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Liam clapped Henry on the back, asilent show of support. "Let's get going before the tide decides we can[tswim to Spain," he joked, though his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
The family walked them to the car, thecrunch of gravel underfoot punctuating their slow procession. Charlotte feltthe familiar pull of the sea air, laden with salt and whispered promises of newbeginnings. It was this very air that had filled her lungs and given her thestrength to start over when Daniel's decision had uprooted her life.
"Take care of each other,"Charlotte called after the departing figures, her hands wrapped around her ownarms in a self-embrace.
"We will," came Henry'sreply, drifting back to her on the breeze.
As the car turned onto the coastalroad, Charlotte allowed herself a small smile. Maybe, just maybe, the tideswere beginning to turn, not just for her, but for the fractured family slowlypiecing itself together again amidst the natural beauty of their seasideEnglish village.
The glow of the harbor lights dancedacross the water as Simon led Charlotte down the weathered wooden planks thatmade up Chesham's quaint pier. The night was painted with a palette of deepblues and purples, the last vestiges of sunset lingering on the horizon,surrendering to the stars that began to pepper the darkening sky.
"Isn't it beautiful?" Simonmurmured, his voice nearly lost to the gentle hum of the sea.
Charlotte nodded, her gaze captured bythe rhythmic lapping of the waves against the hulls of the boats moored intheir slips. "It's perfect," she breathed out, a wisp of awe weavingthrough her words. The briny scent of the ocean intermingled with the earthyaroma of damp wood underfoot, grounding her in the moment, in the undeniableromance of it all.
Simon's hand found hers, his roughenedfingers gently intertwining with her own. She felt the calluses born from yearsat sea, a testament to the life he'd built here, a life she had come to cherishamidst the ruins of her old one. His touch was both familiar and electrifying,sending a jolt of anticipation through her.
"Simon..." Charlotte started,her heart thrumming a frantic beat within her chest, sensing somethingmomentous in the air. Their steps slowed until they stood still, the worldaround them seeming to hold its breath.
He turned to face her, his eyesreflecting the depth of the night sky, and for an instant, Charlotte saw theflicker of vulnerability cross his rugged features. It was the look of a manstanding at the edge of a precipice, ready to leap into the unknown.
"Char," he said, his voicesteady despite the palpable tension. "There's something I want to—"
"Are you going to..." Herwords trailed off, her question hanging between them like the delicate stringsof a spider's web glistening with dew.
"Am I going to what?" heteased, a lopsided grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, though his eyesremained earnest, searching hers for a clue, a gesture, anything to guide him.
"Nothing," Charlotte repliedquickly, her laugh tinged with nerves. She looked away, focusing on the distantbeacon of the lighthouse, feeling adrift in the sea of emotions that threatenedto engulf her.
"Hey," Simon said softly,reaching out to tilt her chin gently so their gazes met once more."Whatever this is, we're in it together, right?"
"Right," she whispered back,her voice barely audible over the symphony of the sea.
The silence that fell upon them thenwas not awkward but full, ripe with unspoken promises and shared dreams.Charlotte could feel the pulse of the village, the heartbeat of the cove, as ifthe very stones and waves were alive with the same anticipation that coursedthrough her veins.
"Charlotte Moore," he finallyspoke, his voice carrying the weight of the moment, the gravity of every hopeand fear they both harbored.
She swallowed hard, her pulse echoingin her ears like the distant tolling of a bell. The proposal seemed to hangthere, suspended, a jewel glinting in the moonlight just out of reach. And asthe chapter closed on this tender tableau, the readers were left yearning,caught in the sweet torment of what might—or might not—be spoken next.
“Yes?”
“Follow me.”
Simon led Charlotte along the weathereddock, their steps synchronized with the gentle lapping of the waves against themoorings. The briny scent of the sea mingled with the cool night air, wrappingaround them like a shared shawl of intimacy. Each boat they passed swayedquietly, cradles rocking under the watchful eye of the moon.
"Almost there," Simonmurmured, his voice low and laced with a thrill that was palpable even to theseagulls perched atop the masts.
Charlotte's heart danced a staccatorhythm, her eyes scanning the horizon where the water met the sky—a canvas shehad painted many times from the windows of The Old Crown Inn. She admired thenatural beauty of Chesham Cove, which had become a gallery of living art.
"Here she is," Simonannounced, stopping beside a vessel that seemed to shimmer in the silver light.He gestured proudly toward the bow, where letters curved elegantly across theprow.
"Charlotte's Grace,"Charlotte read aloud, her hand fluttering to her chest. The words were morethan a name—they were newfound life etched in varnished wood.
"Simon, I—this is..." Hervoice trailed off as she turned to him, her expression awash with wonder and anincredulous joy. "You named a boat after me?"
"More than that," he said,stepping closer. "She's yours, Charlotte. Not just in name, but in spiritand deed. I wanted you to have a piece of the cove, a part of its heart, justas you've become a part of mine."
The revelation sent ripples throughher, each wave crashing against the shore of her emotions. She had come to thisvillage a cast away from her past life, and now here she stood, a womanredefined, her name christening a vessel that promised countless new horizons.
