Page 2 of Shifting Sands

“Speaking of, do you have a special man in your life nowadays?” Aunt Ida asks as she tries to coax the shy kitty over with treats.

“Nope. Unfortunately, my selfish friends snatched up all the handsome, available men in the valley,” I quip.

“Aw, I’m sure that isn’t true. Your Mr. Special is out there somewhere,” she says.

“Maybe, but I’m not in any rush to find him,” I say, uncertain whether I’m trying to convince her or myself.

The truth is, my biological clock has been blaring in my ear as of late. I keep hitting the snooze button, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to get it to shut up.

I help Aunt Ida prepare dinner, and then we spend the rest of the evening catching up. She shares a list of restaurants and shops that are open on the island during the offseason, explaining that things tend to slow down this time of year.

“It might not be as lively as spring and summer, but it’s an ideal time to enjoy the beach without being crowded by tourists,” she explains.

“I’m looking forward to it. I could use a little quiet time.”

It’s the truth. Life has been quite hectic lately. It feels like every month, someone in my circle is getting engaged, married, pregnant, or giving birth. While I’m truly happy for all my friends, it’s been exhausting. I could really use a little “me” time.

I love my life; I really do. I live in the most beautiful place on earth, and I have friends who feel more like family than my blood relatives. I enjoy my work, but lately, I’ve definitely been feeling the tug of “wanting more.” Whether that means romance, adventure, motherhood, or something else is what I need to figure out.

Perhaps Sandcastle Cove is the place to help me do just that.

Brandee

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the airport?” I ask as Aunt Ida wheels her suitcase into the living room.

She was up before the sun this morning, making us pancakes for breakfast before her flight.

“I’m positive. My friend Sabel is dropping me off on her way to Wilmington,” she says. “She and her husband, Sebby Hollister, live across the street. They’re wonderful people, and if you need anything while you’re here, you can call or text them. I left their contact information on the refrigerator.”

No sooner does she get the words out than the front door swings open. A stunning woman with silver hair and a bright smile sweeps into the living room.

“Good morning,” she chirps.

I glance from her to the cuckoo clock hanging on the wall that separates the living space from the kitchen. It’s not quite six a.m. yet, and the sun hasn’t even risen. These two look like they’re ready to go out for brunch while I’m still in my pajama pants, one sock on and one sock off. You’d think I was the one with silver hair.

“Good morning, Sabel. Let me introduce you to my niece. This is Brandee,” Aunt Ida announces.

I set the coffee mug I’m gripping aside, wipe the maple syrup on my fingertips onto the front of my T-shirt, and take her hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” I say.

“You too, dear. Ida Mae has told me so much about you. I hope you enjoy your time here on our island.”

“I’m sure I will,” I say.

Aunt Ida goes over her checklist one more time, making sure she hasn’t forgotten anything. I carry her suitcase out to Sabel’s waiting car and load it into the trunk just as the door to the cottage next door swings open. A young girl with dark spiral curls comes sprinting out and heads straight for us.

“Nana,” the child squeals, and Sabel opens her arms just in time to catch her. A blonde, who looks a couple of years younger than me, follows. “Where are you going?”

“I’m taking Ida Mae to the airport. She’s going to see her new grandbabies,” Sabel tells the little girl as she sets her on her feet, then turns her to me. “This is Brandee. She’s Ida Mae’s niece, and she’s going to be staying and watching her house while she’s away.”

The girl looks up at me curiously. “Why does the house need watching? It’s not like it can run away.”

That makes me giggle, and I go down to a knee to face her.

“I think I’m here to watch the cats and water the plants more than the house,” I say.

“Oh, that makes more sense.”

The blonde rolls her eyes. “I’m Avie. This little smarty-pants is my daughter, Leia. We live next door.”

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