Page 12 of Valentine On Palmar Island

Grant's pulse quickened, but he kept his voice casual. "Oh?"

"It's strange." She picked up the driftwood and tossed it for Milo. "I've spent so many years moving from place to place, always looking for the next story to tell. But lately..." She trailed off, watching Milo bound after the stick.

"Lately?" Grant prompted softly.

"I don't feel that pull anymore. To keep moving." She wrapped her arms around herself against a gust of wind. "For the first time in years, I feel still."

Without thinking, Grant shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. She looked up at him, surprise flickering in her eyes.

"You'll freeze," she protested, but made no move to return it.

"I'm fine." His hands lingered on her shoulders a moment longer than necessary. "So, what's next for you? After the book is finished?"

Charlotte pulled his jacket closer around her. It was too big for her, making her look smaller, more vulnerable. "I don't know. That's what's strange. I always know what's next. Always have a plan, another project lined up." She gave a small laugh."But now? I keep thinking about that message you mentioned. 'Found My Home.'"

Grant's heart thundered in his chest. He thought of the brass tokens waiting in his workshop, of all the things he wanted to say but couldn't find the words for.

They had reached a cluster of weathered pilings, remnants of an old pier. Charlotte leaned against one, and Grant stood close enough that their shoulders touched, sharing warmth against the growing chill. Milo flopped down at their feet, apparently worn out from his beach adventures.

The sun was setting in earnest now, painting the sky in deep oranges and purples. Out on the water, a shrimp boat headed home, its running lights just visible in the gathering dusk.

"Whatever you decide," Grant said carefully, "the island would be lucky to keep you."

Charlotte turned to look at him, and for a moment, Grant thought about closing the small distance between them, about finally showing her exactly what he felt. But before he could move, Milo jumped up, shaking sand everywhere and making them both laugh.

"I should head back," Charlotte said, reluctantly shrugging off his jacket. "I've got some photos to edit before tomorrow."

"Right." Grant took his jacket, trying not to notice how it smelled like her now—like salt air and something floral. "Thanks for the company."

"Thanks for the jacket." She smiled, then surprised him by rising on her toes to kiss his cheek. "See you around, Grant."

He watched her walk back up the beach, Milo trotting at her heels, until they disappeared around the bend toward the parking lot. The spot where her lips had touched his cheek tingled in the cold air.

Chapter Seven

Charlotte woke to Milo's cold nose pressed against her hand. His tail thumped against the hardwood floor of her rental cottage. It was a tiny place just off Main Street that she'd started thinking of as home somewhere between hanging her first load of laundry and stocking the kitchen with coffee mugs.

"Five more minutes," she mumbled, but Milo was insistent. He grabbed the edge of her comforter and tugged, then darted to the front door.

"Alright, alright." She followed him, wrapping herself in a thick cardigan against the February chill. "But make it quick. It's freezing out there."

When she opened the door, Milo bounded straight for the porch steps and stopped. There, weighted down by a smooth piece of driftwood, was a cream-colored envelope with her name written in a steady hand.

Charlotte's heart skipped as she picked it up. The paper was thick, expensive. She slipped her finger under the flap and pulled out a single note card.

Meet me here at 4:00. I have something special to show you. - Grant

That was it. No explanation, no hint of what he had planned. Charlotte read it three more times before Milo's whine reminded her why they'd come outside in the first place.

Back inside, she set the note on her kitchen counter and started her morning routine, though her thoughts kept drifting to Grant. To the way he'd given her his jacket on the beach, how his hands had lingered on her shoulders. The soft look in his eyes when she'd kissed his cheek.

"What do you think he's planning?" she asked Milo as she poured her coffee. The dog just wagged his tail and looked expectant. "Right. You probably knew about this already, didn't you?"

The morning crawled by. Charlotte tried to work, reviewing photos for the book, but she kept getting distracted. Every image seemed to remind her of Grant. The careful restoration work at Indigo Bluff, the lighthouse where they'd almost kissed, the beach where she'd finally admitted she was thinking of staying.

By three o'clock, she'd changed clothes twice, settling on a soft sweater in deep blue and her nicest jeans. She'd just finished braiding her hair when she heard the rumble of Grant's truck outside.

Milo beat her to the door, tail wagging furiously. Through the window, she watched Grant climb out of his truck. He'd dressed up too in dark jeans and a charcoal gray sweater that made his eyes look stormy. Her stomach did a little flip.

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