Page 48 of Captiva Café

"Still waiting," Maggie confirmed. "Though at this point, I think she'd welcome labor just to end the suspense. They've put an offer on the Maxwell cottage, by the way."

"Really? That was fast," Chelsea remarked. "Well, I wouldn't miss dinner. What time?"

"Seven. Paolo's grilling."

"I'll bring dessert," Chelsea promised, already mentally reviewing her pantry for ingredients.

After Maggie left, Jacqui turned to Chelsea with a questioning look. "You're really invested in Linda's love life, aren't you? I mean, beyond the usual island gossip level."

Chelsea's usual flippant response died on her lips. After a moment, she said more seriously, "It's not just about the gossip. Though I won't pretend that's not entertaining."

"What then?"

Chelsea gazed out the window. "Several reasons, the first being that this island can’t take one more season of ‘Grumpy Lindy’ and, well…Linda's been alone for as long as I've known her. Married to that newspaper, determined to uphold every tradition and standard, no matter how outdated. And Byron's been drowning in grief since Louise died."

She turned back to Jacqui, her expression softening. "I suppose I like the idea that it's never too late. That even the most set-in-their-ways people can surprise you. Can surprise themselves…even Linda."

Jacqui studied her mentor with newfound understanding. "That's...unexpectedly romantic of you, Chelsea."

"Don't tell anyone," Chelsea said, her usual briskness returning. "I have a reputation to maintain."

Just then, the sound of a phone ringing came clearly through the wall, followed by Linda's professional greeting: "Captiva Chronicle, Linda St. James speaking."

There was a pause, then: "Byron! What a...what a pleasant surprise."

Chelsea and Jacqui froze, identical expressions of delighted disbelief crossing their faces.

"Yes, I'm well, thank you. The deadline pressure is always there, of course, but...yes, exactly. You understand."

Another pause.

"This evening? Well, I...yes, I suppose I could. The editorial will be finished by then."

Chelsea pressed her hand over her mouth to contain a squeal of excitement. Jacqui leaned against the desk, openly eavesdropping now.

"Seven o'clock? That sounds...lovely."

The word "lovely" emerged from Linda's mouth with the tentativeness of someone trying a foreign phrase for the first time.

"I look forward to it as well. Goodbye, Byron."

The click of the phone being replaced in its cradle was followed by what sounded suspiciously like a small, giddy laugh—a sound so unexpected coming from Linda St. James that Chelsea and Jacqui exchanged stunned looks.

"Did she just..." Jacqui whispered.

"Giggle? I think she did," Chelsea confirmed, awestruck. "The ice queen giggled."

For a moment, they both stood in reverent silence, processing this seismic shift in the island's social tectonics. Then Chelsea's face split into a triumphant grin.

"Wait until I tell Maggie," she declared, already reaching for her phone. "Island romance is officially in bloom. And I have front-row seats to the whole blossoming affair."

"You're terrible," Jacqui said, but she was smiling too.

"Terribly right," Chelsea corrected, her fingers flying across her phone screen.

"Of course," Jacqui agreed dryly. "Now, about that inventory spreadsheet..."

But Chelsea was already lost in composing her text to Maggie, her sabbatical from painting temporarily forgotten in the face of this far more compelling island drama. After all, what was art compared to the unexpected romance blossoming next door? Some stories, Chelsea decided, were too good not to witness firsthand.

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