Page 55 of Captiva Café

Gretchen felt a familiar flutter of anxiety. In the months since Sebastian's death, she'd been living in the mansion's guest suite—an arrangement that had begun as temporary support for a grieving friend and evolved into something more permanent as they'd launched their business partnership.

"Are you thinking of selling?" she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.

Isabelle smiled, seeming to read the concern behind the question. "Not immediately, no. But I am thinking about the future." She gestured toward the cottage. "Including what to do with that."

Gretchen followed her gaze. The cottage had been a point of contention during the estate battles—Sebastian had designated it for sale, but his children had argued it should remain part of the family property. The cottage had also been the subject of Gretchen's own wavering interest over the past year, attracted to its charm but hesitant to commit to anything permanent.

"It's a lovely little place," Gretchen said carefully.

"It is," Isabelle agreed. "Too lovely to sit empty. And now that the legal situation is resolved and it's completely mine to dispose of..." She took a sip of her wine, studying Gretchen over the rim of her glass. "I find myself returning to a question I've asked you before: would you consider buying it?"

Gretchen blinked, caught off guard by the directness of the question. "I?—"

"Before you answer," Isabelle continued, "let me say that I understand your hesitation. Chelsea has told me about your... how did she put it? Your 'complicated relationship with commitment.' But I've been watching you these past months, Gretchen. With the café, with building connections here on the island. You've found something here, haven't you?"

Gretchen felt unexpectedly exposed, as if Isabelle had peered past her carefully maintained façade of bohemian detachmentto the truth beneath. The truth was that Captiva had become more than just another temporary stop in her peripatetic life. The island had worked its way under her skin, becoming the first place in years she could imagine actually staying.

"I have," she admitted, surprising herself with the certainty in her voice. "I came here because of Chelsea and Steven, but I've stayed because..." She paused, searching for the right words. "Because for the first time in a long time, I feel like I'm building something real. The café, yes, but also relationships that matter. Captiva Island is my home now."

Isabelle nodded encouragingly. "And?"

"And I'm tired of running," Gretchen continued, the words spilling out now. "I'm tired of being the Lawrence sister who can't commit, who bounces from place to place and project to project. Chelsea has built this wonderful life here with Steven. My other sisters have their lives in Key West. And I want...I want roots too, and it’s not too far away from my daughter Kaitlyn."

A smile spread across Isabelle's face. "Then the cottage could be perfect for you. Your own home."

Gretchen glanced again at the cottage, allowing herself for the first time to really imagine it as hers. She could see herself having morning coffee on that porch, planting the garden she'd always secretly wanted, hanging her photographs on walls that belonged to her.

"What about the price?" she asked, practicality rearing its head. "I've put almost everything into the café. I'm not sure I can afford?—"

"We can work out terms that make sense," Isabelle said with a dismissive wave. "Perhaps rent-to-own, or something creative. The important thing is that it would be yours eventually. A commitment to staying, to being part of this community."

"A commitment," Gretchen echoed, the word both thrilling and terrifying. She took a deep breath. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, I would love that," Gretchen said, the words rushing out before she could reconsider. "I want to stay on Captiva."

Isabelle's eyes shone with genuine pleasure. "I was hoping you'd say that."

"I can't believe I'm saying it." Gretchen laughed. "Chelsea will faint when I tell her I'm actually buying property. She's been trying to get me to make a final decision for months."

"She'll be thrilled," Isabelle assured her. "As am I. It feels right, doesn't it? You in the cottage, me finding my way forward in this house, both of us creating the café in town. It's like...how do you Americans say it? The pieces falling into place."

Gretchen nodded, a sense of rightness settling over her that was unfamiliar but welcome. "The pieces falling into place," she repeated. "I like that."

She raised her wine glass. "To new beginnings. To commitment. To actually staying put for a change."

"To Captiva," Isabelle added, clinking her glass against Gretchen's. "The island that seems to have a way of keeping those who need it most."

Gretchen felt a bubbling excitement rise within her, the kind she usually associated with new adventures in far-flung places. But this was different—the excitement not of departure but of arrival. Of finding, finally, the place where she belonged.

"I might want to make some changes,” she said, her mind already racing ahead to color schemes and furniture placement. "I'm thinking the front room would make a perfect home studio for my photography, and that kitchen needs updating but nothing too modern—it should keep its cottage charm, don't you think?"

Isabelle laughed, delighted by the transformation in her friend. "We can start tomorrow, if you like. Though perhaps we should focus on finishing the café first?"

"Right, of course," Gretchen agreed, though her eyes kept straying to the cottage. "Café first, cottage second. But maybe we could just measure a few rooms this weekend? Just to get started?"

"I think that can be arranged," Isabelle said.

---