Page 6 of Valentine On Palmar Island

But Milo had other ideas, shaking himself vigorously and soaking them both. Without hesitation, Grant pulled off his jacket, trying to corral the wet dog.

"Here," Charlotte said, moving to help. She grabbed one end of the jacket while Grant held the other, both of them attempting to wrap it around the squirming dog. Their hands brushed, and Charlotte felt the contact like an electric current through her cold fingers.

The winter air had painted Grant's cheeks red, but his hands were warm when they touched hers. She found herself noticing things she shouldn't. The way his henley pulled across his shoulders as he leaned forward, how the muscles in his forearms flexed as he tried to hold Milo still. His laugh lines deepened when he smiled, and this close, she could see the flecks of gray in his blue eyes.

"Hold still, you mutt," Grant chuckled, his voice carrying that low, rough quality that made Charlotte's stomach flip.

She was acutely aware of how little space separated them as they worked together. Every time Milo moved, they shifted closer. Grant's breath warmed her cheek. If she turned her head just slightly...

Their eyes met over Milo's damp fur. Grant's smile faded into something more intense, and Charlotte forgot about the cold, about the wet dog, about everything except the way he was looking at her. His gaze dropped to her lips for just a moment before meeting her eyes again. A heartbeat later, she wondered if she imagined it.

Charlotte's heart hammered against her ribs. The air between them felt charged, like the moment before a storm breaks. Grant leaned forward slightly, and she found herself swaying toward him.

Milo chose that exact moment to shake again, spraying them both with cold water and effectively shattering the moment.

"He'll be fine," Grant said, his voice still carrying that lower register that made her shiver. And not from the cold. "Dog knows exactly what he's doing."

Charlotte wasn't sure if he meant the swim or the way Milo kept pushing them together, but her pulse was racing and her skin tingled where their hands had touched. She watched as Grant ran a hand through his hair, leaving it charmingly disheveled, and tried to remember that she was here to photograph historic buildings, not daydream about almost-kisses with handsome carpenters.

The sun was high overhead by the time they headed back to the boat. As Grant steered them toward the mainland, he cleared his throat. "There's an old rice plantation about a mile inland. The gardens are still there, winter roses blooming. Might make for good photos, if you're interested."

Charlotte smiled, watching the lighthouse grow smaller behind them. "I'd like that."

Milo, curled up at their feet, thumped his tail against the boat's hull, and Charlotte could have sworn he looked pleased with himself.

Chapter Four

Grant pulled his truck into the marina parking lot, the salt-laden air hitting him as soon as he opened his door. A few fishing boats were already heading out, their running lights bright against the pre-dawn sky. He'd scheduled an early pickup of some salvaged dock wood. Heart pine that would be perfect for restoring the Cartwright building's original flooring. But his thoughts kept drifting to Charlotte and that moment at the lighthouse two days ago.

He grabbed his coffee thermos and made his way toward the harbor master's office. The wooden planks of the dock creaked under his boots, a sound as familiar to him as his own heartbeat. A gust of wind carried the scent of coffee and bacon from Mary's Diner up the street, mixing with the briny smell of low tide.

"Morning, Grant." Joe Camden, one of the local shrimpers, gave him a nod as he coiled rope on his deck. "Cold enough for you?"

"Getting there." Grant pulled his jacket tighter. The temperature had dropped into the thirties overnight, and the wind off the water cut straight through denim and flannel.

He was signing for his delivery when movement on the far dock caught his eye. Charlotte stood near the edge, cameraraised, capturing the way the rising sun painted the water in shades of pink and gold. Milo sat at her feet, his tail sweeping away a patch of frost on the wooden planks.

Grant's hand stalled mid-signature as he watched her work. She'd tied her dark hair back, but the wind had pulled strands free that danced around her face. She kept tucking them behind her ear as she adjusted her camera settings, a gesture he found unreasonably distracting.

"You gonna finish that paperwork, or should I come back later?" The harbor master's amused voice snapped Grant back to the task at hand.

"Sorry, Jim." He quickly scrawled his signature, aware of the knowing look the older man gave him.

By the time he'd arranged for the lumber delivery, Charlotte had moved closer to his end of the dock. She lowered her camera when she spotted him, and the smile that lit up her face sent warmth spreading through his chest.

"I didn't expect to see you here," she said as he approached. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, and Grant fought the urge to brush back another strand of hair that the wind had set free.

"Picking up some materials." He gestured toward where his order waited. "Heart pine. Original to the island. Some of these old docks were built with it."

Charlotte's eyes lit up with interest. "Really? I'd love to get some shots of the restoration process, if you wouldn't mind. Show how the old becomes new again."

"I'd like that." The words came out softer than he intended, and something shifted in her expression. The air between them felt charged, like it had on the lighthouse island when they'd been so close...

Milo chose that moment to nose against Grant's hand, breaking the tension.

"You've got good timing, buddy," Grant muttered, scratching the dog's ears. To Charlotte, he said, "Want to see something interesting? This dock's been here since the 1850s. Used to be where supply boats would unload everything from sugar to fabric." He led her toward the oldest section of the marina, pointing out the wear patterns in the wood where cart wheels had once run.

"It's amazing how much history is here." Charlotte ran her hand along a weathered piling. "I've photographed historic places all over, but there's something different about Palmar Island. Everything feels connected."

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