Page 16 of Valentine On Palmar Island

"I think someone approves," Charlotte laughed against Grant's lips.

"Smart dog." Grant kept one arm around her waist as he reached down to scratch Milo's ears. "Knew you belonged here before any of us did."

They sat on the workshop's small porch, Charlotte tucked against Grant's side while Milo dozed at their feet. The afternoon light painted everything golden, and the air was warm despite the February chill.

"I can't promise I'll never want to travel," Charlotte said softly. "There are still stories out there I want to capture."

Grant pressed a kiss to her temple. "I wouldn't want you to give that up. But now you'll have somewhere to come back to. Someone to come home to."

She turned to look at him, her eyes bright. "I like the sound of that."

As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the workshop floor, Grant thought about all the moments that had led them here. The careful restoration of old buildings parallel to the careful building of something new between them. How sometimes the most beautiful things were created slowly, with patience and dedication and love.

"What are you thinking about?" Charlotte asked, noticing his smile.

Grant pulled her closer. "About how some projects turn out even better than you planned."

She laughed and kissed him, and Grant knew that whatever they built together would be his finest restoration yet—not of an old building, but of two hearts finding their way home.

Milo's tail thumped against the porch boards in agreement.

Chapter Nine

Charlotte woke to February sunlight streaming through her bedroom windows and Milo's gentle snoring at the foot of her bed. Her tiny rental bungalow, just off the beach, had slowly transformed from a temporary space into something that felt like home. Her photography prints now hung on the walls, and the antique desk she'd found at the island's thrift store sat beneath the window, covered in notes and contact sheets for the coffee table book.

Even the morning light felt different, less like something to capture and more like something to live in. She stretched and climbed out of bed, pulling on thick socks against the cold hardwood floors. Milo raised his head, decided it wasn't quite time to wake up, and promptly went back to sleep.

In the kitchen, Charlotte started the coffee maker, inhaling deeply as the rich aroma filled the small space. She poured her first cup when she heard the familiar sound of Grant's truck in the driveway, followed by his boots on the porch steps.

He didn't knock anymore. Hadn't for days now. The door opened, and there he was, holding a small bunch of bright yellow daffodils from the flower shop.

"Chloe says these mean new beginnings," he said, pressing a kiss to her temple as he handed them to her. "Thought that was fitting."

"They're perfect." Charlotte buried her nose in the flowers, breathing in their fresh scent. She'd never been the type to keep fresh flowers around, but now she had a growing collection of mason jars that served as vases.

Grant moved easily through her kitchen, grabbing his usual mug from the cabinet and pouring his own coffee. He'd brought pastries too, cranberry scones from the bakery, still warm.

"I thought we could tackle the Marshall boathouse today," she said, settling at her small kitchen table. "It's the last location I need for the book."

"Ah, saving the best for last?" Grant's eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. "That old place has some stories to tell."

"Care to share them while you help me with my equipment?"

"Trying to get free manual labor out of me, Bennett?"

"Always." She grinned over her coffee cup. "Besides, you love it."

An hour later, they pulled up to the boathouse. It sat at the end of a narrow dirt road, weathered gray wood stark against the winter sky. The structure seemed to lean slightly toward the water, as if listening for long-gone boats.

"Watch your step," Grant said, taking her heaviest camera bag. "The ground's uneven here. Last spring's storms did a number on the shoreline."

Charlotte followed him down the path, careful to avoid the deeper ruts. The boathouse had clearly seen better days, but that's what made it perfect for the book. It was a testament to the island's working history, waiting for its own restoration.

While Charlotte set up her tripod, Grant examined the building's foundation. She loved watching him work, the way his hands moved over old wood with such care and knowledge.He pulled a few tools from his truck and began securing a loose board, the quiet sounds of his work creating a peaceful backdrop to her photography.

"The Marshall family used to run fishing charters from here," he said as she adjusted her lens. "Old photos show dozens of boats lined up at that dock. Course, that was before the hurricane of '47 changed the shoreline."

Charlotte captured the way the morning light hit the weathered walls, highlighting decades of stories in the grain of the wood. "Think it could be restored?"

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