Finn closed his toolbox with a decisive snap. "It's just down by the harbor – can't miss it. Weathered wooden building with string lights all around the deck." He hoisted the toolbox. "I should get going - I've got another job across the island after this. Tell Ellen I’ll come by when she’s back.“
And then he was gone, his footsteps fading across the shop floor, the door bell jingling his departure. Caroline stood in the storage room, trying to understand the strange disappointment settling in her stomach.
"Get a grip," she muttered to herself. "You're not here to develop some schoolgirl crush on the local handyman."
She surveyed the room. The ceiling patch was already drying, the water containers no longer needed. Finn had even mopped up the spilled water and repositioned the dress racks exactly as they had been before, each vintage gown hanging undisturbed in its proper place.
Caroline ran her fingertips along the plastic garment bag protecting the nearest dress, a 1950s creation with layers of tulle and delicate pearl beadwork. The handwritten tag identified it as “Annabel H., chosen 6/12/19"with no wedding date listed. Another of Ellen's waiting dresses, its bride not yet ready for its moment.
"Ridiculous," Caroline murmured again, but this time her tone lacked conviction. She thought of Finn's words about history having lessons to teach, about holding onto what matters while adapting to what's necessary. There was wisdom there that she couldn't easily dismiss, despite her professional instincts.
About her aunt, lying in a hospital bed, far away from her beloved shop.
Her stomach growled then, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since lunch at the hotel.
The Dune Deck, he’d said. Fish tacos with extra avocado. The suggestion lingered in Caroline’s mind, along with the memory of Finn Calder’s almost-smile when he'd made it.
17
The Dune Deckstood in fading light at the edge of the harbor, exactly as Finn had described – wooden clapboard building, outdoor string lights twinkling against the evening sky.
Caroline tugged her light coat closer around her as she walked along the harbor path. The rain had long since stopped, leaving behind a particular clarity of air, sharp with salt and new growth.
Built directly into the dunes that gave the bar its name, the building appeared to rise organically from the landscape, its weathered exterior bearing the patina of countless seasons facing the sea. A wooden boardwalk wound from the harbor path to the entrance, bordered by beach grasses that whispered in the breeze.
Caroline hesitated, suddenly self-conscious in her tailored pants and formal trench coat – decidedly overdressed compared to the Ugg-wearing, denim-clad patrons entering around her. Too late to return to Ellen's apartment to change, and too hungry to care, she squared her shoulders and pushed through the door.
Inside, the premises was a study in barefoot beachside charm. Weathered driftwood beams crossed the ceiling, hung with simple string lights that cast a warm glow over the space. A long wooden bar dominated one wall, its surface polished smooth by decades of elbows and stories. Behind it, a collection of visitor memories – postcards, photos, and dollar bills bearing handwritten messages – covered nearly every inch of available wall space.
Evidently a thing is these parts, she thought wryly.
Many tables were already filled with a mix of locals and tourists, their conversations creating a pleasant hum beneath the folk guitar music playing softly through speakers hidden among the rafters.
Caroline made her way to the bar, where a slim, attractive woman in her forties was arranging glasses.
"What can I get ya, hon?" she greeted as Caroline claimed an empty stool. Her dark hair was pulled back in a simple knot, and laugh lines framed eyes that missed nothing.
This must be Lila, Caroline reasoned – the bar owner Finn had mentioned.
"White wine, please," she said, settling her purse on the stool beside her. "Whatever's good."
The woman’s eyebrow arched slightly. "That's a dangerous request around here. Our wine list runs from 'decent with seafood' to 'makes you forget your ex-husband's name.'" Her mouth quirked in a smile that transformed her lined face, revealing a glimpse of the beauty she must have been in her younger years. "Where on that spectrum are we aiming tonight?"
Despite herself, Caroline smiled. "Somewhere in the middle. I still need to find my way back to Centre Street afterward."
"Sancerre it is then." Lila reached for a bottle chilling behind the bar. "Local wine merchant brings it in special from a tiny vineyard in the Loire. Tastes like spring sunshine he says, butthat’s Frenchmen for you.” She poured a generous glass and set it before Caroline, the pale golden liquid catching the light from the overhead fixtures. “You just passing through?"
Caroline took a sip, pleasantly surprised by the wine's crisp minerality. “Yes. My aunt’s in hospital and I’m helping with her bridal shop."
“Ah, Ellen’s niece," Lila said, recognition dawning in her eyes. "Finance whiz from Chicago.”
Caroline blinked, caught off-guard by the immediate identification.
"Small island, hon. Gossip moves a helluva lot faster than the ferry." Lila's smile softened any sting from her words. "How’s your aunt doing?"
"She's taking it day by day," Caroline said carefully, unsure how much Ellen had shared about her condition. "They're keeping her at the hospital overnight after her treatment. She should be home tomorrow."
Lila nodded, her eyes revealing concern beneath her professional demeanor. "Ellen's tougher than most. Been through her share of storms and still standing." She glanced down the bar to where a young couple had just taken seats. "You need a food menu?"
