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An osprey soared overhead, its sharp gaze surveying the waters before it chose to alight on the railing a few feet away. Its talons gripped the metal with easy authority, and Stella squeezed my hand, pulling me to a stop to admire the large raptor.
“Look at him,” she said, her voice laced with awe. “He’s magnificent.”
The mottled brown and white bird surveyed us without fear. “I wonder how close he’d let us get?”
She smirked. “Do you really want to find out whether he’d attack or fly away?”
“Good point. Let’s keep going.” I bumped my shoulder with hers as we stepped around the bird. It watched us pass but didn’t move otherwise.
As we continued our stroll, I found myself just enjoying the moment. The salty air filled my lungs, and it felt like inhaling a piece of home. A piece of us. “I’m so glad I moved back. I’ve missed this so much. The warmth, the water, the fresh air.” I glanced down at her and winked. “You…”
Her fingers tightened around mine, and she turned to give me that mischievous, heart-stopping grin. “I’m pretty happy about it too.”
As we walked, a splash in the water below caught our attention. We wandered over and rested our arms on the metal railing. A fishing boat bobbed on the waves, and a man on deck was engaged in an epic battle with a fish that leaped and danced on the water’s surface. One particularly majestic leap revealed it as a tarpon—its silver scales flashed brilliantly under the sun.
“Look at him go!” Stella exclaimed, pointing as the fish thrashed wildly, trying to shake free from the line.
“Kind of like us,” I said. “Always wrestling with something or other.”
“Except we usually came up for air at some point.” She laughed, then grew contemplative. “You know, growing up on Calypso Key and being able to dive or fish whenever I wanted… I didn’t realize then how precious that freedom was. How lucky I was.”
“Sometimes we don’t see the value of what’s right in front of us until it changes,” I mused, watching the man finally reel in the tarpon.
Stella leaned against the railing, her hair blowing gently in the breeze. “There was this wild sense of adventure that came with every dive, every catch. And Dad made sure each of us got the experiences we craved. It felt limitless.”
Limitless was a fitting word for Stella too. She had an untamed spirit that matched the ocean’s depths. As if to prove my point, she stood on her tiptoes and bent over the railing, peeking straight down.
“Hey, what do you think about jumping off this bridge right now?” She wagged her eyebrows at me.
I stared at her for a moment, incredulous, before bursting into laughter at the solid hundred-foot drop into the ocean. The idea was ludicrous but so quintessentially Stella. “Only if you plan to sprout wings or start practicing your mermaid skills. And you go first.”
“Mermaid skills, huh? You haven’t seen anything yet, Mitchell.” Her laughter mingled with mine, a sweet sound that filled the space between us.
The laughter hadn’t quite died down as we strolled farther along Seven Mile Bridge, hand in hand. I couldn’t help but feel that every smile and giggle between us was stitching the past and present together, weaving a portrait of what could be.
“Life doesn’t get much better than this,” I said, my voice carrying a note of contentment that had been absent for too long. “Simple pleasures—walking beside someone who means the world to you.”
Stella’s gaze met mine as our steps slowed, then stopped. She stood on her tiptoes, and her lips found mine in a kiss that felt like coming home. A kiss that spoke of second chances and unspoken promises.
“Agreed,” she murmured against my lips, then broke the kiss to flash me a smile brighter than the sun glinting off the water.
And as I watched the light dancing on her dark hair, my heart skipped a beat. Stella’s vibrant laughter, her fearless approach to life—it all hit me straight in the chest like a physical blow. I was falling in love with her all over again, each laugh and smile deepening the emotions stirring within me. The realization was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. How had I let her slip away once before?
After finishing our walk, we got in my truck and headed north on Highway One to Marathon’s quiet charm. The lunch spot we stumbled upon was the epitome of small-town allure, a tiny hole in the wall that promised more than its unassuming exterior suggested. The Salty Crab was etched onto a weathered wooden sign that swung gently above the door, the paint chipped but the name clear.
Inside, the air was thick with the aroma of spices and grilling seafood, and the buzz of conversation filled the cozy space. Nautical decor—nets, buoys, and old photos of local fishermen—adorned the walls, while a chalkboard menu boasted the catch of the day in colored scrawl.
“Look at this place,” Stella said, her eyes scanning the intimate restaurant as we took our seats at a corner booth. “It’s got character.”
“Character and some amazing scents,” I added, taking in a whiff of garlic and sweet herbs that wafted from the kitchen. I pointed at the chalkboard. “Look. Catch of the day. Must be a good place.”
Stella perused the menu with the eye of a seasoned chef, her fingers tapping rhythmically. When our meals arrived, she assessed her plate with a glint in her eye, giving the blackened snapper an approving nod before sampling a bite.
“Wow,” she exclaimed after a moment, her taste buds clearly delighted. “I should hire whoever’s back there to bring a little of this magic to Orchid.”
“Is that so?” I laughed, watching her savor each forkful. “I’ll still take your Cajun seafood pasta over this.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Dr. Mitchell.” Her grin was as delectable as the food we were enjoying, and I got caught up in the simple pleasure of our banter.
