Page 62 of Captiva Café

"Those things aren't mutually exclusive," Emma pointed out. "You can be present for your family without surrendering your whole self to their needs."

"That's what I'm hoping," Merritt agreed. "I just...I needed to thank you before I left. For helping me see that leaving Maine wasn't the end of my story—it was just a necessary chapter."

Emma smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Sometimes the longest journeys happen inside us, not on the highway."

"Like your journey from potential nun to expectant mother," Merritt observed with a small smile.

Emma laughed, the sound bright and genuine. "Life does have a way of surprising us." She studied Merritt closely. "Will you come back to Captiva? When you can?"

"I hope so," Merritt said, surprised by how certain she felt. "I'm not finished with this place yet. Or maybe it's not finished with me."

"The island tends to keep those it claims," Emma said with knowing nod. "And Captiva has clearly claimed you, Merritt Ryan."

From outside came the sound of footsteps on the shell path, and moments later, Gareth appeared in the doorway, his face flushed from his beach walk, a collection of shells cupped in one palm.

"Found some perfect specimens for your collection," he told Emma, then noticed Merritt. "Oh, good morning. Didn't mean to interrupt."

"Not at all," Merritt said, rising from her chair. "I was just saying goodbye. I'm heading back to Maine today."

"Safe travels," Gareth said warmly. "The roads can be treacherous in this heat. Be sure to stop and rest frequently."

His genuine concern touched Merritt. These people who had known her for such a short time somehow seemed to care more about her well-being than many she'd known for years back home.

Emma stood with some effort, one hand pressed against her lower back, and embraced Merritt. "Remember what you've learned here," she said softly. "And come back when you can. Captiva will be waiting."

Merritt waved as she walked back toward her car and felt strangely lighter despite the long journey ahead. The conversation with Emma had confirmed what she'd begun to realize during her talk with Maggie earlier—that her time on the island hadn't been an escape so much as a necessary recalibration. A chance to remember who she was beneath all the layers of expectation and obligation.

The drive back to Maine would be long, with hours of solitude on highways stretching across state lines. But for the first time in years, Merritt was looking forward to the quiet. To the space between here and there, where she could continue the work of becoming reacquainted with herself.

She slid into the driver's seat, adjusted her mirrors, and turned the key in the ignition. As she pulled out of the parking lot, she smiled as she passed several landmarks she’d come to know, including The Bubble Room. She turned into the restaurant’s parking lot, got out of her car and reached into the cooler in the backseat. Pulling out a huge piece of Orange Crunch cake and a plastic fork, she got back into the driver’s seat and took a bite. She couldn’t believe the taste and thought it the most delicious cake she’d ever eaten in her life.

Placing the cake on the seat next to her, she turned the car back out onto Captiva Drive. Maine awaited, with all its complications and heartaches. But Captiva had given her something to carry with her—a sense of possibility, of horizons beyond the boundaries she'd accepted for so long.

And one glorious piece of Orange Crunch cake.

CHAPTER 22

"This is a terrible idea," Maggie murmured as she and Chelsea approached the weathered clapboard building that housed the Captiva Chronicle. The once-white paint had faded to a soft cream after years of island sun, and the wooden sign hanging above the door creaked slightly in the morning breeze.

"It's a brilliant idea," Chelsea countered, adjusting her oversized sunglasses. "Linda responds to exactly two things: island regulations and good gossip. Since we don't have time to create a new ordinance, blackmail is our most efficient option."

"I wouldn't call it blackmail," Maggie protested, though her tone lacked conviction. "It's more like...leveraged persuasion."

Chelsea snorted. "Call it whatever helps you sleep at night, Maggie. I'm calling it what it is."

They paused at the entrance, a bell dangling above the door that would announce their arrival with cheerful betrayal. Through the window, they could see Linda at her desk, reading glasses perched on the end of her nose as she frowned at something on her computer screen.

"She looks particularly irritable today," Maggie observed.

"Perfect," Chelsea replied with alarming enthusiasm. "Emotionally destabilized negotiating partners are more likely to make concessions."

Maggie raised an eyebrow. "Where did you learn that?"

"Steven watches a lot of negotiation tutorials on YouTube. I absorb information through osmosis." Chelsea straightened her shoulders. "Ready?"

Before Maggie could respond, Chelsea pushed open the door, setting the bell into frantic motion. Linda looked up sharply, her reading glasses slipping further down her nose.

"Maggie. Chelsea." She acknowledged them with the cautious neutrality of someone encountering potential predators in the wild. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

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