Page 17 of Valentine On Palmar Island

"Maybe." Grant's voice held that tone she'd come to recognize—the one that meant he was already planning, seeing possibilities in the worn boards and rusty hinges. "The bones are solid. It just needs?—"

A crash behind them made them both jump. Milo had spotted a ghost crab and, in his excitement to chase it, had knocked over Charlotte's equipment bag. Her extra lenses rolled across the wooden dock as Milo bounded after his prey.

"Milo!" they called in unison, then broke into laughter as the dog ignored them completely, still focused on his elusive target.

"I got it," Grant said, already gathering her equipment. "You keep shooting. Light's perfect right now."

Charlotte smiled, watching him carefully check each lens before returning it to her bag. Six weeks ago, she would have panicked at the thought of someone handling her expensive equipment. Now it felt natural, right. Like so many things about being here did.

She turned back to her camera, but not before catching Grant's quiet grin as he watched her work. The morning sun caught the silver in his hair, and something tugged in her chest. This was what she'd been looking for all those years of traveling. Palmar Island wasn’t just a place to belong, but someone to belong with.

"You're staring," Grant said without looking up from the board he was fixing.

"Just admiring the view." She snapped a quick shot of him working, loving the way his cheeks flushed slightly.

"Pretty sure the book's supposed to be about the buildings, not the carpenter."

"My camera, my rules." Charlotte lowered her lens just as Milo returned, looking extremely pleased with himself despite his unsuccessful crab hunt. "Besides, you're part of the island's story too."

Grant stood and crossed to her, brushing sawdust from his hands. "And what story is that?"

"The one about a wandering photographer who found her way home." She rose on her toes to kiss him, tasting coffee and salt air. "Thanks to a very persistent dog and a carpenter who sees the beauty in old things."

"Not so old," he murmured against her lips.

"The dog or the carpenter?"

His laugh echoed across the water, and Charlotte caught that too with her camera—the joy of this moment, this place, this life she'd chosen. Some things, she was learning, were worth more than just photographing. They were worth living.

The Roasted Bean glowed like a jewel box in the February evening, its windows steamy from the crowd inside. Charlotte paused at the entrance, taking in the scene. String lights twinkled overhead, and the usual coffee shop scents of espresso and pastries mingled with the warmth of mulled cider they'd prepared specially for tonight.

"Ready?" Grant squeezed her hand.

Inside, it seemed like half the island had turned out. Kenny from the hardware store was chatting with Mary from the diner. Mitch, Roasted Beans' owner, had cleared space for a display of Charlotte's photos. Even Jacob Oswald had traded his work clothes for a sweater and dress pants.

"There's our girl!" Miss Doris appeared, pulling Charlotte into a hug that smelled of lavender and fresh-baked cookies. "We're so proud of you, dear."

"Thank you for coming," Charlotte started, but more voices called out greetings. She found herself wrapped in the kind of welcome she'd never experienced in all her years of traveling.

Milo worked the crowd like a professional, knowing exactly which hands were likely to slip him treats. He'd already charmed a cookie from Mary and was setting his sights on Miss Doris's pocket.

"Charlotte." An elegant woman in her sixties approached, and Charlotte recognized Evelyn Sutton from their previous meetings. "These prints are extraordinary. You've captured exactly what I hoped for—not just the buildings, but their souls."

"Thank you, Mrs. Sutton. That means so much."

"Please, it's Evelyn." She gestured to a photograph of the Carroway Building. "The way you've shown the light through those windows... It's as if you can feel the history breathing through the image."

"She has a gift for that," Grant said quietly, his hand warm against Charlotte's lower back. "Seeing the heart of things."

Charlotte leaned into his touch, remembering that first morning at the Carroway Building. How different things had been then. She'd been focused on deadlines and perfect shots, not realizing she was capturing the first moments of her own story.

"You two," Miss Doris declared, appearing with fresh cups of cider, "are the island's dream team. One preserves the buildings,the other preserves the memories." She raised her cup. "To our very own restoration specialist and his photographer!"

The crowd cheered, and Charlotte felt her cheeks warm as Grant pressed a kiss to her temple. Around them, conversation and laughter flowed easily. These people had become more than subjects for her book. They were neighbors, friends, family.

Later, when the crowd had thinned and Milo had exhausted his treat-gathering opportunities, Charlotte and Grant stepped outside. The night was clear and cold, stars scattered like diamond dust across the sky.

"Walk you home?" Grant asked, though they both knew he'd end up staying, as he had most nights lately.

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