The Cottage at Pelican Bay (Nantucket Seashells #1)

Chapter 1

LORI

The ferry’s horn echoed across the water as Nantucket came into view.

Lori Carlton gripped the steering wheel of her SUV, watching the island emerge from the morning mist like something out of a painting.

Gray-shingled houses dotted the coastline, their weathered wood speaking of storms weathered and seasons survived.

Two years. It had been two years since Trevor’s heart attack, two years of moving through the motions of living without really feeling alive.

When Lori had suggested the house swap, Carrie’s first instinct had been to refuse.

But then Lori reminded her best friend that she had just been shot in the line of duty, and was on mandatory leave, and needed a change of scenery as much as Lori did.

Maybe more. At least, in Florida, Carrie wouldn’t be tempted to go check in at the police precinct all the time.

The ferry docked with a gentle bump, and cars began rolling off onto solid ground.

Lori followed the line of vehicles, her heart beating faster than it should.

This was supposed to be a healing summer.

A chance to reconnect with herself, to figure out who she was without Trevor by her side.

This was her first vacation without Trevor.

They had always travelled together. It had felt strange driving here without him.

Instead, she’d listened to the radio and hummed along with tunes she knew and listened to the news and weird radio talk shows.

The GPS directed her through narrow streets lined with hydrangeas in full bloom. The town center bustled with tourists and locals, but she didn’t stop. Her first destination was the veterinary clinic on the outskirts, where Misty had been staying since Carrie left for Florida.

The clinic sat tucked between two cedar-shingled buildings, its sign swinging gently in the ocean breeze. Lori parked and took a breath before heading inside.

A bell chimed above the door. The waiting room smelled of antiseptic and pet shampoo, and a young woman behind the counter looked up with a bright smile.

“Hi there. Can I help you?” The young woman asked.

“I’m here to pick up Misty. Carrie Ware’s dog? I’m Lori Carlton.” She smiled at the woman.

Recognition lit the woman’s face. “Oh, yes. Carrie told us you’d be coming. Let me get Dr. Morrison.”

She disappeared through a doorway, and Lori could hear excited barking from somewhere in the back. A moment later, a middle-aged man in scrubs emerged, a gorgeous German shepherd trotting beside him on a leash.

“You must be Mrs. Carlton.” Dr. Morrison extended his hand, and she shook it.

“It’s Lori, please,” Lori told him, and he gave a slight nod in acknowledgment.

“Misty here has been a perfect guest, but I think she’s ready to go home,” the friendly vet told her.

Misty’s tail wagged in wide arcs, her intelligent brown eyes fixed on Lori with what looked like hope. Carrie had sent photos, but seeing the dog in person was different. She was stunning, her black-and-tan coat glossy with health.

“Hi, sweet girl.” Lori crouched down, extending her hand for Misty to sniff. The shepherd approached cautiously, then her whole body relaxed. She pressed her head against Lori’s palm.

“She knows Carrie sent you,” Dr. Morrison said with a knowing smile. “Dogs are smart that way. I gave her a full checkup yesterday. She’s in perfect health. Here’s her food schedule and any other information you might need. Call if you need me.”

He handed over a folder, and Lori stood, taking the leash. “Thank you for taking such good care of her.”

“Our pleasure. Carrie’s well-known around here as our police chief. Everyone loves her. We were all pretty shaken up when she got shot.” His expression sobered. “Tell her we’re thinking of her.”

“I will.” Lori said goodbye as she left the office.

Outside, Misty hopped into the back seat with the ease of a dog who knew car rides well. Lori secured her and slid behind the wheel again, meeting the shepherd’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Ready to go home, girl?” Lori adjusted her mirror.

Misty’s tail thumped against the seat in response.

The GPS led them away from town, down increasingly narrow roads. Stone walls lined the route, worn smooth by centuries of weather. Wild roses climbed over them in places, their pink blooms bright against gray stone. The houses grew farther apart, the landscape more rugged.

Then the GPS announced she’d arrived.

Lori slowed, turning onto a private road barely wider than her vehicle. Rose bushes pressed in on both sides, their fragrance drifting through her open window. The road curved, and suddenly the ocean spread before her, endless and gray-blue under the afternoon sun.

Two houses sat on either side of a grassy path, both facing the water. To the left, a sturdy stone and timber home that looked like it had grown from the landscape itself. To the right, a weathered cottage with cedar shingles that had faded to soft gray.

Seabird Cottage. Her destination.

Lori pulled into the small driveway and cut the engine.

For a moment, she simply sat there, taking it in.

The cottage looked exactly like Carrie’s photos, but somehow smaller in person.

More intimate. The front porch wrapped around one side, and she could see white curtains fluttering in an open upstairs window.

Misty whined from the back seat.

“Okay, okay. Let’s see your home.” Lori laughed, climbing out of the car.

The shepherd bounded out as soon as Lori opened the door, immediately trotting up the porch steps like she owned the place. Which, Lori supposed, she did. This was Misty’s home. Lori was just a summer guest.

The key was where Carrie said it would be, tucked in a magnetic box behind the porch light. Lori unlocked the door and pushed it open.

The scent hit her first. Lemon oil and lavender, clean and welcoming. Misty trotted inside, tail wagging, making a circuit of the living room before heading toward the kitchen.

Lori stepped across the threshold and felt something shift in her chest.

The cottage wrapped around her like a hug.

Hardwood floors, worn smooth by decades of footsteps, creaked softly under her weight.

The living room was small but perfectly proportioned, with a stone fireplace on one wall and built-in bookshelves flanking it.

An overstuffed sofa faced the hearth, draped with a handmade quilt in shades of blue and cream.

But it was the details that caught her attention. The antique glass doorknobs, each one slightly different. The hand-stitched curtains that matched the quilt. A reading nook tucked into the bay window, complete with a cushioned seat and a small bookshelf within arm’s reach.

This had been Martha Stanton’s home. Carrie had bought it from Martha’s estate after the older woman passed, but she’d kept everything exactly as it was. Lori could feel Martha’s presence in every carefully chosen detail.

She moved through the rooms slowly. The kitchen was vintage but updated, with white cabinets and butcher-block counters.

A window over the sink looked out at the ocean.

Misty’s food and water bowls sat in one corner, and the shepherd looked up at her with a soft wine.

Lori bent down and filled the dog’s water bowl and food bowls. “There you go, girl.”

As soon as the water was in the bowl, Misty’s head went down and she began lapping water like she’d been away for months instead of days.

Upstairs, there were two bedrooms and a bathroom.

The main bedroom faced the ocean, and Lori paused in the doorway.

A four-poster bed dominated the space, its white linens crisp and inviting.

More hand-stitched curtains framed the windows.

And there, tucked into another bay window, was a second reading nook with an even better view.

Lori set her suitcase on the bed and walked to the window. The ocean stretched before her, the sun beginning its descent toward the horizon. A rocky bluff dropped away below the cottage, and she could see a narrow path leading down to a small private beach.

Pelican Bay. She was really here. Lori smiled to herself. How many times since Carrie had moved to Nantucket had she planned to visit but never got here. Sadness weighed down her heart. Trevor would’ve loved this place.

A wet nose pressed against her hand. Misty had followed her upstairs and now leaned against her leg, as if offering comfort.

“Hey, girl.” Lori scratched behind the shepherd’s ears. “Do you want to help me unpack?”

It took three trips to bring everything in from the car. Clothes, toiletries, her art supplies, the box of groceries she’d picked up on the mainland. By the time she finished, the sun hung lower in the sky, painting everything gold.

Lori made a simple dinner of pasta and salad, eating at the small kitchen table while Misty crunched her kibble nearby. The cottage settled around them with small sounds. Creaking wood. The distant cry of seabirds. The soft whoosh of waves against the shore.

Her phone buzzed. It was a text from Carrie.

Did you make it? Is Misty being good?

Lori smiled and called instead of texting back. Carrie answered on the second ring.

“Hello, are you there?”

“I’m here. The cottage is beautiful, Carrie. Why didn’t you tell me it was this perfect?” Lori glanced around the room.

“Because you would’ve thought I was exaggerating.” Carrie’s voice carried that familiar mix of warmth and sarcasm. “Is Misty okay?”

“She’s great. Settled right in like she never left.” Lori positioned the phone between her ear and shoulder as she started gathering her dinner dishes.

“Good. She’s probably happier there than she was at the vet’s, even though Dr. Morrison spoils her rotten.” Carrie paused for a moment, her voice dropping a bit. “How are you really?”