Page 8 of Captiva Café

Marco smiled. "Smart woman, your partner."

"She is," Isabelle agreed, surprised by how easily the admission came. "Though if you tell her I said so, I'll deny it completely."

As Marco laughed, Isabelle found herself thinking that perhaps Linda St. James's interruption had been fortuitous after all. The café was already bringing people together, and they hadn't even served their first cup of coffee.

CHAPTER 3

The sun was an hour from finally setting in the sky when Merritt finally emerged from her room. She'd spent the afternoon unpacking and resting, listening to the muffled sounds of the inn—voices chattering in the parlor, the occasional burst of laughter, a dog barking at something outside. The comforting white noise of a place with life in it.

Now, dressed in faded jeans and a light blue cotton blouse, she ventured downstairs. Her stomach growled, reminding her she'd driven straight through lunch in her eagerness to reach the island.

The main floor was quiet now, most guests having gone out for dinner. A warm breeze drifted through open windows, carrying the scent of flowers and salt. Merritt followed her nose toward the back of the inn, where light spilled onto a wide veranda facing the water.

Paolo Moretti stood at a grill, spatula in hand, chatting with a boy who was setting a large wooden table with blue ceramic plates. The boy looked up first, noticing Merritt hovering in the doorway.

"Hi," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "Are you the YouTube lady?"

Paolo turned, spatula raised. "Noah, that's not polite."

"Sorry," the boy mumbled, adjusting a fork that was already perfectly aligned. "Grandma said someone came because of Great-Grandma's video."

Merritt smiled despite herself. "I am from Maine, but I'm not exactly a YouTube celebrity stalker. I just...liked what I saw in the video."

Paolo's smile was warm and genuine. "You must be Merritt. I'm Paolo, Maggie's husband. And this helpful young man is Noah, our grandson."

"I'm almost twelve," Noah added, standing a little straighter as if trying to appear taller. "Almost in seventh grade."

"That's a big year." Merritt nodded seriously. "Very important."

This earned her a quick, shy smile before Noah returned to placing napkins with careful precision, his face screwed up in concentration.

"Are you hungry?" Paolo asked, gesturing to the grill where fish filets sizzled. "We're having a family dinner for a change, but there's plenty. Maggie would be delighted if you joined us."

Merritt hesitated. Family dinner sounded intimate, private—not something a stranger should intrude upon. But her stomach growled again, more insistently this time.

"I don't want to impose," she began.

"Nonsense," came Maggie's voice as she stepped onto the veranda carrying a large bowl of salad. "On Captiva, guests become family faster than you'd think. Especially ones who've traveled all the way from Maine."

Merritt found herself being guided to a chair before she could properly refuse. The table was laid for what looked like a small army—at least ten place settings.

"Is your whole family coming?" she asked, gesturing to the table.

"Just the local contingent," Maggie replied, arranging serving utensils. "Sarah and her crew, Chelsea and Steven if they can make it. You met Sarah earlier—she's my daughter. Noah is her eldest."

As if summoned by her name, Sarah appeared in the doorway, carrying a sleepy-looking toddler on her hip, while a girl of about five skipped ahead of her.

"Sophia, slow down," Sarah called. "And use the railing on those steps."

Sophia spotted Merritt and froze.

"You're sitting in Daddy’s chair," she informed her solemnly.

"Sophia." Sarah sighed, shifting the toddler to her other hip. "We don't have assigned seats. And Daddy’s running late anyway."

Sophia considered this, then shrugged and plopped down three seats away. "I'm Sophia. That's my little sister, Maggie. We call her Little Maggie so she doesn't get confused with my Grandma. She’s Big Maggie."

"Big Maggie?" Merritt raised an eyebrow at her host.

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