After sorting through what must have been the twentieth box, she hauled it to the porch, setting it down with a gratifying thump.
And there he was—Brent—sauntering down the path leading back to the B&B. He was backlit by the sun and looking as if he belonged to the landscape itself. His steps were even, yet there was something about his unhurried gait that highlighted his growing connection with the island.
She hesitated for a moment, caught between impulse and indecision. Should she call out to him? Part of her wanted to, eager to pick up their conversation where they’d left off, to hear more about what he’d discovered. Perhaps he’d made progress on his mother’s history, or located another piece in the puzzle of Prince Lawrence. Yet another part of her balked, wary of tangling further with emotions she’d carefully compartmentalized.
So there she stood, gripping the box, with invisible strings pulling her in conflicting directions.
He seemed unaware of her presence, absorbed in his own thoughts. She watched him for a moment longer, admiring his relaxed presence while she stood there as tense as a fiddle string.
A fragile balance settled on her, warring between wanting to reach out and allowing things to remain unsaid. The presence of her uncertainty felt like a physical weight. She knew it wasn’t just about speaking to him right now. It was about everything she’d been feeling. Her desire for change, the pull back toward the island—a familiar place of comfort and security—and her indecision about her future.
Seconds ticked by, yet it felt like an eternity.
Then the decision was taken out of her hands. He spied her and waved, turning to cross the distance to the shed.
Her heartbeat quickened as Brent approached, his tentative smile disarming her defenses. She busied herself with the box, attempting to appear nonchalant.
“Hey there. What are you up to?” He said it normally. Just like their conversation last night had never happened. Like he fully grasped the whole let’s-just-be-friends-thing and was fine with it. And she didn’t know if that made her happy—or not.
She gestured to the shed. “Just cleaning out some of the old stuff. Trying to make more space for Gran.” She refused to admit she was hiding out…
“Well, I have some news.” He stepped up on the porch and leaned against the railing, a mere foot or so away from her.
“Oh?” She forced her gaze away from the few inches of railing between them.
“I went to Coastal Coffee this morning and ran into Miss Eleanor. She recognized my mother in the photo I showed her.”
Surprise swept through her. “Really? What did she say?”
“Apparently, my mother didn’t live on the island, but on the mainland. But Miss Eleanor knew her. And her brother, Jonah. But Jonah died in a hurricane.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
He gave her a small smile. “It’s okay. I didn’t even know he existed. I mean, it’s sad, but it’s also another piece of the puzzle, you know? I have more to go on now, to research my mom’s family.”
She was a tiny bit disappointed she hadn’t been there with him when he found out this new information. She ignored that feeling and smiled at him. “That’s great that you have more to go on now. It must be kind of exciting to uncover these new pieces of your family history.”
“It really is. I feel like I’m getting closer to understanding my mom’s connection to this place.”
She was genuinely happy for him. “So, what’s your next step?”
“I’m going to do some digging into records about Jonah and see if I can find any information about the hurricane he died in. Maybe that will lead me to more about my mom’s time here.”
She felt a familiar tug of curiosity, wanting to offer her help, but she held back. They’d agreed to just be friends, and she didn’t want to complicate things further.
“Well, good luck with your research,” she said, lifting a box and moving it to a different pile—the wrong pile—she’d just have to move it back when he left. “I should probably get back to this.”
He straightened up from the railing. “Right, of course. I’ll let you get back to it. Thanks for listening.”
He turned and started walking back toward the B&B. A mix of emotions swirled inside her as she watched him go—relief that their interaction had been friendly and uncomplicated, but also a twinge of disappointment that he hadn’t asked for her help with his research.
As he climbed onto the porch of the B&B, she found herself rooted to the spot, unable to tear her eyes away.
She stood there a moment longer, then turned and picked up the box to move it back to the correct pile. The weight of the box in her arms served as an anchor to reality while her thoughts drifted between what could be and what should be. The gentle island breeze rustled the leaves of the magnolia beside the shed, seeming to whisper about the lost possibilities she wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge were gone for good.
Eleanor sat at her dressing table, the same one she’d had since childhood. The antique wood was worn smooth from decades of use, its surface laden with an array of brushes, lotions, and face creams. She picked up her silver-handled hairbrush and began to stroke her hair, the rhythmic motion soothing her troubled thoughts.
At her feet, Winston snoozed contentedly. His soft snores provided a reassuring background noise as she continued her nightly ritual.
