He led her through town, where countless locals called out greetings. They crossed over to the beach and headed toward the lighthouse. She thought about Winnie’s words about promises kept and harbors found, and how some places called to the people who needed them most.
They continued walking along the shoreline as the waves rolled in and the sun started dipping below the horizon, tossing brilliant streaks of purple and orange across the sky. He held her hand in his, and it felt natural and right.
She finally stopped and looked directly at him.“You’re sure about this partnership?”
“The gallery needs you.” His hands framed her face. “But that’s not why I want you as my partner.”
“No?” Her heart skipped. The way he looked at her made her feel eighteen and eighty all at once. She felt ridiculous and grateful at the same time.
“Iwant to argue about where to hang paintings. I want—” He laughed at himself. “I want coffee breaks that turn into something else. I want this. With you.”
“Grant—”
“I love you.” His words came out sure and steady. “I think I started falling for you that morning on the beach when you were painting the lighthouse. Maybe before that.”
She thought about all the reasons to be careful and all the ways love had failed her before. But standing here with the lighthouse keeping watch and the Gulf stretching endlessly before them, those fears felt as insubstantial as seafoam.
The lighthouse beam swept past. A promise and a blessing.
“I love you too.” Her words felt like coming home. “I love your stubborn integrity and your protective heart. I love how you fight for this community. I love that you gave me a second chance when everyone else would have walked away.”
Grant pulled her into a kiss full of new beginnings and permanent things. When they finally broke apart, he smiled. His whole face changed when he smiled like that.
“My mom is going to be insufferable.” His grin widened. “She’s been planning our partnership since she first met you.”
“The gallery partnership?” Emily raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, she’s got plans for that too.” He pulled her close. “But I’m more interested in this one.”
He kissed her again. Behind them, the lighthouse beam swept across the water and the waves kept coming in, steady as always.
Chapter30
The kettle began to whistle, a familiar, cheerful sound in the quiet of the keeper’s quarters. Winnie moved from the window, where she’d been watching the last sunset spill across the Gulf. She poured the steaming water over tea leaves in her favorite ceramic pot. The scent of bergamot filled the kitchen.
The back door creaked open. She didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Clint always entered that way, with a hesitation that suggested he was never quite sure of his welcome, even in the house where he’d spent half his childhood.
“There’s tea if you want some.” She set two mugs on the counter.
“Not staying.” His voice was low, as usual. He stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, holding a large, rectangular object wrapped in a simple brown blanket.
It was unusual for him to seek her out. Their interactions were mostly functional, centered on property maintenance and the needs of their tenants. “Everything all right?”
“Fine.” He shifted his weight. “Got something for you. A present. I kept waiting for the perfect time to give it to you… but… now seemed good.” He shrugged.
A present? The word felt foreign between them. They didn’t exchange gifts, not since he was a boy and would bring her shells he’d found on the beach. She dried her hands on a dish towel and waited as he carried the object to the kitchen table. He unwrapped it carefully, his large, calloused hands surprisingly gentle.
It was Emily’s painting of the lighthouse study.
Her grandfather’s study.
She reached out, her fingers hovering just above the canvas, not daring to touch the textured surface. Emily had captured it all. Even the half-written letter, a detail that made Winnie’s heart ache with the memories flooding through her.
She had thought the memory of that room would fade with her. That it would become just another ghost in a house full of them. But here it was, painted by a woman who had never even seen it.
“Grant said the collectors wanted all three paintings,” Clint said quietly, watching her face. “I told him this one wasn’t for sale. That it belonged here. He agreed with me.”
She finally looked at him. “You bought it?”
