* * *
She found Parrish and Ed sitting on their beach chairs at the water’s edge, holding hands and gazing up at the moon.
How lucky they are, Riley thought.
“Hello, young lovers,” she said, smiling down at them. “I’m gonna head out. Will you take Billy home?”
Parrish frowned. “You’re leaving already? It’s not even ten o’clock. How are you getting home?”
“She didn’t say she was going home,” Ed pointed out.
“If you must know, I’m going to go have a drink with Nate,” Riley said.
“Doesn’t the bar at the Sea Biscuit close down at nine?” Parrish asked.
“Mind your own business,” Riley told her.
* * *
“Are you cold?” Nate asked as he backed the cart out of the south beach parking lot.
Riley sat on the bench seat beside him with her arms wrapped tightly across her chest.
“A little,” she admitted. “I forget how fast temperatures drop on the island after the sun goes down. Even in July.”
“Here.” He handed her the Hawaiian shirt Annie had issued him earlier in the night.
“Thanks,” she said, pulling her arms through the sleeves and buttoning it up. Nate immediately regretted his generosity because the shirt covered her lovely bare neck, shoulders, and chest.
“Won’t Annie be mad at you for leaving her to do all the cleanup by herself?” Riley asked.
“Her café girls can handle the cleanup. And I’ll come back early in the morning to break down the tent and load out the tables and chairs. Anyway, what’s she gonna do, fire me?”
“You two seem to work so well together,” Riley said.
“Annie and I have our moments,” Nate said, steering the cart through the dense tunnel of greenery that led to his cabin. “After I’d been back here a few weeks, helping out, she let me know she was quite capable of handling the Mercantile and the ferry without any meddling from me.”
“Was that when you decided to start your own business here?”
Nate turned to look at her. “Can we talk about this without you wanting to throw something at me?”
“Yes,” Riley said solemnly. “I’m ready to listen, if you’re ready to talk.”
“Let’s wait until we get to the cabin, okay?”
“Sure,” Riley said.
The road veered sharply to the left and transitioned into more of a narrow path. The undergrowth was so dense here that it nearly shut out the moonlight. All around them were night sounds: the thrum of cicadas, croaks and peeps of tree frogs and peepers, and a lonely whip-poor-will.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been to this part of the island,” Riley said. “Where exactly are we?”
“This is Sandy Point, and you wouldn’t have been here unless you were a duck hunter,” he said. He made two more sharp turns and finally steered the cart into a clearing.
“Here we are,” he announced.
The cabin was unassuming, built of unpainted cedar. Its foundation sat on sturdy tree stumps, and the tin-roofed porch was held up by stout cedar trunks, bark and all.
Nate got out of the cart and grabbed a backpack, and Riley followed suit. “Watch out for that first step. It’s pretty steep,” he warned. She climbed onto the porch, and he held the screen door open. “Welcome to Duck Inn.”
“This is so cool,” she said, turning around in the living-dining-kitchen room. “So, what? Rustic?”
“Primitive? Manly? Barbaric?”
“It’s not barbaric at all.” She laughed.
“Make yourself at home,” Nate said. “I grabbed a couple of bottles of wine from the party—do you like white or red? Or I’ve got cold beer if you want that.”
“White’s good,” she said. “Would you mind if I looked around? I’ve never been in a hunting cabin before.”
“Go ahead,” he said, opening a wooden cupboard to search for something resembling a wineglass. “It’s only two bedrooms, so I don’t think you need a guided tour.”
The room on the right held two sets of built-in pine bunk beds, but Nate was obviously using it as storage. Neatly labeled cardboard moving boxes were stacked against the walls, and in one corner of the room leaned half a dozen fishing poles, assorted tackle boxes, and two beautiful old shotguns.
There was a bathroom with a sink and commode and a shower stall lined with what looked like galvanized metal sheeting. The fixtures were ancient and rust-stained and the vinyl flooring was peeling.
She crossed the living room to the other bedroom, which he’d obviously fixed up for himself. There was an unmade double bed and nightstands made from upended wooden wine crates. An old pine dresser spilled clothing, and a faded oval braided rug covered the wooden floor. The bathroom was clean but basic.
“I wasn’t expecting company, so it’s kind of a mess,” Nate called from the living room. “I thought I was going to spend a quiet night at home until Annie shanghaied me into helping out at the party.”
She walked back into the living room, and he handed her a pint jelly glass filled with Chardonnay and gestured to the sofa—the nicest piece in the cabin, it was made of soft glove leather and looked expensive.
“I haven’t had a whole lot of time to do anything with the place,” he said, taking a seat beside her. “I was staying at my parents’ house, until one day Annie announced that she thought it was absurd for a grown man to be living with his mama. This place was available, and the price was right, so I bought it.” He took a long drink from his bottle of beer.
“I’m in the same position, you know,” Riley said. “Except my mother is delighted to have Maggy and me under her roof—and under her thumb.”
“But it’s probably good for Maggy, having family around now, right?”
“Maybe,” Riley said. “I really do admire the relationship you and Annie have. It seems so easy and natural for you to work together. I love Evelyn, but if she and I had to be together in a business, I’d have to kill her for sure.”
“Did you ever think about working in the family business?” Nate asked.
“You mean Belle Isle Enterprises? That was never an option for me. My great-grandfather Riley started the business with his brother, and then when Mama married my father, he turned it over to my dad.”
“And then you married Wendell and your father turned it over to him to run,” Nate said.
“Daddy used to brag that he chose Wendell before I did,” Riley said, swirling the wine around in her glass. “Wendell was already working for Daddy when we met. He used to say he saw my photo on Dad’s desk and was, quote, ‘intrigued by my beauty,’ end quote. Typical Wendell bullshit.”
“The beauty part wasn’t bullshit,” Nate said, touching her chin lightly. “I always thought you were the prettiest girl on the island when we were teenagers, but you’re even more beautiful now.”
“You thought I was pretty? That’s so sweet. I didn’t think you knew I was alive.”
“I didn’t pay much attention to girls until I was fifteen, but believe me, I knew who you were. I kinda had a crush on you. But it was clear you were way out of my class.”