Page 14 of Valentine On Palmar Island

"You see this place the way I do," he continued. "But you see more too. You show me things I've walked past a hundred times but never really noticed. You make me look at my own home through new eyes." He took a shaky breath. "And somewhere between showing you the lighthouse and sharing coffee under live oaks, I realized something. Home isn't just about place anymore. It's about who you share it with."

"Grant..." Charlotte's voice wavered. She set the box carefully aside and turned toward him. "I've spent so long running. Taking pictures of other people's lives, other people's homes. Never staying long enough to build my own." She smiled through her tears. "But here, with you? I don't want to run anymore."

"Then don't." He reached up and brushed a tear from her cheek. "Stay. Let me show you every hidden corner of this island." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Let me love you."

Charlotte leaned forward, closing the space between them. She caught the scent of sawdust and coffee on his sweater, familiar after so many shared moments. When their lips met, it felt like coming home. Like every photograph she'd ever taken trying to capture belonging had led her to this moment.

Grant's hand cradled her face, and she felt his heart racing under her palm where it rested against his chest. His lips were soft against hers, tasting faintly of coffee and something sweet, like the orange-cranberry bread from the coffee shop. The kiss was gentle at first, hesitant, as if he was afraid she might pull away. Then she pressed closer, and the kiss deepened, becoming something more urgent, more real. The calluses on his fingers caught slightly against her skin as he traced her jaw, years of restoration work evident in their roughness. But his touch was infinitely tender, and Charlotte found herself melting into him, memorizing every sensation. The warmth of his breath, the strength in his hands, the way he kissed her like she was something precious he'd been waiting his whole life to find.

Suddenly, a cold nose pressed between them, followed by an enthusiastic tongue. Milo had decided they'd had quite enough serious conversation.

Charlotte laughed against Grant's mouth before pulling back. "Your timing is terrible," she told the dog, but she was smiling too hard to sound stern.

"I don't know." Grant kept one arm around her, using his free hand to scratch Milo's ears. "He's the one who brought us together in the first place."

They sat together on the bench, Charlotte tucked against Grant's side, while the sun painted the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks. The brass tokens gleamed in their box, catching the last light of day.

"Happy Valentine's Day," Grant murmured into her hair.

Charlotte picked up the "Found My Home" token, holding it tight. "It certainly is."

Milo settled at their feet with a contented sigh, and Charlotte smiled. Sometimes, it seemed, you had to travel the world to find what was waiting just around the corner. Sometimes home wasn't a place at all, but a feeling. A moment. A heart-shapedtoken in a handmade box, and the man who carved it just for you.

The sun dipped below the horizon, but Charlotte had never felt warmer. She was exactly where she belonged.

Chapter Eight

Grant sat on his front porch, watching dawn creep over Palmar Island. Steam rose from his coffee mug, disappearing into the February morning. The small craftsman he'd restored himself sat on a quiet street just off Main, close enough to hear the small amount of traffic on clear mornings like this one. Far enough away that the sound of the ocean had a chance to filter through.

He couldn't stop thinking about last night. About the way Charlotte's eyes had lit up when she opened the box, how she'd traced each token with careful fingers. The way she'd tasted like coffee and salt air when he kissed her, and how perfectly she'd fit against him as they watched the sunset.

The porch swing creaked as he shifted, the same swing where he'd spent countless evenings planning restoration projects. Now all his plans seemed to revolve around Charlotte. Places he wanted to show her, stories he wanted to share, moments he hoped they'd build together.

If she stayed.

The sound of tires on gravel pulled him from his thoughts. Miss Doris's Oldsmobile rolled to a stop in front of his house, and the woman herself emerged carrying her usual basket.

"Beautiful morning," she called out, making her way up the path he'd laid himself, brick by brick. "Perfect for sharing some company and these blueberry muffins I pulled out of the oven."

Grant smiled, standing to help her up the porch steps. "You just happened to bake them?"

"Well." Miss Doris settled into the porch chair he kept just for her, smoothing her skirt. "I might have had a feeling you'd need breakfast this morning. Seeing as how you were otherwise occupied yesterday afternoon."

Heat crept up Grant's neck. "News travels fast."

"Small island." She pulled a cloth off the basket, revealing muffins that still steamed slightly. "Though I didn't need the gossip to know you were planning something special. You've been distracted for days, working on that secret project in your workshop."

Grant took a muffin, remembering how carefully he'd polished each brass token, how many times he'd revised the messages before engraving them. "It wasn't anything fancy. A small gift."

"Mm-hmm." Miss Doris's steel gray eyes studied him over the rim of the coffee mug he'd brought her. "And did this 'small gift' have anything to do with why your truck was parked at Miller's Cove until well after sunset?"

"You checking up on me?"

"Someone has to." She patted his hand. "Now, tell me honestly. How did our Charlotte like her Valentine's present?"

Our Charlotte. The words made his heart twist pleasantly. "She liked it. We talked about her staying. Maybe."

"Maybe?" Miss Doris's eyebrow arched. "Grant Lawson, that girl looks at you like you hung the moon. And I've seen how you watch her when you think no one's looking."

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