Page 30 of Captiva Café
"The café with a soul," Gretchen mused, echoing words she'd spoken when they'd first conceived of the project. "Just didn't expect the soul to be quite so...archaeologically significant."
Isabelle smiled, appreciating her partner's ability to find humor in complications. "It changes our timeline."
"And our budget," Gretchen added pragmatically. "Archaeological assessments don't come cheap."
"No," Isabelle acknowledged. "But some things are worth doing properly, regardless of cost. It’s not perhaps what Sebastian would have chosen for my inheritance, but I think he’s looking down on this project with approval."
Gretchen studied her for a moment. "You're not upset about the delay?"
Isabelle considered the question. In her previous life, before Captiva, before Sebastian's illness and death, before everything changed, she would have been frustrated by anything that disrupted her carefully constructed plans. Efficiency had been her religion, timelines her scripture.
"No," she said finally. "I'm not upset. This feels like...meant to be, somehow. As if the building is revealing itself to us, layer by layer."
Gretchen's eyes widened slightly in surprise. "That's unexpectedly poetic coming from you."
"Don't get used to it," Isabelle replied dryly. "I'll be back to budget spreadsheets and contractor negotiations by afternoon."
They shared a smile, this odd-couple partnership that had somehow evolved into something neither had anticipated—a friendship built on complementary strengths and a shared vision.
The sound of a car approaching drew their attention. Linda St. James's sedan pulled into the parking area, fifteen minutes earlier than agreed upon. Marco's truck followed close behind, suggesting he'd tried and failed to delay her further.
"Right on time." Gretchen sighed. "By which I mean early and eager to take control."
"Let her have this one," Isabelle advised. "Dr. Reyes seems capable of managing the situation, and Linda will get her story either way. Better to cooperate and maintain some influence over the narrative."
As Linda emerged from her car, notepad already in hand and recorder visible in her pocket, Isabelle straightened her shoulders and prepared to navigate the next challenge. The artifacts had survived centuries beneath the floorboards; surely she could survive one determined local journalist.
"Shall we?" she asked Gretchen.
"After you." Gretchen gestured toward the approaching Linda. "I'll go warn Dr. Reyes that the inquisition has arrived ahead of schedule."
Isabelle descended the steps to meet Linda, extending a hand in greeting as if their earlier tension had never occurred. "Linda, thank you for your patience. Dr. Reyes has completed her initial assessment and is prepared to speak with you now."
Linda's surprise at the cordial welcome was quickly masked by professional composure. "Excellent. I have several questions about the authentication process and the historical implications?—"
"I'm sure you do," Isabelle said smoothly. "And Dr. Reyes is the perfect person to address them. Shall we?"
As they turned toward the trailer, Isabelle caught Marco's eye. He gave her a subtle nod of approval for her diplomatic handling of the situation. Phineas had emerged onto the deck, his weathered face creased in anticipation of the coming interview.
Inside, Dr. Reyes had arranged the artifacts for optimal viewing, her documentation complete for now. Gretchen stood beside her, both women ready to face Linda's barrage of questions.
This wasn't how Isabelle had imagined spending her Thursday morning when they'd first purchased the building. But as Linda began her rapid-fire questioning and Dr. Reyes responded with measured expertise, Isabelle realized that the café's story was already being written—had been written, in fact, long before they'd ever set foot on Captiva.
Their job now was not to create something new from nothing, but to continue a narrative that had been unfolding for centuries. To add their chapter to a story that had begun with the Calusa, continued through Spanish exploration and pioneer settlement, and now extended into their own moment in time.
It was a humbling thought. And somehow, a comforting one.
CHAPTER 10
Lauren Phillips leaned over the steering wheel, squinting through the windshield as she turned off the Tamiami Trail onto the causeway that led to Sanibel and Captiva. The sun transformed the Gulf waters into a canvas of diamonds, each wave catching and tossing light skyward. She rolled down her window, and the air rushed in, salt-laden and alive. For the first time since relocating to Sarasota, the tightness in her chest began to unravel.
The past month had been a blur of cardboard boxes and commitments: registering the kids for new schools, unpacking what felt like a thousand dishes, converting a spare bedroom into a home office that actually functioned, and trying to memorize street names. But today belonged to her alone. No business decisions. No endless to-do list pinned to the refrigerator. Just an impromptu journey back to Captiva Island and her mother.
Maggie had no idea she was coming, and the thought made Lauren's lips curl into a smile. What she was most excited about was that what she was doing today she hoped would turn into a weekly tradition. No longer having to fly home to Boston, she could, at a moment’s notice, get in the car and drive south.
As she crossed the Sanibel Causeway, watching brown pelicans dive into the water with military precision, Lauren turned to look at her son, Daniel, in his car seat. “We’re almost there.”
She slipped her sunglasses onto her nose and laughed softly to herself. She could already picture her mother's expression—the widening of those familiar hazel eyes, so like her own, when she pulled into the shell-lined driveway of the Key Lime Garden Inn unannounced.
