Page 7 of Valentine On Palmar Island

"That's what I love about it." Grant leaned against the railing, watching a pelican dive into the harbor. "Every building, every board, every story, they're all part of each other. Part of us."

"Must be nice," Charlotte said quietly. "Having such deep roots."

Grant studied her profile as she gazed out at the water. "You've never wanted to put down roots anywhere?"

"Never stayed in one place long enough to try." She turned to face him, and Grant was struck by the vulnerability in her expression. "My whole life has been about capturing moments and moving on. But lately..."

"Lately?"

Their eyes met, and Grant felt that same pull he'd experienced at the lighthouse. Charlotte took a small step closer, close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes.

"Mr. Lawson!" A voice called from the harbor master's office. "Your delivery's ready!"

Charlotte stepped back, and Grant had to resist the urge to pull her closer again. "I should..." he gestured vaguely toward his waiting lumber.

"Of course." She smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I need get back to work anyway. The light's perfect right now."

"About the rice plantation," Grant said quickly. "Would Friday work for you? The winter roses are starting to bloom."

The smile that spread across her face was genuine this time. "Friday would be perfect."

As Grant drove away later, his truck bed loaded with heart pine, he couldn't stop thinking about the way Charlotte had looked at him, or how natural it felt to share the island's stories with her. For someone who'd spent her life capturing moments and moving on, she was starting to feel remarkably permanent.

Grant pushed open the door to The Roasted Bean, warmth and the rich scent of coffee enveloping him after the bite of the January afternoon. He'd meant to grab a coffee and head back to work, but the sight of Charlotte at a corner table made him pause. She sat curled in one of the coffee shop’s oversized leather chairs, her laptop balanced on her knees, while Milo dozed at her feet.

The cafe was quiet this time of day, that lull between lunch and closing when locals drifted in seeking refuge from the cold. Old heart pine floors gleamed under Edison bulbs, and a fire crackled in the stone fireplace, casting dancing shadows on exposed brick walls.

Charlotte looked up as he approached, her face brightening. "Hey stranger." She closed her laptop. "Done with the lumber delivery?"

"All unloaded." He gestured to the empty chair across from her. "Mind if I join you?"

"Please." She shifted, making room on the small table between them for his coffee. "I was just going through today's shots from the marina."

Grant ordered at the counter—black coffee and, on impulse, two slices of Mitch’s famous orange-cranberry bread—before settling into the chair opposite Charlotte. Close enough that their knees almost touched.

"Want to see what I captured this morning?" she asked, already reopening her laptop.

He moved his chair closer, telling himself it was just to see the screen better. Charlotte's shoulder brushed his as she scrolled through the images, and he caught the faint scent of her shampoo. It had a warm, faintly floral scent that was even more intoxicating than the freshly roasted coffee beans.

"These are incredible," he said, meaning it. She'd caught the marina in a way he'd never seen before, though he'd spent countless mornings there. The play of light on water, the weathered texture of old wood, the quiet dignity of working boats. She saw it all.

"Really?" She turned to gauge his reaction, and suddenly they were face to face, barely inches apart. Neither moved away.

"Really," he said softly. "You see things others miss."

She looked back at the screen. "Sometimes I wonder if that's all I do. See things, capture them, move on."

"What do you mean?"

Charlotte was quiet for a moment, absently running her finger around the rim of her coffee mug. "I love what I do. But lately... I don't know. Maybe I'm tired of always being the observer, never really being part of the story."

Grant thought about that, about how to put into words what he'd been feeling. "You know what I thought when I first met you?"

She shook her head, looking up at him.

"I thought you were just passing through. Here to take pretty pictures and leave. But that's not what you do at all. You don't just observe. You understand. Like this morning, when you asked about the heart pine. You wanted to know the story behind it."

"Is that why you keep showing me all your secret spots?" A smile played at the corners of her mouth. "Because I ask the right questions?"

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