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“AND YOU’RE SURE you’re good to drive the whole way to Charlotte’s Cove by yourself?” Rob asks after he makes sure—for the fifth time—he loaded all the luggage he brought down from my apartment into my trunk. Since it’s not sprouted legs and taken off for parts unknown, it’s there—the same as every other time he’s checked.
“I’m positive,” I assure him.
“It’s a hell of a trip,” he grumbles.
I give him an exasperated look. “I promise I’ve got this. All the years I spent making this same journey in my grandparents’ Buick means I already know how far I’ll go each day and exactly where I’ll stop at night. This trip is in my blood—I could do it blindfolded if I wanted to.”
“You probably shouldn’t talk about driving blindfolded when you’re trying to settle my nerves,” he murmurs.
“Oh, stop,” Karen reprimands. “She’s just saying she knows the way.”
“You’ve done it yourself many times,” I remind him. “It’s not a difficult drive, just a long one.” Charlotte’s Cove isn’t just where my family always went on vacation; his did too. His father and my grandfather were born and raised on the island. They left when they enlisted in the military, and about a decade later, after they settled in California and started their families, they each purchased small cottages on the island. The last time I was there was just before my grandfather passed, on our final vacation, so it’s been a while. I’m excited to get there and settle in.
“It would’ve made sense for you to wait another few weeks. Karen and I could’ve found someone to watch the store so we could drive with you.”
I sigh as I lean back against my car and cross my arms. “You know, if you’re so worried about me being out on my own, you should sell the store and move to Charlotte’s Cove yourself. The island could use a Coleman’s,” I tease.
“God, wouldn’t that be great?” Karen enthuses. “I could be about living on the water for sure. That view is unparalleled.”
“All right, all right, settle down, you two,” Rob grouses. “I can’t run my store from Washington, so moving is a no-go for me. I can’t follow you, Ash, but I can worry. I’m sure I’ll relax once I know you’ve made it to the island.”
“I know you worry, and I promise I’ll be careful.”
He nods as he clears his throat and pulls me in for a hug. I know he’s struggling with my choice, and I understand why. How could I not when one of the only things that kept me in Los Angeles after Grandpa died is Rob? If I weren’t positive that I’ll see him on a regular basis, because he owns a house on the Cove, then my decision would’ve been harder. With so little family left, I treasure what I have.
After hugging and thanking Rob and Karen two more times each, I get into my little white Jetta and start the journey to Charlotte’s Cove.
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FAR TOO MANY fast food meals, ten chocolate milks, eight bottles of water, and two large bags of M&M’s later, I’m about three miles away from the Welcome to Charlotte’s Cove sign. Pressing the control buttons on my door panel, I roll down all of the windows and breathe in the crisp sea-scented air. It’s just after six, and the sun is beginning to set, which is my favorite time of day on the island. Taking the final turn onto the street where the cottage is, I feel a weight lifting from my shoulders. I’ve missed this house on a soul-deep level. Of all the places I’ve been in the world, Charlotte’s Cove has always held the biggest piece of my heart. My grandfather used to joke that it was like I was called to the island, and I’d have to agree. There’s magic here.
Pulling into the drive, I smile at the little blue and white cottage that’s been in my family since before I was born. Rob’s pale yellow and white place is on the right, while the all-white Andover house sits to the left. Our A-frame homes are cozy. Like all the houses on this block, each has two bedrooms, a loft, and one bathroom. None of the houses are more than a thousand square feet, but when you’ve got a cottage on Charlotte’s Cove, it’s not the interior you care about; it’s what’s outside that matters. Every house sits right on the waterfront. Our yards are full of driftwood and sea rocks, and our outdoor decks are well used. Put simply, we all own a piece of heaven.
Once the car is parked, I pick the key fob up from the cup holder and tuck it into the front pocket of my well-worn jeans. Weather here is a lot different than LA, which was ninety-two degrees when I left. According to the weather app on my phone, it’s sixty-one degrees here right now. As I said, it’s heaven.