Page 9 of Lost Love Cove
Carrie forced herself to relax, fingers uncurling from around the doorframe and resting on the edge. The smell of something lemony and sweet rose from the tin. “It’s a pleasure,” she said, meaning it more than she expected. “I’m still getting my bearings.” She gestured Paula inside, noting how Luna immediately abandoned her conquest to circle their ankles.
Paula looked around the foyer as she slipped off her sandals, toes painted the cheerful pink of bubblegum. “I was here a few times after the… Well, I suppose you know about Trevor?” She delivered the words softly, almost apologetic.
Carrie nodded. “Lori told me some. Enough to understand she’s still adjusting.”
“Mm.” Paula’s gaze swept the space, and, for a second, her face softened at the painting of the cove that hung crooked abovethe entry table. “She and Trevor were good eggs. Missed, around here. I hope Lori finds what she needs.”
Carrie could have offered a platitude, but Paula’s candor stopped her. Instead, she set the muffins beside the tin on the counter and said, “Want some coffee? I have to warn you, it’s hours old.”
Paula brightened. “Isn’t that the only way to drink it down here?”
Carrie poured two cups, watching as Paula sat in front of her. While the woman seemed friendly and chatty, her eyes were alert, secretly taking in her surroundings like a seasoned pro, making Carrie think there was a whole lot more to Paula Day than first met the eye.
After half an hour of Paula chatting about the island and asking Carrie subtly pointed questions, Paula said she had to go. She hated riding her bicycle in the noonday heat. As Carrie walked her outside, she had the peculiar feeling she’d just been vetted.
“It was so lovely meeting you, Carrie,” Paula said, getting onto her bicycle.
“Yes, thank you for stopping by,” Carrie told her. “I’ll return your tin when I come to browse your shop.”
“Oh, no.” Paula waved it off. “The tin is part of the gift.”
“But that’s a vintage tin,” Carrie protested and frowned.
“I’ve got lots of other vintage tins,” Paula assured her.
“Where do you get all your vintage items?” Carrie asked curiously.
“I travelled a lot when I was younger,” Paula told her.
“I wish I’d gotten to do that,” Carrie admitted.
“I was lucky,” Paula admitted. “My work took me all over the globe.” Before Carrie could ask what work that was, Paula glanced at her wristwatch. “Goodness, is that the time?” She turned her pink bicycle around. “I have to get going. I hope to see you again soon, Carrie.”
“Yes, I’ll pop into the shop soon,” Carrie promised, waving Paula off.
Carrie stepped back into the beach cottage, the screen door slapping shut behind her with a familiar island rhythm. Luna's nails clicked against the polished cypress floors as they made their way through the sun-dappled living room. The visit had been unexpected, but there was something comforting about Paula's easy manner that made Carrie feel less like an intruder in Lori's space.
The vintage tin caught the afternoon light streaming through the kitchen windows, its faded flamingos dancing across the metal surface. When she pried off the lid, a cloud of sweet-butter aroma enveloped her, carrying hints of vanilla and something tropical—perhaps coconut or key lime. The first bite crumbled between her teeth, buttery and delicate, dissolving into a perfect balance of sweetness that made her close her eyes and lean against the counter.
“Oh my word, these are delicious,” Carrie said to the room, finishing the first cookie and reaching for another. “I really shouldn’t,” she muttered guiltily to herself. “But I’m on vacation so…”
She took another one, and before she could bite into it, Luna shot up from her spot on the floor beside Carrie, where she’dbeen happily chewing on the raw hide bone. The dog’s hair stood rigid as she barked again and shot toward the front door. This time it wasn’t a soft bark of excitement at who was at the front door. It was a bark that said something wasn’t right as her hackles were raised when Carrie found her at the front door. Luna’s growl was deep and low in her throat and more like a vicious snarl.
Carrie’s pulse jumped. She crossed quickly and opened the door, and Luna surged forward. Carrie dashed out onto the front porch in time to see a wiry teenager dart away from Lori’s mailbox, his sneakers pounding against gravel. Carrie caught a glimpse of dark hair and a slouched hoodie before he veered off and disappeared between the hedges.
“Hey!” Carrie called, dashing down the stairs behind Luna, but the figure was gone.
Carrie’s gaze flicked to the mailbox. Heart still racing, she walked over and tugged the door open. A handful of bills and flyers slid forward, along with a single folded sheet of paper that was not in an envelope. She pulled it out, smoothing it open with cautious fingers.
Matt Parker’s name was printed across the top. It was a county notice about the permit for his renovations.
Carrie’s mouth tightened. A part of her wanted to shove it back into the box, close the lid, and forget she had ever seen it. If Matt’s renovations stalled, the hammering would stop. She could sleep, she could think, she could breathe without the constant thud and whine of construction breaking through every wall.
However, her conscience would not let her do it.
Carrie folded the paper back into its original crease, shoved the pile of mail beneath her arm, and strode across the yard. Luna trotted at her side, still keyed up, tail stiff. Carrie walked through Lori’s gate, then Matt’s, walking up to the front door, and knocked firmly on it.
Muttley’s bark boomed from inside, a deeper counterpoint to Luna’s restless pacing. Footsteps approached, and then the door swung open.
