Page 10 of Valentine On Palmar Island

"Town's getting decorated for Valentine's Day," Grant said casually. "Miss Doris is already planning a get-together."

Charlotte groaned. "Don't remind me. Most commercial holiday of the year."

"Not a fan?"

"It's ... I don't know. All the forced romance and pink hearts everywhere." She stared into her coffee. "Though I did love those little candy hearts when I was a kid. You know, the ones with messages on them?"

Grant turned toward her, interest sparking in his eyes. "Sweethearts?"

"Mm-hmm." Charlotte smiled at the memory. "I used to sort them by color and save my favorites. My dad would bring me a box every year." She laughed softly. "I was probably the only kid who got excited about chalk-flavored candy."

"What was your favorite message?"

"'Be Mine' was classic. But I liked the weird ones better. 'You Rock' or 'Far Out.’ They were like tiny conversations in a box." She glanced at him. "Did you ever have them?"

"Sometimes." His voice had gone soft, thoughtful. "If I could design one for you, I know what it would say."

Charlotte's heart skipped. "Oh?"

"'Found My Home.'" He said it simply, his eyes meeting hers in the fading light.

The words hung between them, weighted with meaning she wasn't sure she was ready to examine. "Because of the book project?" she managed.

"Maybe." But his tone suggested otherwise. "You see this place the way I do. Not just the buildings or the history, but the heart of it."

Charlotte became acutely aware of every point of contact between them. The way their shoulders and arms touched, the way his knee had come to rest against hers. The evening had grown darker, the first stars appearing above the oak's branches.

"Grant, I?—"

Milo chose that moment to sit up and rest his head on Grant's knee, looking between them with what Charlotte could have sworn was exasperation.

Grant laughed, breaking the tension. "I think someone's ready to head home."

They gathered their things in the growing darkness, Grant's flashlight beam creating pools of light on the path back to their cars. Charlotte felt oddly unsettled, like something important had shifted but she couldn't quite name it.

At her car, Milo already settled in the passenger seat, Grant handed her the thermos. "Keep it. In case your fingers get cold tomorrow."

"But it's yours."

"I've got others." He stepped back, hands in his pockets. "Drive safe, Charlotte."

She watched his truck's taillights disappear down the plantation's drive, the words "Found My Home" echoing in her mind. Next to her, Milo let out a small whine.

"I know," she told him. "I know."

On the drive home, Charlotte realized she'd taken dozens of photos but couldn't remember half of what she'd shot. All she could think about was the warmth of Grant's shoulder against hers, the way his voice had softened when he talked about home, and how many times she'd caught him looking at her when he thought she was focused on her camera.

Milo dozed in the passenger seat, still slightly damp and smelling of pond water. "You're not very subtle," she told him. "But maybe that's not such a bad thing."

Through her rearview mirror, she could see Indigo Bluff growing smaller, its windows catching the last light of day.

Chapter Six

Grant 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.

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