Page 38 of Captiva Café
"Give her time," Emma said, her hand resting protectively over her unborn child. "The island has a way of helping people find their voice. It certainly helped me find mine."
Gareth reached over and squeezed Emma's hand, a gesture of understanding between two people who had walked through their own shadows to find the light.
"So," Sarah said, breaking the thoughtful silence, "tell us about these houses you're going to see. Are we talking beachfront or bay side?"
As they began discussing real estate options on the island, Maggie felt her thoughts drifting toward Merritt. The brief interaction with Emma and Gareth had revealed more than all the polite conversations they'd had so far. The mention of her mother, the subtle tension in her posture when Emma's pregnancy was evident—pieces of a puzzle were starting to form.
Paolo refilled their glasses, adding a sprig of fresh mint. "I hear the old Maxwell cottage just came on the market," he mentioned to Gareth. "Three bedrooms, right on the beach. Could be perfect for a growing family."
"We have an appointment to see it tomorrow," Emma confirmed. "Along with two others on Sanibel."
"Islands are funny places," Paolo mused. "People either feel trapped by all the water or freed by it."
"I felt freed," Emma said, her eyes bright with memory. "Like the causeway was a bridge between my old life and what was possible."
"For me, it was the sense that the past couldn't follow me here," Gareth added quietly. "An island feels like a fresh page."
Maggie nodded, thinking of Merritt. "I wonder if that's what our newest guest is hoping for."
Sarah tilted her head thoughtfully. "You know, when I was walking near the beach this morning, I heard her playing guitar and singing something about bridges burning and waters rising."
"Original lyrics?" Gareth asked.
"I think so," Sarah replied. "It was beautiful. Sad, but beautiful."
"Music can be healing," Gareth said. "A way to say what we can't otherwise express."
Maggie's eyes brightened with an idea. "Maybe that's what Merritt needs—not just to play her music, but to be heard. To have her story acknowledged, even if it's wrapped in melody and metaphor."
"Like a release valve," Emma agreed. "When I was sorting through my own confusion, I needed to speak it aloud to make sense of it. For her, perhaps that happens through song."
"I wonder if she'd play for us," Sarah suggested. "Nothing formal. Just here, on the porch, one evening."
Maggie considered this. "We shouldn't push her, but...an invitation might be welcome. From what little she's shared, I get the sense she's used to putting others' needs before her own."
"I know that feeling," Emma said softly, exchanging a glance with Gareth.
Paolo cleared his throat. "For now, though, our guests need to settle in. The cottage is all ready for you two." He smiled at Emma. "With extra pillows for proper pregnancy support, as requested."
"My hero." Emma sighed gratefully, allowing Gareth to help her to her feet. "I swear my back has forgotten what comfort feels like."
As they gathered their things to head through the garden path toward the cottage, Maggie caught a glimpse of movement at one of the windows. Merritt, hair damp around her shoulders, watching the group with an expression that might have been longing. When she noticed Maggie's gaze, she quickly stepped back from view.
Yes, Maggie thought, there was definitely a story there. One that, perhaps, the island would help Merritt be ready to tell.
CHAPTER 13
In the four days since Emma's return to Captiva Island, the Key Lime Garden Inn had reached full capacity. The rooms brimmed with anniversary couples, solitude-seeking solo travelers, and—most surprisingly—an unsettling number of Grandma Sarah's YouTube followers who couldn't check in without reciting her monologues word for word.
The dining room buzzed with overlapping breakfast requests. Iris was out of flour. Oliver had burned a tray of bacon for the first time in years. Millie had gone silent behind the front desk, her headset blinking wildly as three calls came in at once.
"Take their information and tell them we’ll get back to them," Maggie muttered, “and be polite.”
At the same moment, the front door chimed with its pleasant jingle—the one Maggie had once loved for its charm but now felt like the opening gong of a stress-induced migraine.
"Surprise!"
Lauren's voice rang out like a trumpet in the middle of a symphony. She stood in the doorway wearing oversized sunglasses and a sundress that screamed Sarasota boutique,holding a bakery box in one hand and Daniel balanced on her hip with the other.
