Page 66 of Captiva Café

Maggie paused, considering what else to write. Outside, the rain settled into a steady rhythm, no longer driving against the glass but falling in a gentle, consistent pattern that promised to continue through the night.

I suppose the question that matters most is not what choices my children made because of me, but whether they are genuinely fulfilled by the lives they've built. Whether they wake up most mornings with a sense of purpose, of rightness in their path.

And if they don't—if any of them harbor regrets or deferred dreams—is it too late for new beginnings? Captiva taught me it's never too late to reinvent yourself, to pursue joy even afterprofound loss. Perhaps part of my role as their mother now is to make sure they know that too.

That whatever choices they've made in the past, whatever obligations they've fulfilled or expectations they've met, they are always free to choose again. To change course. To surprise themselves—and me—with new directions.

Perhaps that's the greatest gift we can give our adult children: permission to outgrow the roles we've inadvertently assigned them. Permission to become people we never imagined they might be.

She closed the journal gently, capped her pen, and sat back in her chair. The questions she'd explored had no easy answers, but somehow the act of writing them down had eased the anxious churning they'd created in her mind throughout the day.

Tomorrow would bring its usual parade of guest needs, inn responsibilities, and island developments. But tonight, in the quiet of her office with rain tapping against the window like gentle reminders of time passing, Maggie allowed herself this moment of maternal reflection—of wondering about the ripple effects of her life on those she loved most.

She rose from her desk, switched off the lamp, and grabbed an umbrella. She made her way through the darkened inn and ran across the driveway to the carriage house.

She would call Lauren again. She would listen more closely to Sarah. She would reach out to Beth, to Christopher, to Michael—not with questions or concerns, but simply with love, with presence, with the reassurance that whatever paths they chose, her support remained unconditional.

As Maggie slipped quietly into bed beside Paolo, careful not to wake him, a strange peace settled over her. The questions lingered, but they no longer felt so urgent or heavy with potential regret.

Her children had made their choices, just as she had made hers. They were all, in their own ways, finding their paths through this complicated, beautiful life.

A conversation and early walk with her best friend would help put things into perspective, as it always did. Unfortunately, it would have to wait a day or two, with rain predicted ahead. The last thing Maggie remembered was the gentle patter against the window, lulling her into a deep sleep.

CHAPTER 24

Two days later, the Key Lime Garden Inn hummed with the controlled chaos of changeover day. In the hallways, housekeeping carts created temporary roadblocks as Iris and Millie rushed to turn over rooms for the afternoon check-ins. The washing machines in the laundry room spun with industrial determination, processing mountains of sheets and towels. At the front desk, Oliver juggled phone calls from incoming guests requesting early check-ins while simultaneously processing the credit cards of those departing.

Against this backdrop of practiced hospitality, Chelsea burst through the front door, newspaper clutched triumphantly in her hand like a conquistador with a flag.

"It worked!" she announced to the lobby at large, causing a departing couple to startle and nearly drop their suitcases. "Linda came through! Look!"

She waved the newspaper overhead, oblivious to the bemused glances from guests waiting to check out.

Maggie emerged from the office, a stack of receipts in one hand and a harried expression that suggested she'd been up since dawn. "Chelsea, please. Inside voice."

"Since when do I have an inside voice?" Chelsea demanded, but she did lower the volume slightly as she followed Maggie toward the small office behind the reception desk. "You need to see this. Linda's notice about the café construction is perfect. Stern enough to scare off the archaeological enthusiasts but not so apocalyptic that it'll damage interest in the eventual opening."

She spread the newspaper on Maggie's desk, pointing to a boxed notice on the second page titled "SAFETY ALERT: Captiva Café Construction Site."

"And look," Chelsea continued, flipping to the back pages, "she gave us premium placement for the advertisement. Right next to the island events calendar where everyone will see it."

The full-page advertisement featured a stylized rendering of the café's planned exterior, with the words "Captiva Café: Coming Soon" in an elegant serif font. Below, in smaller text: "Where island history meets modern comfort. A new gathering place for locals and visitors alike."

"It's nice," Maggie acknowledged, though her tone lacked the enthusiasm Chelsea had clearly expected. She glanced at the papers on her desk, then at the clock on the wall. "I should get back to the front. We've got three more check-outs before noon and a full house coming in this afternoon."

Chelsea frowned, studying her friend more carefully. "What's wrong with you today? You've got that pinched look around your eyes that you get when something's bothering you."

"I don't have a pinched look," Maggie protested automatically.

"You absolutely do. It's your tell." Chelsea perched on the edge of the desk, making herself comfortable in a way that signaled she wasn't leaving until she got answers. "Is it the chaos of changeover day? Because that's just the usual Saturday madness. Or did Paolo burn the scones this morning?Is your mother threatening another meetup for her YouTube followers?"

Maggie sighed, setting down the receipts and rubbing her temples. "No, it's nothing like that. I'm just...distracted today."

"Distracted by what?"

Before Maggie could answer, Millie appeared in the doorway, a look of controlled panic on her face. "Room 6 just called down. Their toilet is overflowing. I've called the emergency plumber, but he can't be here for at least an hour, and the Porters are supposed to check in at three."

"Tell Oliver to move the Porters to Room 8," Maggie replied without hesitation. "It's a slight upgrade, but we'll absorb the difference. And see if Paolo can deal with the immediate flood situation until the plumber arrives."

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