Her mother had the only full-length mirror in the house, so Juliet went into Lisa’s room to get the complete view. Turning this way and that in front of the mirror, Juliet remembered how she never wanted to dress like her mother and she absolutely never wanted to get married and have two children and be left alone to raise them. Juliet had determined she would be smart and focus on her work, on math and computers, digital black and white, nothing soft, fuzzy, and compromising.
Yet this summer, something about this summer, was softening her or softening the world around her so that the air was gentler, and she was happier. Light was more sparkling and magic so close by. When she looked at herself in the mirror in the navy blue dress, she realized she looked very much like a woman that a handsome, educated man would want to spend time with. The knowledge surprised her and made her do something she hadn’t done since she was thirteen. She put her arms around herself and twirled around in a circle, laughing.
She knew Ryder planned to take her somewhere posh for dinner, and she was sure he’d wear a blazer. Nantucket was an island of cobblestones, bricks, and sprained ankles, so she wore low heels. No bracelet or necklace, although she had a jewelry box full of those. Her dress and earrings and shoes said proper, but her black eyeliner, delicately and artistically applied, said sex. Her small black clutch was in her hand when Ryder knocked on the door of her mother’s house.
“Wow,” he said when he saw her.
“You clean up pretty well yourself,” Juliet told him saucily. She was right. He wore a Brooks Brothers blue-and-white striped button-down shirt and a navy blue blazer with Nantucket Yacht Club brass buttons.
For a lingering moment, they stood looking at each other so intensely, so intently, that Juliet thought Ryder was going to take her in his arms, carry her into her mother’s house, and ravish her. Yes, ravish. That was the message in his eyes.
“Yeah,” Ryder said, as if she’d asked a question. “We have to go. We have a reservation.”
Seated in his Range Rover, they rode out to the Chanticleer, one of the priciest and most fabled restaurants on the island. They talked idly about current news, the weather, their days, but the air between them was languorous, heavy with unspoken words.
The maître d’ greeted Ryder by name. “Good evening, Mr. Hastings, we have your table ready. Please follow me.”
Juliet was aware of the glances of other diners. No one she knew was seated at any of the other tables, but she would bet one of her high school chums was working in the kitchen.
The maître d’ pulled out her chair for her. A waiter came over and Ryder went through the complicated discussion of whether to start with wine or a cocktail.
Juliet asked for a martini.
The room was handsome, the tables set far enough away from one another that no one would worry about being overheard. Nantucket had many fine restaurants, but this one was known worldwide.
“Why did you bring me here?” Juliet asked archly.
Ryder looked puzzled. “So we could have dinner.”
“Stop it. You’re a complicated man. I already know you’re wealthy, so there’s got to be some other reason than impressing me.”
Ryder waggled his eyebrows theatrically. “So you’re already impressed with me?”
“How could I not be? Electric car? Saving the oceans?”
“I’m no saint, believe me. And I brought you here because the food is good. I like the atmosphere.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Juliet saw the waiter approaching with their drinks on a tray. She waited until he’d set their drinks down. She took a sip of her bracingly cold martini.
Tilting her head, smiling a Mona Lisa smile, Juliet said, “I think you should be impressed with me.”
“Oh, I am,” Ryder answered, leaning forward to put his hand over hers.
She pulled her hand away. “Not that way. Well, not only that way. I spent several hours at the Ocean Matters office yesterday. Beth asked me to help build a website. This is my field of expertise. I know what I’m doing and I work fast.”
“Is it up yet?”
Juliet laughed, a throaty laugh full of confidence. “It can take weeks, even months, to build a website. I’ve got a good start, and when I get home tonight, I’ll go back to work on it.”
“Not exactly how I saw this evening ending,” Ryder said.
She ignored him. “I can work all night, if necessary. I can super-focus. Beth gave me a general idea of how it should look, the background an azure ocean with sea creatures and a menu that includes the mission statement, the names of board members, and an easy link to become members and receive the newsletter. Also, an ocean album page where people can scroll through gorgeous underwater shots.” She settled back in her chair, smiling triumphantly.
“Good Lord,” Ryder said. “I could kiss you. Well, I want to kiss you anyway, but this is great news.”
“We’re only in the beginning phase. I mean Beth is. I’m obviously helping out on a freelance basis.”
“Tell me how you know Beth.”
“Because we grew up on the island, of course.” The martini was performing wonders with her mind, conjuring up marvelous memories of life on the island, summer parties, school dances. “I’m two years older than she is, but my brother, Theo, hung out with her sometimes, and with Atticus.” That name made her heart drop like an anchor. For a moment, she was caught on the sorrow of his death. She took a small sip of her martini, steadying herself.
Ryder said, “It must have been magical, growing up on this island.”
Juliet paused to gather her thoughts. “It’s wonderful and terrible,” she replied. “I mean, the ocean, the beaches, the history, and so on are fun when you’re a kid. When you’re a teenager, it’s different and not in a good way. You know we have no chain businesses here. No McDonald’s, Starbucks, no malls, no place to hang out. The winters are long and dark and there’s no place to go unless you ice skate. We do have a rink. We start feeling…isolated…and some of us go off-island for college, some can’t deal with the hugeness of the real world, and come home.” She shook her head. “Could I sound more depressing?”
“You’re not depressing. You’re honest. That’s what I wanted.”
“I should probably extol the beauty of the island, the golden beaches, the profound connection with the ocean, and there’s that, too, of course. It’s not possible not to feel that connection even when it’s unpleasant. I mean, getting to and from our hometown relies on what the ocean’s doing. Gale force wind? No boats running, no planes flying, not that we could afford the airfare. Some of the major football games are off-island but half the passengers toss their chowder on the way because of high seas, and when you try to return, boats are canceled.”