Harbormaster: Where were you last night? I missed you. I kept imagining you were out with some hot guy, and he was whisking you off to some fancy restaurant in his convertible. I almost came over there and beat him up when you came home. Oh, wait. I don’t know where you live.
Sweetpea: Smart aleck.
Tucker turned down the collar of his polo and fastened the bottom button. He’d found Sabrina’s email when he returned from work.
I’d love to see you tonight. It doesn’t matter what we do.
She’d suggested he email or call to set up a date. He’d replied and suggested dinner out. At least a restaurant would offer distractions, and he wouldn’t have to worry about awkward silences.
His cell phone rang, and he snatched it off the table, along with his keys.
It was Tracey. “Hey, sis, how’s it going?”
“You’re on your way out the door, aren’t you?”
“How the heck did you know that?”
“I have my ways. I just called to chat. Want me to call back?”
Tucker got into his car and started the engine. Tracey sounded better than she had the week before. She was going to get through this. “I can talk on my way there.”
“Your way where?”
“On a date.” That was going to invite the questions.
“Oooh, I’m so happy for you. You’re finally getting somewhere with Sweetpea. I think I hear some wedding bells in your future.”
He gave a wry laugh. “Not exactly. The date isn’t with Sweetpea.”
“What? I thought for sure she was the one you’d finally bring home to Mom.”
He turned onto Main Street, already crowded with summer people heading to dinner.
He didn’t feel like talking about Sabrina and her stand-in. “It’s a long story. I’ll fill you in later. How’s your new job going?” He worried about her starting over in a big city like Atlanta. But if the accident several years ago had revealed anything about Tracey, it was her iron-core strength. He’d never seen anyone fight so hard through rehabilitation.
“I really like it. The people are friendly, and I feel useful—which I needed.”
They chatted a few minutes about her job.
“You been eating?” he asked when there was a break in the conversation.
“Yes, Mother.”
“Someone has to keep you in line.” He turned onto Sabrina’s street. “Speaking of which, have you heard from Mom and Dad lately?”
“Only every other day. Sheesh, you’d think I was suicidal or something.”
He thought of Sabrina’s dad and all the pain his selfish exit had caused. “Don’t even joke about that.”
“Sorry. You know what I mean though. I am starting to feel like I can breathe again. I found a good church too. I’m thinking about joining the choir.”
“That would be good for you.”
He pulled into Sabrina’s drive and turned off the ignition.
“You’re there, I’ll let you go.”
He smiled. “Am I on hidden camera?”
“Have fun on your date.”
“Not likely.”
Tracey laughed. “Lucky girl.”
They said goodbye, and Tucker pocketed his cell, exiting the car. He was so not looking forward to this.
His good shoes crunched on the gravel of Sabrina’s driveway as he approached the steps to her loft. Would Sabrina answer the door? If only he were going out with her. He’d wondered a hundred times if he should call an end to this absurdity. If he should admit he knew who Sweetpea was. But he was in too deep now. To do so would, at the very least, embarrass her, and, at the worst, anger her to the point of excluding him from her life. He was, after all, guilty of gross deceit. Then again, so was she.
In the end, he’d convinced himself to get through the dates. How long could Arielle possibly stay? A few days? A week at most? Sabrina hadn’t said in the email. At least, he assumed it was Sabrina who had written. But maybe not.
He shook his head, frustrated, as he approached the door. Get it together, McCabe. He raised his hand and knocked.
A few seconds later, Arielle appeared in a white dress. “Hey there!” Her smile was Julia Roberts wide. “Let me grab my bag, and we’re good to go.”
As she reached somewhere to the side, he peeked inside, hoping for a glimpse of Sabrina, but the interior was dark and empty.
“All set.” Arielle slipped the thin strap of a wallet-sized bag over her bare shoulder.
He led the way down the stairs, opened the car door for her, then slid behind the wheel. He wasn’t sure what to say, how to act. Maybe he should save them both a lot of trouble and tell her he knew she was an imposter. Before he could weigh the thought, she spoke.
“It’s a gorgeous night, oh, my goodness. Even the rain was nice last night. I love the smell of rain, and the sunshine today . . . I could stay here forever.”
She had a soft Southern twang that sounded nice. Comforting. “Summer’s nice, but it gets pretty cold in the winter. We year-round residents have to take extra precautions to preserve heat in our homes. Especially the homes on the shore.”
“Still, the summer is to die for, and the whole place has great energy. How many people can say they live on an island? It’s awfully romantic.”
He turned out of the drive, wishing she hadn’t mentioned the r word, because now an awkward silence filled the car. He turned up the air. If only he’d thought to turn on the radio before he’d arrived. It would’ve filled the silence, but to do so now would be rude. Would she expect him to hold her hand? To kiss her goodnight? His palms grew sweaty and sticky on the leather steering wheel.
“Well,” she offered, “I guess since we already know so much about each other, we can skip the small talk, huh?”
“Guess so.” He pulled his lips upward and hoped for the best. “Though I don’t know what you do for a living or where you live. You’ve been a little secretive about that.” He spared her a quick glance.
She laughed, nervously, he thought. “I live in Georgia, but you probably guessed that by my accent.”
“Where ’bouts?”
“Macon. Born and raised there. I teach preschool, which I love. Not for everyone, I know, but those little rug rats are a hoot.”
Even if he hadn’t known Arielle wasn’t Sweetpea, he would’ve been suspicious by now. She had too much energy, and she talked more and faster than his friend did. It hit him that her job gave her summers off. Still, surely she couldn’t stay long on a preschool teacher’s salary. Though since she was staying with Sabrina, there weren’t many expenses involved.
Arielle related a story of a boy in her class who’d gotten a LEGO stuck up his nose. His mom took him to the ER to have it removed. She chuckled at the memory.
“Reminds me of when I got that Tic Tac stuck up my nose. But you already know all about that.” Wasn’t he feeling ornery tonight.
“Right, right.” She fidgeted with her fingernails. “Those kids. Oh, my goodness, the things they say. I could fill a book. One day in the spring, I went home early because I’d developed a fever, and Mia, this adorable little girl, told her mom I went home with a temper! Can you imagine?”
“Must be pretty entertaining.” She was nothing like Sabrina. Not that she wasn’t nice. She seemed sweet, but she wasn’t Sabrina.
He pulled alongside DeMarco’s clapboard building and parked, then helped Arielle from the car. The shingled sign over the front windows swung in the wind.
“This looks so quaint. I love Italian.”
Tucker opened the door for her, and the host greeted them.
“Hey, Tucker.” Brant Morgan shook his hand.
Tucker introduced Arielle, then Brant seated them at a table for two by the front window. The restaurant smelled of seafood and garlic, and Tucker’s stomach gave a rumble.
Across the room, he recognized an older man he’d taken to Martha’s Vineyard a couple days before, along with the man’s wife. The Wescotts were old money—he’d seen all the signs—and Mr. Wescott was a semiretired attorney.
Mr. Wescott caught his eye, a quick look of recognition followed by a crease on his forehead. Before the man could look away, Tucker nodded his chin upward. The guy probably wondered how a boat driver could afford a place like this. Tucker’s lips twitched.
Arielle opened the menu, but her eyes took in the restaurant’s atmosphere. “It’s like a cozy country inn, very intimate. And it has nice flow, which is unusual for a restaurant.”
Tucker opened the menu and perused the items, though he knew what he was ordering. “Are you interested in decorating?”
“It’s a hobby. I’ve already rearranged Sabrina’s loft. The furniture placement was all wrong. She needs to change the wall color, but I haven’t quite decided on a color.”
“Well, you just got here.”
Her smile seemed to freeze for a minute. “That’s true. I’ve got plenty of time to decide. That olive green is so dark and depressing.”
He wondered what she meant by “plenty of time.” “How long can you stay?”
She closed her menu. “A little over two weeks. We’ll have plenty of time together.”
He tried for a smile. “That’s great.” Over two weeks. How many dates would he have to go on? He’d figured on two or three tops. This was getting worse and worse. Maybe he could email and say the spark just isn’t there in person. That was a thought.
The server arrived to take their drink orders, but since they’d decided what they wanted, they ordered their food as well. He wanted the date to be over, and the sooner they got their food, the sooner he could take her home. Relax. You don’t want her thinking you’re eager to get rid of her. He felt a moment’s pang at the thought. It wasn’t that she wasn’t nice, but he was tired of feeling uncomfortable. And it wasn’t the stiff shoes.
While they waited for their food, Arielle more than held up her end of the conversation, but service was slow, as was typical for a fine-dining establishment. His faking skills lacked, and he didn’t have it in him to try harder. Still, she didn’t seem to notice.
“Oh, my goodness, this looks delicious,” she said when the server set their plates down. She stabbed a small chunk of spinach leaves and slid it into her mouth.
Tucker placed the white cloth napkin in his lap, said a quick silent prayer, then dug his fork into the capellini. He ate here regularly, and the shrimp-and-pasta dish was his favorite, but tonight his taste buds seemed numb.
“This place is hopping. I’m surprised you were able to get a table on such short notice.”
“Fine dining is huge here, especially during the summer. This place books up a week in advance, but Brant’s an old friend, so he squeezed us in.”
“Is Nantucket the kind of place where everyone knows everyone? The island’s not awfully big.”
“Yes and no. In the summer the place swells with tourists and summer people. A lot of them own homes and come back year after year, so you get to know them. I have a lot of repeat customers that I’ve gotten to know pretty well.”
They talked between bites of food, her mostly. When the server brought their bill, he tucked the cash inside the leather folder and set his napkin on his plate.
He didn’t want her to feel rushed, but she’d finished her salad and refused dessert. Maybe she was ready to call it a night too. Or maybe she’d suggest they go somewhere else. Dread parked itself at the curb and fed the meter.
“You probably have to get up early in the morning,” she said. “Maybe we should call it a night.”
He exhaled quietly. “I do have an early run. Would you mind?”
She set her napkin on her plate and scooted her chair back. “Not at all. We’ll have plenty of time to catch up.”
That’s what he was afraid of. Tucker walked her to the car and helped her inside, then slid behind the wheel. The evening was warm and dark, the stars dotting the cloudless sky.
“Thank you so much for supper. I haven’t had a salad that tasty in years, truly.”
“You’re welcome.”
They talked about his job on the way home, and he told her stories he’d repeated a dozen times to other people. Before he knew it, he was pulling into Sabrina’s drive. A light shone from the window, and he thought he saw the movement of a shadow. He put the car in park, turned off the ignition, and helped Arielle out.
As they ascended the steps, his mind spun. Would she expect a kiss? Should he shake her hand? Hug her? Nothing seemed appropriate. None of it appealed.
They reached the small landing, and she faced him in the circle of porch light. Her skin glowed golden. “Would you like to come in for a few minutes?”
His eyes went to the window. He wanted to see Sabrina, but not under these conditions. “Not tonight, thanks. I should get home and to bed.”
She touched his arm. “Well, thanks so much again for a wonderful supper.”
“You’re welcome.” Should they make plans to meet again? She probably expected him to, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He only wanted to get home and write Sabrina.