not just red and orange, but deep red, burgundy, like wine almost. The air gets sharp and sweet, and everything smells like woodsmoke and apples. And in the winter? It’s snow and stars as far as the eye can see.”
She leans her chin on her hand. “That honestly sounds … kind of magical.”
“It is. But it’s also muddy boots and power outages and long drives to get groceries. The people are a little nosy. Everybody knows your business before you do. Especially my friends. They have this incredible ability to read you and see between the lines.”
“So, basically like Sandcastle Cove, just with better hiking and fall foliage?”
“Exactly.”
She laughs and narrows her eyes. “Are you homesick already?”
I pause for a moment. “Not all the time. It’s just that being away from the office every day leaves me with a lot of time alone with my thoughts.”
Amiya nods, allowing the silence to linger for a moment.
Then she pushes back her chair. “All right. We’ll have none of that overthinking nonsense today. Let’s go explore this island.”
We bike toward Old Baldy, the wise-looking, weathered lighthouse. The path curves through maritime forest, with sunlight flickering through the leaves like candlelight. We park the bikes and climb the narrow staircase to the top, laughing between puffing breaths.
At the peak, we look out over the island. Sand dunes roll toward the ocean, marshes stretch inland, and the horizon melts into a haze of blue.
“It’s a little like the mountains,” I say, squinting into the distance.
“How so?”
“The stillness. The way it makes you feel like you’re standing on top of the world for a minute.”
She bumps my shoulder.
I smile.
We don’t stay long—there’s still more to explore. We find a tiny turtle nest tucked near the trees, and she explains that Avie runs the local sanctuary and how she tags along sometimes to watch hatchlings shuffle through the sand to the ocean.
Then we walk down to the beach, where the sand is soft and white, and we kick off our shoes and walk barefoot, jeans rolled up, laughing as we dodge cold waves.
It’s a slow, sun-warmed kind of afternoon. No agenda. No rush. Just the freedom of wheels on a path and the kind of new friendship that feels like home.
We catch the late afternoon ferry, our bikes returned and hair salty from the sea breeze. The boat rocks gently as we find seats near the front this time, legs tired but spirits light.
Amiya sighs, leaning her head back. “I needed this.”
“Me too,” I say, watching the water.
“You want to come to my house? I could whip us up some cocktails and a charcuterie board. We could hang out and watch trashy television, and you can meet Lennon when he gets off work.”
The question catches me off guard.
“Another day? I told a friend I’d swing by his work with a late lunch.”
She nudges me. “His work?”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. “Yes, his work.”
“And just who is this male friend you’ve managed to make in the week you’ve been here?”
“He’s just a guy I met out at Whiskey Joe’s on Friday night. He works at a garage in town. It’s not a big deal.”
“Uh-huh,” she mutters. “That blush creeping up your neck says otherwise.”
My hand flies to my cheeks, and she laughs.
“Yep, totally not a big deal.”
The ferry pulls into the dock, and we climb into my truck to make our way back to Sandcastle Cove.
I tuck the memories of the day away, cataloging every detail—from Old Baldy to the feel of the breeze, the warmth of the sun, and the creak of the bike wheels.
I want to be able to revisit them later, like opening a book.
I drop Amiya at her car at the wharf.
“Have fun,” she says as she hops into her car. Then she rolls the window down and shouts, “And I’ll call you to plan our girls’ night at my place. I’m gonna need details on this new guy friend.” She waggles her brows before sliding on her sunglasses.
I wave as she pulls away before looking up the address to Axles & Anchors. A thrill shoots through me at the thought of seeing Brew again.