Page 1 of Lost Love Cove
1
CARRIE
The first thing Carrie Ware noticed about Sunset Keys was how the air smelled like salt and hibiscus. It drifted through the partially open window as she drove the final stretch of road and was the kind of air that seemed determined to coax the tension from her shoulders. But no matter how she tried, the knot in her chest refused to let go.
The houses along the narrow lane looked like something out of a postcard, painted in cheerful pastel shades with wide porches that seemed made for evenings spent with a cold drink in hand. Bougainvillea spilled over white fences, and palm fronds swayed lazily in the late afternoon breeze. The island rhythm pulsed all around Carrie, and she wondered if it was possible to feel out of place somewhere so welcoming.
Carrie glanced at the back seat, where her ten-year-old granddaughter, Maggie, dozed, and it warmed her heart. At first, she didn’t think it would be a good idea to bring Maggie with her because of the long drive from Nantucket to Florida. But Maggie had turned out to be stimulating company and kept her mind from wandering to morbid thoughts.
She turned into the gravel drive of her lifelong best friend, Lori Carlton’s house, and cut the engine. The car quieted, leaving only the ocean’s distant murmur and the rustle of leaves. For a long moment, she sat gripping the wheel, letting the silence press against her. She told herself this was what she needed: distance, stillness, a chance to remember who she was outside the uniform. But the quiet pressed too heavily, and the memory of her ex-husband’s engagement announcement slipped through the cracks. She forced it away, reaching for her purse instead, and turned to the backseat.
“Maggie, sweetheart, wake up. We’re here,” Carrie said to the young girl, coaxing her awake. “Let’s go take a look at where we’re spending the summer.”
Maggie opened her eyes, blinked two or three times, then stretched in the exaggerated, feline way only a twelve-year-old could get away with. “We’re in Florida?” she said, her voice still gummy with sleep.
“Yes, we are.” Carrie smiled and pushed open the car door, stretching out her cramped limbs and aching back. The simple act sent a sharp reminder through her side, the old wound pulling tight after so many hours behind the wheel.
Her blouse tugged faintly where the scar ran across her ribs, the reminder of her healing injury as sharp as ever. It had been months since the shooting, and still her body spoke the language of pain whenever she moved the wrong way. She leaned on the car door for a few seconds, determined not to let the ache undo her.
The sticky warmth of the air was heavy with the scent of the sea and drenched by the warmth of the sun. Carrie popped the trunk, pulling out her bag while Maggie wrestled her ownsuitcase and tote bag free. Together, they slung straps over their shoulders and gathered handles in tired hands, the weight awkward after so many hours of travel with only a brief three-hour stop along the way.
Carrie and Maggie carried their luggage toward the porch, oblivious to the beauty of the scenery around them as they walked from the driveway to the front of the house.
She stopped at the base of the stairs and looked up. The house looked every bit the coastal retreat Lori had promised. Shutters painted a soft teal, the porch lined with wicker chairs, the faint scent of Trevor Carlton’s favorite jasmine plant curling through the garden beds. Trevor, Lori’s late husband, had been gone two years, but his presence still lingered in the small details. Carrie felt a pang of sympathy for Lori, who had filled this house with love and laughter, then had to learn how to live in its silence.
Feeling the exhaustion set in, Carrie climbed the stairs with a sluggish Maggie trailing behind her. She found the keys where Lori said they would be, beneath the cushion of the old swing seat that sat beside the front door. The thought of a fresh cup of coffee, a shower, and maybe a nap pushed her tired body forward.
Inside, the house opened up in a rush of brightness and warm welcome. Lori had kept it simple but tasteful—pale wooden floors bleached by the sun, walls softened in sandy tones, and wide windows that let the ocean light spill through. The living room carried the faintest scent of lavender polish, with a row of family photographs still lined up neatly on the mantel. Shells and bits of driftwood sat artfully in a bowl by the entry.
Maggie dropped her bag and darted from room to room, calling out discoveries: a reading nook tucked by the window, the quiltfolded at the foot of the bed in the guest room, the balcony that looked straight out to the cove, which Carrie felt was aptly named, Lost Love Cove. She followed more slowly, steadying herself against the ache in her side, but was already starting to feel something loosen in her chest. Lori's house welcomed her like an old friend, offering shelter from a storm.
By the time they each chose their rooms, Maggie claimed the smaller one with a view of the beach, while Carrie settled into the master with its wide windows and sheer curtains that fluttered in the breeze; nearly an hour had slipped away. Carrie unpacked, quietly admiring the view and peace from her room, and stored her bags away before wandering back to the kitchen. She made a light snack, something to tide them over until she figured out groceries, while Maggie, fully awake now, explored again with the restless curiosity only a child could sustain after such a long trip.
Carrie was setting fruit on a plate when a sound cut through the stillness, the low crunch of tires on gravel. She froze, glancing toward the front.
“Someone’s here,” Maggie said, already bounding toward the window.
They stepped onto the porch just as a car pulled into the drive. The sight of a young woman climbing out made Maggie’s eyes widen.
“It must be the dog sitter!” Maggie cried, excitement spilling from her in waves.
They were barely out the door when the woman pushed open the gate, waving with a cheerful smile. Her arm was shaking as she held the leash, which was being tugged forcefully in her hand. Assoon as the excited dog straining against the leash saw Maggie, the dog sitter gave up and let go, and thundering paws hit the ground in a sprint.
Luna, Lori’s Dalmatian, burst through the open gate in a flash of white and black spots, her tail wagging furiously as the dog bolted forward, ears flying, as she closed the distance between herself and Maggie.
Maggie squealed and dropped to her knees without hesitation. “Luna!” she cried, delighted.
The Dalmatian skidded to a halt, then pressed her spotted head against Maggie’s chest with a whine of pure delight.
Maggie wrapped her arms around Luna’s neck, laughing as the dog showered her with sloppy kisses.
Carrie stood back, watching as Maggie dissolved into giggles while Luna wriggled and bounced around her. For the first time since their long journey, Maggie’s weariness lifted completely, replaced by a light that made Carrie’s chest loosen.
Carrie crouched behind Maggie and reached over to greet Luna with a scratch behind her ears. A wet lick brushed across her hand, and she let out a quiet laugh. “She's glad to see you,” Carrie said, straightening up as her knees started to protest. “Why don’t you go get her food and water?”
Carrie chuckled as she watched her granddaughter spring into motion, dashing off with Luna at her side to do as her grandmother asked.
“Thank you for bringing Luna home,” Carrie said to the young woman.
