Page 5 of Valentine On Palmar Island

They made plans to meet at two, and Charlotte turned to head back to the hardware store. "Come on, Milo. You've caused enough trouble for one day."

The dog looked between her and Grant, tail wagging, before finally trotting after her. She could have sworn he looked smug.

"You found him," Kenny said with a wink when she returned to buy the treats. He was writing up her receipt with deliberate slowness. "That dog always seems to know exactly where he's needed."

Charlotte felt her cheeks warm. "He just likes attention."

"If you say so." Kenny's knowing smile suggested he thought otherwise. "You know, Grant usually works through lunch whenhe's focused on a project. Man could use someone to remind him to take breaks now and then."

"Kenny..." Charlotte warned, but she was smiling as she gathered her purchases.

Back in her car, Charlotte looked at Milo, who was already curled up in the passenger seat. "You're not as subtle as you think you are," she told him, reaching over to ruffle his fur.

Milo just wagged his tail and closed his eyes, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Charlotte sat for a moment, her hand resting on the steering wheel, thinking about the way Grant's eyes had lit up when he talked about the lighthouse keeper's cottage. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.

Charlotte pulled her coat tighter as she approached the harbor. The morning sun sparkled on the water, but did little to ward off the January chill. Grant was already there, helping Milo hop into a small boat tied to the dock.

"Morning," he called out. "Hope you don't mind a short boat ride. Should've mentioned the lighthouse isn't exactly walking distance."

Charlotte paused at the edge of the dock. "We're going out to that island?" She pointed to where the lighthouse stood in silhouette against the bright sky.

"That's the one." Grant held out his hand to help her into the boat. His palm was warm against hers, steady and strong. "Don't worry, the water's calm today."

The boat ride took less than half an hour, but Charlotte found herself stealing glances at Grant as he navigated. He looked completely at home on the water, one hand on the wheel, theother absently scratching Milo's ears. The wind had brought color to his cheeks and ruffled his hair.

When they reached the small island, Grant secured the boat while Charlotte got her first close look at the lighthouse. It rose stark and beautiful against the winter sky, its white paint weathered by decades of salt air and storms.

"The last keeper lived here well into the 1980s," Grant said as they walked up the trail. "Even after they automated the light. Wouldn't leave his wife behind."

"His wife?"

Grant nodded toward a cluster of trees. "She's buried here, along with others who lived on the island. Whole families made their lives here, only going to the mainland for supplies."

They wandered through the small graveyard, reading the worn inscriptions. Charlotte found herself moving closer to Grant as they studied the stones, drawn to the quiet reverence in his voice as he shared the stories.

"Look at these dates," she murmured, crouching to photograph a cluster of small markers. "Three children, all in 1877."

"Probably influenza," Grant said softly. "Living out here, medical help would've been hard to reach in bad weather."

Milo chose that moment to wedge himself between them, nearly knocking Charlotte off balance. Grant caught her elbow, steadying her. His hand lingered a moment longer than necessary.

"Thanks," she said, hoping the cold air explained her flushed cheeks. "Your assistant isn't very subtle, is he?"

"Never has been." Grant's smile made her pulse skip. "Want to see the keeper's cottage next? What's left of it, anyway. Hurricane Hugo took most of it."

They picked their way through the undergrowth to the cottage's foundation. Charlotte noticed how Grant automaticallyoffered his hand at rough patches, and how natural it felt to take it.

"The cottage would've been small," Grant explained, "but sturdy. Had to be out here." He traced a finger along the weathered stone. "See these grooves? That's where the original door frame sat."

Charlotte raised her camera, capturing the way the winter light played across the ruins. When she lowered it, she found Grant watching her with an intensity that made her breath catch.

"You see it too, don't you?" he asked quietly. "The beauty in these old places?"

"I do." She found herself stepping closer. "It's not just about the structures. It's about the lives lived here, the stories?—"

Milo chose that moment to charge into the surf, sending up a spectacular spray of icy water. His happy barking broke the moment, and they both laughed.

"Milo!" Charlotte called. "Get out of there, you crazy dog!"

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