Page 21 of Captiva Café
"Tell him anyway," Sarah advised gently. "The best thing Trevor and I did was admit to each other how terrified we were. It made us a team instead of two scared individuals pretending to have it all together."
Emma was quiet for a moment, absorbing this. "When did you get so wise, Sarah Hutchins? I remember when you thought ramen noodles and coffee constituted a balanced meal."
"Motherhood changes you," Sarah replied with a smile. "Not overnight, but gradually. You'll see."
The sound of a door opening and closing came through the phone, followed by Gareth's distinctive voice calling Emma's name.
"I should go," Emma said. "He's probably brought home another gadget for the baby. Yesterday it was a white noise machine that mimics the sound of the womb. It sounds like someone left the faucet running underwater."
Sarah laughed. "Go deal with your overzealous researcher. I'll see you in a few days. And Emma? It's going to be okay. Better than okay."
"Promise?" Emma asked, a rare note of uncertainty still lingering in her voice.
"With my whole heart," Sarah assured her. "And I'll be here for whatever you need—advice, a shoulder to cry on, or just someone to laugh with when it all gets too absurd."
"Love you, Sarah."
"Love you too. Now go put your feet up and make Gareth bring you ice cream. It's the least he can do for using your pregnancy as book research."
After they hung up, Sarah sat for a moment in the quiet kitchen, smiling to herself. Emma's impending visit was wonderful news—a chance to support her friend through this momentous transition just as Emma had supported her through so many of life's challenges.
She made a mental note to check with her mother about Emma's reservation and to perhaps plan a small gathering while they were visiting. Nothing too taxing given Emma's condition, but something special to celebrate their friendship and this new chapter in Emma's life. Captiva had a way of working its magic on visitors, offering exactly what they needed even when they didn't know they needed it.
CHAPTER 7
The sun had barely crested the horizon when Maggie slipped out of bed. Paolo was still sleeping soundly, one arm thrown across his face, his breathing deep and rhythmic. She dressed quietly in the half-light—shorts, a light cotton tank top, and sandals that could be easily slipped off. The morning air was already heavy with humidity, promising another scorching July day.
Lexie raised her head from her cushion, dark eyes questioning.
"Just me this morning, girl," Maggie whispered, bending to scratch behind the dog's ears. "You stay and keep Paolo company."
The pup considered this arrangement, then sighed and settled back down, apparently deciding that early morning adventures weren't worth abandoning the comfort of air conditioning.
Maggie made her way down the stairs and through the garden path that led to the beach. The world held a particular stillness at this hour—a pause between night and day when everything seemed to take a collective breath. Her canvas totebag swung from her shoulder, containing only a water bottle, a small notebook, and a white bucket for collecting shells.
The beach stretched before her, empty save for a few early-rising shore birds that skittered along the water's edge. The tide was out, revealing a canvas of wet sand dotted with treasures—coquinas, cockles, sand dollars, and if she was lucky, perhaps a perfect lightning whelk or two.
Slipping off her sandals, Maggie let her feet sink into the cool, damp sand. She'd been doing this same ritual for nearly five years now—early morning walks along Captiva's shore, collecting shells and thoughts with equal care. But this morning felt different somehow. Perhaps it was the conversation with her mother yesterday, or maybe just the weight of all the changes sweeping through the family like the incoming tide.
She bent to retrieve a perfect scallop shell, brushing away the sand to reveal its blush-pink interior. Five years. Sometimes it felt like she'd been here forever, as though Captiva had always been waiting for her, a space held open until she was ready to claim it. Other times, she could still feel the raw newness of that first year—the grief that had driven her south, the uncertainty, the strange mix of freedom and fear that had accompanied her unexpected decision to accept Rose Johnson Lane’s offer to help Paolo take over the inn to get it up and running again.
The shells clinked gently in the bucket as she made her way down the shoreline. A dolphin broke the surface of the calm Gulf waters, its sleek body catching the early light before disappearing again with barely a ripple. Maggie smiled, taking it as a good omen.
She'd come to recognize the rhythm of the island over the years—the seasonal ebb and flow of visitors, the predictable patterns of wildlife, the way the light changed from summer to winter. There was comfort in that rhythm, a stability she'd desperately needed after Daniel died. Captiva had offered hernot just a new home, but a new identity. Maggie Wheeler, proprietor of the Key Lime Garden Inn, a woman who had rebuilt her life one scone, one guest, one sunrise at a time.
And then she met Paolo Moretti. A gentle man who loved her unconditionally. His patient, steady heart helped her heal and move forward. He'd seen her—really seen her—not as someone broken who needed fixing, but as someone whole and complete, with a life that had room for him if he was willing to fit himself into its contours. Which he had, with such grace that sometimes it took her breath away.
She paused to watch a great blue heron stalking through the shallow water, its movements deliberate and focused. The bird struck suddenly, emerging with a small fish wriggling in its beak. Success. Patience rewarded.
The beach curved ahead, and Maggie knew that just around that bend lay the stretch where the best shells were often found. The locals called it "Shell Beach," though the name didn't appear on any official map. It was just one of those island secrets passed from person to person, a small treasure shared among those who belonged.
Belonging. The word echoed in her mind as she bent down to pick up a perfectly intact sand dollar.
She hadn't acknowledged the full story, even to herself sometimes. Hadn't dwelled on the day, six months after moving to the inn, when she'd sat on this very beach and sobbed until she had no tears left. She'd been overwhelmed by doubt, by the enormity of what she'd taken on, by the persistent feeling that she'd made a terrible mistake. And then, as she'd sat there empty and spent, a family of dolphins had appeared just offshore—a mother, father, and baby, playing in the waves with what looked like pure joy.
She'd watched them for nearly an hour, their sleek bodies arcing through the water, their clicks and whistles carryingacross the surface. And something had settled in her then, a certainty that had never quite left. If creatures so graceful and intelligent chose these waters as home, how could she doubt her own choice? It wasn't logical, perhaps, but it had been enough. She'd returned to the inn that day with salt on her cheeks and resolution in her heart.
A sanderling darted past her, its spindly legs a blur as it chased the receding wave then fled from the incoming one. Maggie laughed softly at the bird's eternal game with the ocean. There was a lesson there, she thought—knowing when to advance and when to retreat, always in harmony with forces larger than yourself.
