Page 10 of Lost Love Cove
Matt stood there, tool belt still around his waist, a streak of sawdust across his shirt. His brows lifted in surprise when he saw her. For a moment, neither of them spoke. His gaze held hers, steady, unreadable, and something tightened in her chest.
Luna’s bark broke the silence.
Carrie thrust the paper forward, her voice brisk. “This was in Lori’s mailbox. It wasn’t in an envelope, and I’m sorry, but I did read it. I thought you should have it.”
His eyes flicked to the notice, then back to her. He took it, unfolding the paper slowly. As he read, his jaw tensed, the line of his mouth hardening.
“It’s my permit,” he muttered finally. “There’s a problem, and it has to be resolved today.” His hand tightened on the edge of the paper, and his glance flicked to the driveway. “Darn. Alisha’s taken the truck.”
Carrie’s instinct was to step back, to leave him to it. But before she could stop herself, words slipped out, too fast, too unguarded. “Where do you need to go? I can drive you.”
The moment the words left her mouth, regret flooded her. What was she thinking?
Matt’s head lifted, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her. The pause stretched just long enough to make her wish she could snatch the offer back. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, of course.” Carrie nodded. “I’m not busy for the rest of the afternoon, and Maggie, as you know, has gone with your daughter and grandson.”
Matt stared at her for a moment longer, making her start to feel self-conscious before giving a single, short nod. “Thank you, I’d appreciate that.”
“When do you want to go?” Carrie asked him.
“Is ten minutes okay?” Matt asked. “I just need to freshen up and put on some other clothes.”
“Y… yes, that’s fine.” Carrie swallowed. “I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.” She forced a smile before turning on her heel.
Carrie walked back toward Lori’s house. Her legs felt like jelly, and her thoughts were spinning. Luna paced happily beside her.
“What was I thinking?” she muttered under her breath as she closed the front door behind her. She walked into the kitchen to close the cookie tin and quickly wash out the coffee mug. She should have just left the paper at his door. She should have kept her mouth shut.
Instead, in less than ten minutes, she would be climbing into a car with Matt Parker.
MATT
Matt stood at the front door a moment longer after Carrie left, the paper still creased in his hand. The edges had softened under his thumb where he had gripped too tightly, but his eyes barely saw the words anymore. A problem with his permit needed to be resolved at his earliest convenience. But then it had a date to be resolved by, which so happened to be that day.
The language was plain, almost bureaucratic, but his pulse thudded faster than it should. He should have been irritated at the interruption, irritated that he now had to waste hours at the county office instead of finishing the porch rail. Instead, what stuck in his mind was the look on Carrie’s face when she handed him the paper. The way her eyes caught his was reluctant but steady.
He exhaled sharply and shoved the paper into his back pocket. Matt hated having to rely on other people for help, or especially lifts. But what option did he have? It was already nearly lunchtime, and he had to get this sorted out.
Ten minutes later, true to her word, Carrie’s SUV rolled into his drive. He locked the door behind him and crossed to meet her, Muttley pacing at the window until Matt lifted a hand in reassurance.
The door creaked open as he climbed inside. The interior smelled faintly of lemon and salt, clean and familiar. Carrie’s hands gripped the wheel with precise neatness, her posture straight, eyes forward.
“Thank you for doing this,” Matt muttered, his voice lower than intended.
“It’s not a problem,” she replied, though her tone clipped the words short. “After all, isn’t it the neighborly thing to do?”
Matt didn’t respond; he just nodded.
Silence stretched for several minutes as Carrie guided the SUV along the narrow road that wound toward the ferry. The ocean flickered through the gaps in palms, the light flashing like glass shards against the waves.
Matt glanced out the window, focusing on the horizon, but his mind would not settle. He caught himself listening for the subtle shift of Carrie’s breath beside him, the way her hand flexed slightly against the wheel. It was ridiculous. He needed to think about lumber and deadlines, and permits, not about his neighbor’s hands.
Finally, Carrie spoke, her voice steady but carefully casual. “Have you been here in Sunset Keys for a while?”
“For two and a half years since I bought the house,” Matt said. “But I only usually come here in the summers when I have a week or two to spare to get down here.”
“How long have you been renovating for?” Carrie glanced at him curiously.
