Charlotte had paint everywhere. Her hands. Her face. Her clothes. But the kitchen looked brand new, with a pretty butter yellow paint on the walls, with white on the trim, ceiling, and cabinets.

She stood as far back as she could so she could still see the whole room, and pushed out a happy sigh. “Looks good,” she said to herself. It had been five days since her interview at Your Tidal Forever, and she hadn’t heard a single word.

She’d taken the car back to Your Ride the next day, and she’d gotten to work on the house. It was clean from top to bottom, and now the kitchen was done. The red-orange tiles on the floor looked great when they were shined up, and everything gleamed with the addition of fresh paint and a little elbow grease.

A plumber—a real one—was set to come early next week to look at the sink, and other than that, Charlotte was ready to move on to the next project.

She’d hesitated though, only making lists and not plans to begin. She had quite a bit of money from the divorce settlement, and she received monthly alimony payments as well. But she needed a job if she was going to keep remodeling this house.

Maybe you should call them, she thought, not for the first time. But she didn’t want to seem pushy, and she thought her resume spoke for itself. Besides, it was Friday, and surely they were busy on the weekends with weddings and more weddings.

Hope Sorensen, the owner of Your Tidal Forever, had been very clear about that. Weekends are a must. You get two off per year, and you need to put in for them months in advance.

She’d tucked her dark hair behind her ear while she spoke, and she watched Charlotte as if working weekends would be new. But in the tourist and customer service industry, Charlotte felt like she worked all the time. Middle of the night. Holidays. Weekends. This would be no different.

She washed her hands in the bathroom Dawson used and found her phone in the formal living room where she’d left it. Just a quick phone call. Just to know.

Listening to the line ring at Your Tidal Forever felt like torture, and when a chirpy woman answered, “How can I help you find your tidal forever?” Charlotte wanted to gag and then hang up.

How could she even consider working for a company that had such an optimistic view of marriage? Be around all those brides, day in and day out? Every weekend, she told herself.

“Hi,” she said. “It’s Charlotte Madsen. I’m wondering if Hope is in today?”

“She is.”

“Oh, great. Could you transfer me to her?”

“What can I tell her the call is about?”

“A job,” Charlotte said, nervous now that she had to explain her call to a gatekeeper. “I interviewed earlier this week, and I’m just wondering—”

“Hold, please.”

Flowing, frilly music filled the line, and Charlotte pressed her eyes closed in an attempt to calm down and contain the desperation diving through her.

“Charlotte, I’m so glad you called.” Hope’s voice oozed honey, and Charlotte pictured her sitting behind that power desk in her cute skirt set. “It’s been crazy here this week, but I did have you down to come in for a second interview.”

“Oh, that’s great,” Charlotte said, relief rushing in to take the place of her desperation.

“When would you like to schedule that?”

“My schedule is wide open,” she said, wanting to make a quip about coming in that weekend, but she bit the words back.

“How about Tuesday morning? Those are generally pretty slow for me.”

“Sure, what time?”

“Let’s do ten.”

Charlotte thanked Hope and hung up, more elated now than she had been five minutes ago. She kicked herself for not calling earlier but quickly decided she wasn’t going to beat herself up over anything. She didn’t need to anymore. She didn’t have Hunter hounding her for the way she waited too long, or that she’d somehow weeded their front flower bed wrong, or that she should’ve said something different to the guy at the golf course so he’d hire her.

She drew in a deep breath and said, “You got a second interview.” And she was proud of that.

The days passed quickly, with her spending her time on the lawn and gardens surrounding the house. It was free to pull weeds and dig out old bushes, so she spent her time there instead of her money on interior projects. Dawson worked weekends too, it turned out, but he did help her get out a particularly stubborn stump on Monday.

They spoke a little bit, with small talk about their lives and families. Nothing too personal, which suited Charlotte just fine. She liked Dawson, and in any other circumstance, she might have been interested.

The way her heart pumped when he came in the room told her she was interested in him, but she kept reminding it that it had been broken and didn’t get to make decisions anymore.

On Tuesday morning, she entered the kitchen wearing a long black dress with big gold flowers on it to find Dawson eating a bowl of cereal at the counter.

He whistled, and she did a little twirl. “Second interview this morning,” he said, looking mighty fine in his dark jeans and black polo that had a tiny helicopter stitched over his heart. He wore the same thing to work every time he went, and Charlotte liked the consistency of it.

“Yes,” she said, placing one hand over her stomach as she contemplated eating. “I’m so nervous.”

“You’ve got this.” He got up and put his bowl in the sink, rinsing it before turning back to her. “I found an apartment. I’ll be out of your hair by this time next week.”

“Oh.” Surprise and sadness whirled through her at the same time. “That’s great, Dawson.”

He nodded, his arms folded across his chest as if he was keeping something back from her. “It’s a nice place. You should come see it.”

“Yeah, sure.” She picked up a bunch of bananas and plucked one off the bunch.

He stepped closer to her, causing her to look up into his handsome face. She lost herself for a moment in his dreamy eyes, before blinking and leaning against the counter to put a bit of space between them.

“I’m wondering if you’d go to dinner with me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes shone with hope, and the spark that had been between them all this time roared into a full-fledged flame.

Charlotte’s mind reeled. “I’m not really in the dating frame of mind,” she blurted out.

“Yeah, I worked that out,” he said. One hand dropped, his fingers barely brushing hers but sending a shower of fireworks through her system. “We’ll go slow. Dinner. Or lunch. We can even do it here at the house after I move out.”

They hadn’t really shared any meal times together, not with his insane schedule. She never saw him eat anything but breakfast, and he claimed to eat in town or at work before he came back.

“After you move out,” she echoed.

“Yeah,” he said, tipping even closer as if he’d kiss her. Fear flowed through her now with the strength of river rapids. He could not kiss her. She was not ready for that. She froze, and he seemed to pick up on the hint.

“I got a place as quickly as I could,” he said. “Because I don’t think we should start something while we’re roommates.”

Start something? Charlotte couldn’t even think beyond those words.

“I’m going to be late.” He moved out of the kitchen, leaving the scent of his cologne behind him. “I’ll see you later.”

The front door had opened and closed before Charlotte turned and said, “Yeah, see you later.” She took her banana and went out on the deck, her mind spinning with the last five minutes of her life.

She ate the fruit, but she didn’t remember peeling it. Her mind felt numb, much the same way it had after Hunter had said he’d met someone else and wanted a divorce. Was she really considering a dinner date with Dawson Dane?

I got a place as quickly as I could.

Warmth filled her, and she lifted her head high. So Hunter had stolen something from her, that much was true. But she obviously still had something that was attractive to a man, and she turned to head outside, ready to crush this second interview.

Half an hour later, she sat with her ankles crossed, her portfolio dormant on her lap. She’d brought it last time too, pictures and sketches of her projects over the years, but Hope hadn’t even asked to see it. Charlotte was determined to show it to her today, make her understand that Charlotte could take their already thriving business to the next level, for the type of bride who deserved a custom package.

“Charlotte?” The perky woman who answered the phone stood from behind the counter where she worked. “Hope is ready for you now.” She wore a fit-and-flare dress that screamed the color of pink bubble gum, with a busy pattern Charlotte hadn’t been able to identify in yellows, blues, whites, and purples.

“Thank you.” Charlotte stood, finally making out ice cream cones as she approached Riley, the girl at the desk. She followed her down a hallway that had probably never seen dust and into the same office she’d entered last week.

Hope lifted one hand to indicate she was on the phone, and then she said, “Well, make it happen, Libby. We need those flowers by Friday morning.” She set her cell down on her desk and motioned Charlotte in with a “Thank you, Riley.”

She stood and shook Charlotte’s hand. “Good morning, Charlotte.”

“Morning, Hope.” Charlotte tacked on a smile, hoping it looked genuine and professional at the same time. “I brought my portfolio for you to see.” She extended the leather folder, and Hope took it.

The dark-haired woman didn’t open it. She studied Charlotte for a moment and wiped a wisp her hair that had fallen from her messy bun.

“I’ve worked weddings before,” Charlotte said, adjusting her blouse after she sat. “Stressful events, sometimes.”

“Tell me,” Hope said. “What would you do if your floral supplier called three days before one of the biggest weddings of the season and said they couldn’t deliver the flowers you’d ordered four months ago?”

Charlotte let several beats of silence go by, as she considered the right way to answer. “Once, I’d been commissioned to build a set for a movie that was being shot on Carter’s Cove.” She paused to see if Hope would allow a side story. She seemed receptive, so Charlotte continued. “It required a lot of different elements, and one of them was a roll of colored plastic that I’d ordered far in advance. It never came, and when I called to find out about it, I couldn’t get an answer as to when it would arrive.”

She smiled and tucked her hair, wishing she hadn’t cut it to such an odd length. It wasn’t long enough to brush over her shoulder and have it stay, nor short enough not to annoy her. She supposed that was what happened when one cut their own hair, after midnight, in a wild state of mind that demanded everything about them change before morning.

“So I said about what you just did. That I needed it by a certain date, as promised. Then I started making contingency plans. Because the bride doesn’t really care where their flowers come from, as long as they’re there, as promised. And that’s our job. To deliver what’s promised to who we promised it to.”

Hope watched her for a breath past comfortable. “What happened with the plastic?”

“I found it at an office supply store a four-hour drive—plus a ferry ride—away from Carter’s Cove. I sent my husband—” She almost choked on the word, but managed to finish with “to get it.”

“Oh, you’re married?” Hope’s eyes flickered to Charlotte’s left hand, where she was sure an indentation of her wedding ring would be visible. She’d never taken it off, even in the hottest weather, even while doing the messiest projects.

“No,” she said quickly. “Not anymore.” She offered a smile she hoped would be supportive and waited for the next question.

Hope nodded and tapped the portfolio. “But you’re okay working with happy couples?”

“I understand what that feels like,” Charlotte said. “I’m happy for them, even if it didn’t work out for me.” So maybe that was a lie, but probably just a tiny one. It didn’t really matter what she believed about the institution of marriage. She needed a job, and she was well-suited for this one.

Hope finally opened the portfolio, and she pulled in a tight breath. “What is this?”

“That’s a custom arch and altar I designed and built for my niece’s wedding,” she said, leaning forward and glad she’d thought to put this particular project first in the folder. “Sometimes it can get quite windy on the island—Carter’s Cove, that is—and she was getting married on the beach. I’d seen arches and altars get destroyed by the wind, and I was determined hers would be rock solid.”

She pointed to the wide base of the arch. “We used heavy wood at the bottom, and filled it with quick-drying concrete once it was in place on the beach. The upper part was a lattice, which makes it lighter, and we wove the flowers through clear floral netting as we stapled them to the arch, so not a single petal was lost.”

Charlotte heard the pride in her voice, but she didn’t try to tame it. If she couldn’t be proud of the work she’d accomplished in the past during a job interview, when could she?

Hope traced one finger down the sketch and flipped the page, where a full-color photo of the arch and altar waited. “Oh, they’re beautiful.” She glanced up. “What do you do with them when the wedding is over?”

“Since they’re custom pieces, it was part of the contract that they wouldn’t be used again. Genn kept the arch and put it in her backyard, and the altar got redecorated for the next project. I think it was a bench for part of Santa’s village that year.”

“Custom packages,” Hope murmured.

“I’ve looked through what you do here at Your Tidal Forever,” Charlotte said, deciding to be brave and take a chance. “It’s all great, Hope. It really is. I can see why you’re booked out for eight months. You have a great clientele right now, but what if we could attract the kind of couples and families that want high-end but still sand beneath their feet?”

Interest shone in Hope’s eyes. “And you think you can customize the décor and the experience for each bride?”

“Each bride willing to buy the custom package,” she clarified. “We’d meet. Talk about needs and wants and colors and budget. Everything would be tailored to them. There are some women who like that.” Just because Charlotte wasn’t one of them didn’t mean there weren’t people out there who would pay anything to have a type of flower no one else had ever had at their wedding.

“And if we can’t attract that kind of bride?” Hope asked.

“Then I’ll make the calls about the flowers you need by Friday,” Charlotte said. “I can build almost anything, and I’m an expert decorator. I have a pastry certification as well.” She stopped talking, as she’d started to feel that desperation again and she didn’t want it to creep into her voice.

Hope leafed through her portfolio, admiring several sketches and photos. Several minutes passed, and she finally got to the end, where Charlotte had put in copies of her certifications and a list of her special skills.

“You really do have a Lead Carpenter Certification.”

“I bought the house on Cinder Road, simply to fix up,” Charlotte said. “I can’t build a house from nothing, but I can make an old one look new. And I can build almost any piece of furniture you need, but my real specialty is in arches and altars, obviously.” She indicated the portfolio, which had shown some interior remodels. She had mainly focused on the wedding work she’d done.

Hope closed the portfolio and stood up, her skirt set today done in a color halfway between navy and eggplant. “Charlotte, you’ve got the job.”

Charlotte grinned, shook Hope’s hand, and took the employment packet from Riley, promising to bring it back the next day and figure out when she could start.

She exited to bright sunlight, and sand almost at her feet, and the scent of salt air in her nose. Excitement poured through her, and she released a laugh.

She wanted to tell someone. Celebrate that she’d gotten this job.

The only person she could think of to call was Dawson.

So she did.