Page 48 of Island Girl

“French doors to the beach,” her father said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “That sounds like a dream.”

“It feels like one. I keep waiting for something to go wrong.”

“Maybe nothing will. Maybe this is just…good.” He paused. “You deserve good things, Merritt. You know that, right?”

“I'm starting to believe it.”

“Good. That's all I've ever wanted for you.” His voice softened. “Your mother would be so proud of you. The music, the new home, all of it. She always said you'd find your way. She just knew you needed time.”

Merritt felt tears prick at her eyes. “I miss her, Dad.”

“I know. I miss her too. Every day.” He was quiet for a moment. “But she's still with us, in a way. In the music you play. In the person you've become. She's in all of it.”

They talked for another hour, and when she finally hung up, Merritt lay in the dark, listening to the muffled sounds of the bar below. Soon, she'd trade all of that for the sound of waves.

She closed her eyes and imagined it: waking up in the blue bungalow, opening those French doors, stepping out onto the sand. Playing her guitar on the deck at sunset. Building a life that was hers, truly hers, for the first time.

Tomorrow, she'd tell Paula yes. She’d need to find the words to explain to Crocker and Justin how much she appreciated them letting her stay in the apartment. She'd start packing her few belongings, figure out the logistics, and make the move official.

But tonight, she just let herself feel it. The hope. The possibility. The quiet certainty that she was exactly where she was supposed to be, and the sound of the waves calling her name.

CHAPTER 15

Tuesday arrived faster than Merritt expected.

She'd spent the day before at the bungalow, measuring windows and making lists. Paula had helped her work out the details with Gregory. She'd move in at the end of the week, once she'd had a chance to clean the place and air it out. Gregory had been delighted, asking her three times to describe the view from the French doors, his blue eyes bright with remembered joy.

But today wasn't about the bungalow. Today was about music.

She arrived at Shorebirds early, before the dinner rush, wanting to get settled before her set. Justin was behind the bar, slicing limes, and he looked up when she walked in.

“You're early.”

“Nervous.” She slid onto a barstool and accepted the glass of water he pushed toward her. “I invited some people tonight. Friends from Captiva.”

“The inn crowd?”

“Just Sarah and Trevor. Maggie's daughter and her husband. They live on Sanibel, so it's not far for them.” She took a sip of water. “They wanted to come hear me play.”

“That's great.” Justin set down his knife and leaned against the bar. “You've got fans now. That's a good thing.”

“It feels like pressure.”

“It's not pressure. It's people who care about you, wanting to support you.” He smiled, that easy grin that always made her feel calmer. “Relax. You've done this a dozen times now. You're good at it.”

“You have to say that. You're my boss.”

“I'm saying it because it's true.” He picked up his knife and went back to slicing limes. “Now go tune your guitar or do whatever you need to do. I'll save your friends a good table.”

Merritt climbed the stairs to her apartment, one of the last times she'd make this climb, she realized, and sat on the edge of her bed with her guitar in her lap. She ran through a few songs, warming up her fingers, letting the familiar movements settle her nerves.

It was strange, how much had changed in such a short time. A few weeks ago, she'd been terrified to play in front of anyone. Now she had a regular slot, a growing audience, and friends coming to watch her perform.

And she had a bungalow. A home of her own.

She was still getting used to that idea.

Around six-thirty, she heard the dinner crowd starting to fill in below. The familiar sounds of Shorebirds, glasses clinking, voices rising, the occasional burst of laughter, drifted up through the floorboards. She checked her reflection in the small mirror by the door, straightened her hair, and headed downstairs.