Page 11 of Lost Love Cove
“About two years,” Matt answered. “I had to fix nearly everything from wiring to painting.” He paused. “I like to keep busy.” He looked at her. “And you? Where are you from?”
“I grew up in Boston,” Carrie told him, her eyes fixed on the road. “But I’ve lived in Nantucket for most of my adult life.” She glanced at him once again. “And you? Where are you from? What do you do for a living?”
“Also, Boston. I’m a structural engineer.” Matt shifted, watching her profile against the glare of the windshield. “What do you do in Nantucket?”
“I’m the police captain,” she said simply.
He blinked, surprised enough that he turned toward her fully. “The captain?”
Her mouth curved faintly. “That’s right.”
It explained the steadiness in her gaze, the clipped authority in her voice when she’d confronted him that first evening. Of course, she had come across as someone used to giving orders. He leaned back slowly, a wry breath slipping out.
“I would never have guessed that was your career,” Matt said.
Her eyes flicked toward him before returning to the road. “I get that a lot.”
The silence returned, thicker this time, filled with things neither seemed willing to say.
When the ferry came into view, Carrie eased into line behind two other vehicles. The dock creaked with the wash of tide, the smell of diesel thick in the air. They rolled forward, tires clunking onto the wooden planks, until the attendant waved them into place.
Matt stepped out once the ramp clanged shut, stretching stiff legs. Carrie stayed in the driver’s seat, her hands relaxed on the wheel, her eyes fixed on the horizon as if she could will the ferry to move faster.
The ride lasted only twenty minutes, but the awkwardness filled every second. They exchanged polite sentences—about weather, about traffic, about the market Alisha had taken the kids to—buteach word felt measured, trimmed to avoid spilling too far into anything personal.
By the time the ferry pulled into Key West, Matt was almost relieved to drive off the ramp and toward the low building of the Monroe County offices.
Carrie parked the car. Matt took the documents from his lap, and as he was climbing out, he turned to Carrie. “Why don’t you come in with me?” he asked. “It’s air-conditioned in the offices, and it beats roasting in a hot car.”
Carrie glanced at him. For a moment, he thought she might refuse. Instead, she unbuckled quietly. “Alright.”
The air inside the building was cool, almost too cold after the weight of summer heat outside. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead. A clerk behind the counter looked up as Matt approached, the paper extended in his hand.
“I was sent a county notice about a problem with my permit,” he explained. “It says I need to get this resolved today.”
The clerk, a man in his forties with wire-rimmed glasses, took the paper and typed it into his computer quickly. His brow furrowed as his gaze moved between the screen and the notice.
“Mr. Parker,” he said after a pause, his voice measured, “the county notice isn’t just about your permit.”
Matt frowned. “What do you mean?”
“There’s an inconsistency with your deed of sale,” the clerk said. “According to the records, this property is still tied to the Winters estate. Until that’s resolved, your deed isn’t considered clean, and we can’t process your permit.”
The words landed like a blow. Matt stared, confusion firing through him. He opened his mouth, closed it, then looked at Carrie beside him. Her eyes had sharpened, her posture alert, as if she had already begun to read every nuance in the clerk’s tone.
Matt’s mind reeled. What was going on?
He turned back to the clerk. “That can’t be right. How can my property have anything to do with the Winters property?”
But the man only shook his head, the glow of the monitor casting his face in pale light.
“I’m afraid it is, Mr. Parker,” the man assured him. “The property you applied to renovate belongs to the Winters estate.”
6
MATT
The fluorescent light overhead flickered once, then steadied into its usual cold glow. Matt stood at the counter, the notice from his permit folded and damp from where it had sat in his palm. The clerk behind the glass partition adjusted his glasses and gave the screen one last look before speaking.
