Page 51 of Island Girl

“That's what three-year-olds do,” Merritt said. “They discover they have opinions.”

“I liked her better before she had opinions.”

When they finally stood to leave, Sarah hugged Merritt tightly.

“We're coming back,” she said. “And next time, we're bringing the whole crew. Mom, Chelsea, Grandma Sarah, everyone. They all want to hear you play.”

“That might actually be overwhelming.”

“Too bad. You're stuck with us now.” Sarah grinned. “That's what family does.”

Family. The word settled into Merritt's chest like something warm and solid.

She walked them to the door and watched them disappear into the parking lot, their arms around each other, their laughter drifting back through the night air.

When she turned back to the bar, Justin was watching her.

“Good night?” he asked.

“Great night.”

“I’m glad.” He smiled. “You deserve it.”

She helped him close up, wiping down tables and stacking chairs, the familiar routine that had become comfortable over thepast few weeks. When they finished, she climbed the stairs to her apartment.

Before she knew it, she'd be in the bungalow. French doors open to the beach. The sound of waves lulling her to sleep.

But tonight, she lay in the dark and thought about what Sarah had said.

You're giving people something they need. A space to feel things. A reason to show up.

She thought about Ray, standing by her table, saying three words instead of two.

Good set tonight.

It was progress. Small but real.

She fell asleep with music still humming in her chest and the promise of something new waiting just around the corner.

CHAPTER 16

The bungalow had been on Merritt's mind all week.

She'd visited twice more since that first afternoon, each time finding something new to love. The way the light came through the bedroom windows in the morning, soft and golden. The sound of the waves at night, steady and endless. The small touches left behind by Gregory's wife, a seashell collection on the windowsill, faded curtains printed with hibiscus flowers, a wind chime made of driftwood that sang in the breeze.

It was perfect. It was everything she'd dreamed of without knowing she was dreaming it.

But it was also temporary.

Gregory was ninety-one years old. He was sharp, still lucid, still full of stories about birds and his wife and the way the beach used to look before the developers came. But he was also frail. His hands shook when he lifted his coffee cup. His voice grew tired after an hour of talking. He napped more than he was awake.

Paula didn't say it outright, but Merritt could read between the lines. Gregory didn't have much time left. Months, maybe. A year at most.

And when he was gone, what would happen to the bungalow?

He had no children. No spouse. He'd mentioned distant relatives once, a nephew in Ohio who never called, a cousin somewhere in the Midwest who'd sent a Christmas card in 1987 and nothing since. People who didn't know him, didn't care about him, but who might very well show up when there was beachfront property to claim.

Merritt tried not to think about it. Tried to focus on the present, on the gift Gregory was giving her now. But the uncertainty gnawed at her, a low hum of anxiety beneath everything else.