Page 10 of Captiva Café

The beach opened before them, a wide expanse of white sand meeting turquoise water that was turning deep blue as the sun sank lower. A gentle breeze ruffled Merritt's hair, carrying the scent of salt and something flowering nearby.

They settled onto a weathered wooden bench facing the water. For a moment, no one spoke, all of them watching the sun's slow descent toward the horizon.

"This is my favorite time of day," Maggie said finally, her voice soft. "When everything pauses, just for a moment."

"Mine too," Merritt found herself saying. "In Maine, I'd sometimes drive to the coast after school just to catch the sunset."

"Different ocean, same magic." Chelsea nodded.

The four women watched as the sky deepened from gold to orange to crimson. Somewhere down the beach, a solitary figure walked slowly along the water's edge, a dog running circles around their legs.

"How long are you planning to stay on Captiva?" Sarah asked.

Merritt shrugged. "I've booked two weeks at the inn, but I don't have any firm plans after that. I took a leave of absence from my teaching position, so I have the whole summer, at least."

"Any particular reason?" Chelsea asked, then quickly added, "If you don't mind me asking."

Merritt stared out at the darkening water. "I needed to figure some things out. About what I want. Who I am when I'm not being who everyone else expects me to be."

She hadn't planned to say so much, but something about the moment—the fading light, the rhythmic sound of waves, the lack of pressure from these women who were strangers yet didn't feel like strangers—loosened the careful guard she usually kept on her words.

"Well," Maggie said softly, "Captiva has a way of helping people find those answers."

"Or at least asking better questions," Chelsea added with a smile.

As the last sliver of sun disappeared beneath the horizon, Merritt felt something inside her shift slightly—like a door that had been locked for too long creaking open just an inch to let in fresh air. She didn't know what tomorrow would bring, but for the first time in months, she found herself looking forward to finding out.

After a while, the women gathered their empty mugs and started back toward the inn, where lights glowed golden through the windows and the sound of laughter drifted on the evening breeze. Merritt fell into step beside them, her footprints joining theirs in the cool sand.

Maybe she'd made the right choice in coming here after all.

CHAPTER 4

Across the island, Isabelle sat alone in her living room, the artifacts from the café site spread carefully on her coffee table. The Spanish coin caught the lamplight, its tarnished surface revealing the faint outline of a coat of arms. The pottery shard, with its distinctive zigzag pattern, seemed to pulse with silent history.

She'd photographed everything meticulously before bringing the items home, emailing the images to Marco's archaeologist contact at the university. Dr. Eleanor Reyes had responded almost immediately, her excitement evident even through the professional restraint of her message:

These appear to be authentic artifacts of significant historical interest. I would need to examine them personally to confirm, but the pottery displays classic Calusa decorative elements from the pre-colonial period, while the coin appears to be Spanish, possibly 18th century. The journal could be particularly valuable if it contains firsthand accounts of early island life. I can visit as early as Thursday if that suits your schedule.

Isabelle traced her finger along the edge of the leather journal, not daring to open it further than the first page, wherefaded ink spelled out a name and date:Thomas Caldwell, 1889. The rest would have to wait for proper examination.

What she didn’t expect was a slight admonishment from Dr. Reyes.

I suggest you return the items back to where you found them. They should not be disturbed.

Her phone chimed with a text message. Gretchen.

Marco says his archaeologist friend is coming Thursday. Linda is practically levitating with excitement. Also, I think we need to go with the darker wood for the counter. I've been converted to your vision.

Isabelle smiled, typing back:We'll discuss the wood tomorrow. And yes, Thursday for Dr. Reyes. I've already heard from her.

Another message from Gretchen arrived almost instantly:

Marco asked if I wanted to get coffee tomorrow to discuss café historical display options. Is that weird? Should I say yes? Is this a work thing or a something else thing?

Isabelle's smile widened. For all Gretchen's newfound focus and maturity regarding the café, she still had moments of endearing uncertainty. Particularly, it seemed, where Marco Bernal was concerned.

Say yes,Isabelle replied.And wear something nicer than those construction site t-shirts.

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