“To Magnolia Key,” Savannah agreed. “And to whatever—or whoever—is waiting for you there.”
Chapter29
Darlene swept the porch of debris that had been blown onto the floorboards during last night’s storm, her mind drifting to the rhythmic motion of the broom against the wood. The sun filtered through the branches of the large magnolia tree, casting dancing shadows across Bayside’s wraparound porch.
The soft scrape of footsteps made her look up. Her breath caught. Mark stood at the bottom of the steps, his silver hair catching the sunlight, wearing the same blue button-down shirt he’d had on the day they met.
Her heart skipped, joy flooding through her before she forced it down. She’d already said goodbye once. She didn’t need to do it again.
“Mr. Donovan,” she said, gripping the broom handle tighter. “What brings you back to Magnolia Key?”
His eyes held hers, gentle and warm. “I gave the speech at Sarah’s literary festival.”
“That’s nice. I hope it went well.” She focused on sweeping, though there wasn’t much left to clear.
“It did. But that’s not why I’m here, Darlene.”
The way he said her name made her pause. She straightened, finally letting herself really look at him. He appeared different somehow—lighter, as if he’d set down a heavy burden.
“Why are you here, then?”
Her pulse quickened as he climbed the steps to stand beside her. The familiar scent of his aftershave brought back memories of their morning walks and shared time out here on the porch.
“I tried to stay away,” he said. “I went back to my apartment. And… well, eventually, I packed up Sarah’s things.”
She looked at him in surprise.
“And I gave the speech at the festival. It was something I needed to do. To give me closure. But something kept pulling me back here.”
She set the broom against the railing. “What about your writing? Your career in the city?”
“I can write anywhere.” His blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “In fact, I wrote more while I was here than I had in the last two years. But when I went back home? Not another word. There’s something about this place—the rhythm of the waves, the quiet mornings.”
“The cinnamon rolls?” She allowed herself a small smile.
He laughed. “Those too. But mostly it’s the peace I’ve found here. For the first time since Sarah died, I feel like I can breathe again. Like I can write without guilt.”
“And what does Savannah think about all this?”
“She’s the one who suggested it. Said she hasn’t seen me this happy in years.” He stepped closer. “I’ve found a small cottage near the lighthouse. It needs work, but the view of the ocean is perfect for writing.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “So you’re staying? On the island?”
“If that’s all right with you.” His hand found hers, warm and steady. “I’d like to see where this could go, Darlene. No rush, no pressure. Just two people sharing meals, taking walks, and getting to know each other better. I’ve learned that it’s possible to honor Sarah’s memory while still embracing joy.” He squeezed her hand. “And being here, with you—that brings me joy.”
She blinked rapidly as tears threatened to spill. Her gaze met his, and the warmth she found there made her heart do cartwheels. His eyes held such hope, such possibility—everything she’d been afraid to dream about since he’d first arrived at Bayside.
She drew in a deep breath, steadying herself. His hand still held hers, anchoring her to this moment.
“Then there’s something I need to tell you,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “That I should have told you before you left, but I was… afraid. Afraid of opening up my heart again.”
Her fingers tightened around his, drawing strength from his presence. Years of keeping her heart carefully guarded had become second nature after Dean left. But standing here with Mark, feeling the gentle way he held her hand, she realized she didn’t want to hide anymore.
The words she’d held back for so long sat ready on her tongue. She’d spent decades building walls to protect herself, teaching herself not to need anyone. But Mark had slowly worked his way past those defenses with his quiet kindness and gentle understanding.
After Dean’s recent visit and the peace she’d made with their past, she finally understood that holding onto old hurts only prevented new joys from taking root. Mark waited patiently, his thumb brushing softly across her knuckles, giving her the time she needed to find her voice.
“I realized something while you were gone,” she said, her voice soft but clear. “It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t something I was looking for.” She met his gaze, drawing courage from the warmth she found there. “I found myself falling in love with you. Between the walks and talks and quiet evenings on this porch—it just happened.”
