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“Anything of note he’s published?” Marc asked, fishing for something to grab ahold of.

Grayson shrugged. “He’s written a few academic books as well as a series of books about adoption.”

“Interesting subject. Was he adopted? Were you?”

Grayson sent him a sharp look. For a moment Marc wondered if he’d been too abrupt with his questions. “He was adopted. I wasn’t. I’m a ringer for dear old dad. My whole childhood I had to hear about him being a foundling.”

Marc sensed some trouble between Holloway and his father. There was a bitter tone to his voice. A lot of resentment was resting on the surface.

“The thing is, he’s spent all this time writing about being adopted but when he had the chance he never took any steps to meet his birth mother.”

A chill swept over Marc. Birth mother. One his father had never met. Could that be the connection to Savannah House and Miss Hattie. Or was it just a coincidence. “That’s a shame. Why not?”

“Because he didn’t want to disrupt her life.” Holloway let out a harsh laugh. “So incredibly noble, isn’t he?”

“Maybe he just couldn’t handle it.”

“Maybe, but it was pretty shortsighted of him. She’s dead now. No worries though. In the end, nothing can every truly be buried. Not a single thing.”

At that moment the two women from the book signing popped up at the bar. The redhead was giving Marc the eye. Clearly she wanted to get to know him better. Knowing he most likely wouldn’t get any more one on one time with Holloway, Marc pushed himself away from the bar and hopped off his stool. “Nice talking to you,” he said with a nod. Holloway raised his beer up in the air and said, “Right back at you. Enjoy the island while you’re here.”

Marc walked out of the Sparrow and headed back toward the inn. He was dealing with mixed feelings. He knew the trip to the island had been the right decision. Grayson Holloway was an enigmatic figure. Clearly, he was a brilliant artist, who had a thriving career. Yet, there was an air of dissatisfaction hovering around him. And the information about his father, Tanner Holloway, was intriguing. He’d said his father hadn’t taken advantage of the opportunity to meet his birth mother. And what about the birth father? Was it possible that was the link to Savannah House?

Tomorrow Marc would be heading home to Savannah. He’d do a little more digging today with the locals and try to get some photos of Holloway’s house. If his hunch was correct about Holloway not being motivated by money, this entire situation would become a lot more complicated.

“The best part about life are the unexpected blessings. They come out of nowhere and lift us up.”

Miss Hattie Alexander

Chapter Five

It was a beautiful evening for a ball, Charlotte thought as she walked outside to the patio of the Savannah Historical Society. The place was lit up with twinkling lights and festive candles. Flowers were on every table in the ballroom. They were even placed on the tables outside on the patio. Charlotte pulled her wrap tighter around her shoulders. A brisk wind was kicking up.

Belles of the Ball. This charity event was a wonderful opportunity to give back to the Savannah community. So many wonderful causes would benefit from local philanthropists and donors. She had been proud to present a check on behalf of Savannah House. She wished it cou

ld have been larger. But there was always next year! She was on her own tonight since none of the other ladies could make it. It had been a nice evening, although she wished she had a companion on her arm.

“I know I’m supposed to be patient, Lord,” she said out loud as she gazed up at the heavens. “But when will I find my other half? My special someone?”

The sound of the patio door closing with a firm click alerted her to the fact that someone else had joined her. Sigh. She had really wanted to be alone with her thoughts. Thankfully they had just missed hearing her plea to the Lord. That would have been downright humiliating.

“Hello there.” The rich timbre of the masculine voice was familiar. Charlotte turned around and nearly gasped out loud at the sight of Marc standing a few feet away from her.

“Marc. I had no idea you’d come back from Massachusetts.” The sight of him sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Goodness! This man sure knew how to wear a tuxedo. The black tux, along with the white dress shirt lent him an elegant, suave look. Charlotte hoped she wasn’t staring. Self-consciously, she tugged at the side of her gown. It was too tight, she realized. She’d put on a few pounds in the last few months. Why had she worn this ill-fitting dress this evening?

“I came back this afternoon. I’d practically forgotten about this event.” He let out a low chuckle. “I had to dust off this tux at the back of my closet.”

“It looks great,” Charlotte said, feeling a little flustered at Marc’s close proximity.

“You look wonderful,” Marc said, his eyes full of male appreciation.

“Thank you,” she murmured, standing a little straighter at Marc’s compliment. The way he said it sounded so sincere. As if he really, truly meant it. It warmed her insides. The rose colored gown had been an impulse buy. She’d purchased it at her friend Lily’s dress shop. Lily had been effusive in her praise, and Charlotte had decided to trust Lily’s judgement and purchase the dress.

“I was inside when they were taking pictures of you. I believe it was the Savannah Gazette.”

“Yes, they’re doing an article on local female philanthropists.” Charlotte shook her head and laughed. “It’s hard to see myself as a philanthropist. Our donation wasn’t grand but it did come from our hearts.”

“You ladies are making a difference,” Marc said. “So many will benefit from your generosity.”

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