Page 9 of Valentine On Palmar Island

Charlotte nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. She raised her camera, capturing the way shadow and light played across the weathered columns of the main house.

"Here," Grant said softly, stepping close behind her. His hand brushed her elbow, gently adjusting her position. "If you shoot from this angle, you'll catch the reflection in the pond."

Charlotte's breath caught at his proximity, but she managed to focus enough to take the shot. The image in her viewfinder was stunning. Indigo Bluff's facade reflected perfectly in the still water, framed by winter-bare branches.

"Perfect," he murmured, still standing close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.

A sudden commotion made them both turn. Milo had caught sight of a deer at the edge of the garden and had managed to tangle himself thoroughly in the strap of Charlotte’s camera bag, which she'd temporarily set down to get the reflection shot. The bag tipped precariously as he pulled against the strap.

"Milo, no!" Charlotte lunged for her equipment, but Grant was faster. He caught the bag with one hand and Milo's collar with the other, somehow keeping both the expensive camera gear and the excitable dog from disaster. The movement brought them chest to chest, Charlotte's hands landing on Grant's forearms as she helped stabilize her gear.

"Nice catch," she breathed, suddenly very aware of how close they were standing. Grant's hands were warm and steady under hers.

"Just doing my part to protect the valuable equipment." His voice had dropped lower, and his eyes seemed to linger on her face before he looked down at Milo. "Both the camera and our four-legged troublemaker."

"At least he's consistent with his timing," Charlotte said, reluctantly stepping back to untangle her camera strap from around Milo's legs.

"You noticed that too?" Grant's eyes met hers, and something in his expression made her heart skip.

They ended up sitting on an old wooden bench while Milo caught his breath. The dog sprawled at their feet in a patch of winter sunlight. Charlotte traced her fingers over initials carved into the bench's arm.

"J.L. plus M.H.," she read. "1943."

"My grandparents," Grant said quietly. "They used to walk the grounds of Indigo Bluff every Sunday after church.Grandmother always said it was the most peaceful place on the island."

Charlotte turned to look at him, struck by how deep his connections to this place ran. "That must be nice," she said. "Having so much history in one place."

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm too rooted here." He was staring out at the water, his profile strong against the afternoon light. "Never really left, never saw the world the way you have."

"The world's overrated," Charlotte found herself saying. "All these years of traveling, and I'm still looking for something that feels like..." She trailed off, not sure how to finish the thought.

"Like home?" Grant suggested softly.

She nodded, suddenly very aware of how close they were sitting, how easy it would be to lean into him.

"You know," Grant said, his voice low, "sometimes home isn't about where you've always been. Sometimes it's about where you finally stop running."

Charlotte turned to look at him, her heart pounding. His eyes held hers, and she watched as his gaze dropped to her lips. The air between them felt charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.

A cold, wet nose pressed between them as Milo decided he was ready for attention again.

Charlotte laughed shakily, running her fingers through the dog's damp fur. "Your timing is something else," she told him, but she couldn't quite meet Grant's eyes.

As the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across Indigo Bluff's grounds, Grant pulled a silver thermos from his truck."Coffee break?" He produced two ceramic mugs from a small canvas bag. "Thought you might need warming up."

"You thought ahead." Charlotte followed him to a massive live oak, its bare branches creating a natural canopy above them. Someone had placed the old wooden bench beneath it years ago, the weathered seat smooth from countless visitors.

Milo flopped down at their feet, apparently worn out from his earlier excitement with Charlotte's camera gear. The evening air had grown colder, and Charlotte found herself sitting closer to Grant than she'd planned as he poured the coffee.

"Thanks." She wrapped her hands around the warm mug. "Perfect timing, actually. My fingers were starting to freeze."

"Hazard of the job?" He settled back against the bench, his arm brushing hers.

"Photography in winter? Definitely." She took a sip, pleasantly surprised by the rich taste. "This is good."

"Mitch’s special blend. He guards that recipe like a state secret."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the sun paint the sky in shades of pink and gold. A cool breeze rustled through the oak branches, and Charlotte instinctively leaned closer to Grant's warmth.

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