Page 57 of Island Girl

“Likewise.” Crocker shook his hand firmly. “Your daughter's got talent. Real talent. The kind you can't teach.”

“So I've been told.”

“You'll see for yourself tonight.” Crocker nodded toward the wooden stool by the window. “That's her spot. People come specifically to hear her play now. Tuesday and Thursday nights we get double the usual crowd.”

Justin emerged from the back, wiping his hands on a towel. He stopped when he saw the group by the door.

“Mr. Ryan,” he said, crossing to shake Richard's hand. “Justin Landry. It's good to finally meet you.”

“Call me Richard.” Her father studied Justin the way he'd studied the bungalow, looking for structural issues, hidden problems. “Merritt speaks highly of you.”

“She's being generous. She's the one who's been a gift to this place.” Justin glanced at Merritt with something warm in his eyes. “We were lucky she walked through that door.”

“How so?”

“She works hard. She cares about people. And her music…” Justin shook his head. “You'll see tonight. It changes the room. Changes the people in it.”

Richard listened, asked questions, watched everything. He noticed how Justin checked on Merritt without being asked. He noticed how Crocker's gruff exterior softened when he looked at her. He noticed the way the regulars greeted her by name, how Ed and Margie waved from their usual table, how Dottie called out a hello from the bar.

And Paula, who had followed them in, stood slightly apart, watching it all with the careful eyes of someone who had spent years assessing situations, reading people, understanding when something was safe and when it wasn't.

After an hour, Richard sat down at a table with Paula while Merritt prepared for her set.

“Well?” Paula asked. “What's the verdict?”

Richard was quiet for a moment, his eyes on his daughter as she tuned her guitar across the room.

“She's happy,” he said finally. “Genuinely happy. I haven't seen her like this in years.”

“She's building something here. A life that fits her.”

“I can see that.” He turned to Paula. “Thank you. For looking out for her. For connecting her with the right people.”

“She made it easy. She's the kind of person people want to help.”

“She gets that from her mother.” Richard smiled. “Her mother was the same way. People just…gravitated toward her.”

“Then Merritt comes by it honestly.”

The bar filled up around them, and at seven-thirty, Merritt settled onto her stool and began to play.

Richard watched his daughter perform, his eyes bright, his expression shifting through something that looked like wonder and pride and grief all tangled together. When she played her mother's lullaby, tears rolled down his cheeks, and he didn't bother wiping them away.

Afterward, when the applause had faded and the bar had returned to its normal rhythm, Merritt found Justin behind the bar.

“Can I talk to you and Crocker for a minute?”

Justin's expression shifted, something cautious moving behind his eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Everything's good. Really good, actually. I just have some news.”

Crocker emerged from the back as if summoned, his sharp eyes taking in the scene. “What's this about?”

Merritt took a breath. Paula's words echoed in her head. Good news isn't something you have to apologize for.

“I'm moving out of the apartment upstairs,” she said. “There's a bungalow on the beach. It belonged to a man named Gregory Harrison. Paula introduced us, and he offered to let me stay there. My father is going to buy it.”

The silence lasted a beat too long. Merritt felt her heart pound.