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I didn’t like the silence around us. “What happened to the lawn edgers?”
“Maybe they’re being used?” Hunter asked, his voice low as he scanned the shed.
“I don’t hear them, and the breeze would be carrying the sound to us.” Then something else occurred to me. “And a couple of my orchids went missing from the restaurant too.”
Hunter shook his head, then stepped out of the shed to inspect the broken clasp. His frown deepened as he raised his gaze to meet mine. “This has been forced open. Small items are missing, easy ones to steal. Stella, why isn’t there full-time security? With the resort growing, you’re going to attract more attention—good and bad.”
I bit my lip, considering his words. He had a point, but the idea was so foreign to me. “We’ve always been a close-knit community, both here and on Dove Key. Everyone looks out for each other. Security hasn’t been an issue… until now, apparently.”
“Times have changed, sis.” Hunter’s gaze scanned the resort grounds with the precision of a man who had seen too much to be easily reassured. “You need to talk to Dad about beefing up security.”
“Gabe, you mean?” Turning to him with a smile that was tinged with nostalgia, I corrected him gently. “He’s the majority owner now. Dad’s more retired than not these days.”
“Right.” Hunter blinked, a brief flicker of surprise crossing his features before he masked it. “Another thing I need to get used to.”
Hunter closed the two doors and replaced the clasp as best he could. We walked back toward the Big House, the sound of our footsteps mingling with the swishing of the leaves in the trees. I glanced at him, noting his neatly trimmed short beard and the way his black shirt clung to his broad shoulders. He seemed so rugged, so unfamiliar, yet beneath it all, he was still my little brother.
“Look,” I said. “Forget about the thefts—they’re minor. You’re working your way back into the family. That’s what’s important.”
He regarded me with those hooded, mysterious eyes. “It feels like I’m trying to fit puzzle pieces together, but some of them are from different boxes.”
“I know it does.” I gave his arm a solid pat, trying to impart some reassurance. “But we can figure out where they go. Maybe you can come down more often. We’ll all go fishing or something.” I offered him a hopeful look. “Or maybe you can come down for the festival next Saturday.”
Hunter’s lips twitched into a semblance of a smile, a glimmer of the boy who once chased waves and laughter with equal fervor. “Fishing and festivals, huh? Sounds like old times.”
“It can be,” I insisted, my heart swelling with the possibility of putting our broken family back together. “Old times with a new beginning.”
“Maybe.”
As we walked back up the hill, thoughts whirled in my head—possibilities of reconciling with the past and embracing whatever future lay ahead.
“Thanks for coming,” I said. “For what it’s worth, I think Calypso Key has missed having you around.”
“Let’s just hope I can live up to its expectations.” His eyes caught mine, a flash of uncertainty in their depths. “And I’ll try not to add to your list of complications.”
“Or maybe,” I teased, bumping his side playfully, “you’ll be the solution we didn’t know we needed.”
Chapter Nine
Aiden
“Oh, come on, dammit!” My hands, oil-smeared and deft, worked with a surgeon’s precision on the boat engine before me. It wasn’t human flesh that yielded beneath my touch, but the familiarity of repair—a rekindling of something broken—held its own kind of satisfaction. Late afternoon was trending to early evening, but the warm air caressed my bare back. My shirt hung from the mast nearby.
The marina around me was a comforting background—a chorus of seagulls arguing over scraps, the lapping of water against docks, and the distant hum of voices. With one final twist, I secured a stubborn bolt and wiped my brow, probably leaving a faint streak of grease above my temple. Rising to my feet, I let out a breath, feeling the ache in my back from a solid hour bent over this labor of love.
“All right,” I murmured, stepping behind the wooden console with a mixture of hope and trepidation. “Moment of truth.”
I turned the key, a silent prayer lifting from my thoughts. The engine coughed, a spluttering protest before it settled into a steady purr. A grin split my face—there it was, the reliable thrum that spoke of open waters and the freedom only found in waves and wind.
“Didn’t think I’d lost my touch, did you?” I asked the sailboat, patting the side of the console affectionately. To anyone else, she might have appeared as a weathered collection of wood and paint. But to me, she was a testament to resilience, a beauty worn by time and tide.
“Okay, let’s see if you still remember how to dance.”
I eased the boat out of the marina. As I glided past the breakwater, the endless expanse of ocean opened before me, and I felt the familiar thrill of freedom. The ripples parted around us, and when I cut the motor, the scene became nearly silent. Hurrying to the mast, a smile lit my face. The breeze caught the sail as I unfurled it, and for an instant, the world was nothing but the snap of canvas and the taste of salt on my lips.
Perfect timing.
Warm hues spilled over the western horizon. The sun was taking its final bow over Dove Key, casting a palette of pinks and oranges across the clouds. I tightened the mainsheet, catching the wind at a better angle, and the boat responded with a gentle increase in speed.
