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A few days after the Harvey girls sealed the deal with Snow Enterprise, dealing exclusively with their lawyer and not with either of the Snow brothers, a dark magenta envelope appeared in the Keating House’s mailbox. Abby happened to collect the mail that afternoon after she and Nicole returned from a particularly heinous lunch rush. Nicole popped a bottle of wine in the kitchen while Abby placed the envelope on the counter and wagged her eyebrows.
“This seems like it was hand-delivered,” she said.
In beautiful calligraphy, someone had written: Nicole Harvey. It was reminiscent of a wedding invitation; even the envelope itself was made of incredibly thick, textured paper, not the kind of thing the average person had laying around their messy study. Abby grabbed the bottle of wine and filled their glasses while she urged her mother to open it up.
Nicole Harvey,
It would be my honor to invite you to my home for dinner tomorrow evening.
Yours,
Evan Snow
Nicole and Abby locked eyes. Nicole accidentally let go of the invitation and it fluttered to the ground, where it glared up at them there in the space between their toes.
“No way,” Nicole blurted suddenly. “There’s no way I’m going over there again. I barely got out of there alive last time.”
Abby placed a glass of wine in Nicole’s hand. “Why don’t you sit on it for a while? Think it over?”
“There’s nothing to think about. I already told you what I learned at the station. He cheated on his wife. He’s terrorized Bar Harbor from his ivory tower for years. I don’t want to be involved with a guy like that. I was in that kind of marriage for too long.”
Abby leaned against the counter as her face shifted. Nicole immediately regretted her words. After all, she’d already urged Abby to try to make peace with her father, to give him a second chance, if he wanted it. Michael loved his children, and he’d done his best to provide for them before his departure. Besides, Nicole had lived her entire life without a father. She didn’t wish that on her children.
“Then again, I’m getting ahead of myself,” Nicole said. She took another sip of wine, a bigger one, and added, “Probably, he just wants me to fall head over heels thanking him for going out of his way for us... For letting us buy the property...”
Abby shrugged. “Guess you won’t know till you go?”
“Listen to you, Miss Smarty-pants,” Nicole teased. She dropped down, lifted the invitation again, and splayed it on the counter between them. “I can’t be his second chance. He has to want to be that for himself,” she added under his breath.
“Maybe you gave him the inspiration to try,” Abby offered as she gestured around the Keating House and the wide grounds out the window. “I mean, come on. Look at your life now. It’s eons away from your little life in that apartment in Portland. You’ve completely regenerated yourself. You should write self-help books or something.”
Nicole rolled her eyes as Abby chuckled inwardly.
“Look at you,” Abby added. “You’re giving me all that teenage sass I used to give to you. My, how the tables have turned.”
**
THIS TIME WHEN NICOLE arrived at the Snow Mansion, the fence parted for her like the Red Sea for Moses. She parked out front and glanced in the mirror a final time to assess her face. Abby had given her thick eyeliner, a heaping portion of mascara, a lipstick Nicole would never have opted for, along with a beautiful hairstyle that made Nicole feel almost alien. She wore a black turtleneck and a cream-colored skirt with a pair of booties, which was the fourth outfit she’d tried on that afternoon for the raucous crowd of Heather, Abby, and Casey.
“Come on. Who is watching the inn when the three of you are here making fun of me?” she’d demanded. Still, the help had been appreciated.
Henry the butler opened the door for her and greeted her warmly. “Dinner is nearly ready, Miss Harvey. Mr. Snow will join you very soon.”
Nicole was led to one of the heads of a very long dining room table. She sat at the very edge of the chair and clasped her hands together on her thighs. Henry poured her a glass of wine as her eyes danced over the old-world paintings and the glittering chandelier on high. When her kids had been hungry years before, she’d popped pizza rolls into the microwave and let them feast to their hearts’ content. She had a hunch that pizza rolls had never entered this mansion.
“Good evening.” Evan Snow appeared in the doorway between the foyer and the dining room. He wore a mustard-colored sweater and dark slacks. His blue eyes were captivating, and he seemed to tower over her.
Nicole’s stomach clenched and unclenched as she swam through states of embarrassment and fear and horror. Was this a date? Had she dressed correctly? What on earth was she doing there?
“Hi,” she finally said. She stood and lifted her hand to shake his, which seemed too formal but also the only thing she could do. “It’s good to see you again.”
Evan shook her hand and retreated to his end of the table, which was a good ten feet away. Long ago, when Nicole had dated Michael, they’d normally sat on the same side of whatever pub table they’d gotten that night, swapping funny stories and drinking beers. This was a different universe.
After initial pleasantries and glasses of wine, Henry arrived with the soup course. Nicole marveled that she had absolutely nothing to say to this man. He was a stranger, as was she to him.
“Where is Maddy this evening?”
Evan’s cheek twitched. “She’s in her room, studying, I hope.”
“They always say they’ll study,” Nicole replied with a smile.
“As long as she’s not off stealing a boat, I guess.”
Nicole pressed her lips together. How could she possibly explain how grateful she was that he’d decided to pay off their debts? How could she possibly say how happy she was to own that old property again, the way her father and uncle had wanted?
The French onion soup was strange and almost flavorless. Nicole took a sip and immediately placed her spoon back in the bowl. Evan still hadn’t said what he’d invited her there for, and the air seemed taut with their apprehension. She thought several times about making an excuse, jumping in her car, and speeding out of sight. Something in his eyes kept her there. She was like a moth to the flame.
“Do you not like your soup?” he finally asked her.
Nicole furrowed her brow. Was she brave enough to say what was on her mind? She glanced toward a painting that seemed to be one hundred years old, featuring a very old man who’d probably been dead since minutes after the painting was finalized. This wasn’t an ecosystem where you got to know someone. This was a place you went to die.
“I have to get out of here,” Nicole finally told him.
Evan blinked twice, flabbergasted.
“I know. This isn’t how you’re meant to act as a houseguest,” Nicole tried to explain. “My Aunt Tracy taught me all the relevant social rules. I’m not an idiot. It’s just— you invited me here. Maybe to get to know me, maybe not. But if you do want to get to know me, then I’d suggest that we leave. Go somewhere less...ritzy? And try again.”
Evan’s confusion shifted toward annoyance. “My chef cooked a five-course meal.”
“If there’s anything I hate, it’s wasted food,” Nicole affirmed. “But I think I have an idea if you’re willing to go along with it.”
Nicole wasn’t sure why Evan followed her lead. She headed into the kitchen, where she, Evan, and the chef loaded the courses into takeaway boxes, placed the boxes into brown paper bags, and then headed out to her car, where she placed the bags in the back trunk. She then ordered Evan to sit in the passenger seat of her car. Initially, this seemed like the last straw.
“I’ve never had a woman drive me around,” Evan said.
“There’s a first time for everything, right?”
Evan adjusted the passenger seat to accommodate his overly long legs. Someone inside pressed open the cast-iron gate to allow for Nicole to ease them throughout to the main road. Evan adjusted the radio station to find a classical music station, which Nicole immediately changed over to an oldies’ station.
“Sorry,” she said. “I can’t make banter over Chopin.”
Evan gave her the first genuine smile he’d mustered since her arrival. “And you can banter over whatever this is?”
“Alan Parson’s Project,” she said. “And yes. I can. It’s good stuff. Really gets into your soul.”
“I think Chopin does a pretty good job of getting into your soul.”
“Maybe in 1855. Not now,” Nicole quipped.
“Where the heck are we going, anyway?” Evan asked, loosening up as the music shifted. “I had a perfectly good dinner all ready and now we’re on the road. And look. Now, it’s raining.”
“I like the rain,” Nicole told him. “It’s romantic.”
“What is it with you? A five-course dinner is supposed to be romantic. Not driving around in the rain,” Evan told her.
“Oh, so the dinner was supposed to be romantic?”
Evan studied her. She could feel the intensity of his gaze, even as she kept her eyes on the road.
“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe not.”
“Oh, wonderful. The first thing I need in this life is more cryptic information from men,” Nicole joked.
She drove them to the homeless shelter nearby, where she spoke with one of the employees in the foyer about the potential of sharing the food they’d brought with people who’d opted to spend the night. The employee accepted the Tupperware containers gladly and said, “Thank you so much, Mr. Snow! It’s so wonderful to receive a donation from you. You can pick up your containers tomorrow.”
At this, again flabbergasted, Evan Snow waved a hand, “Keep them. I have more at home.” He then followed Nicole back out into the rain, looking like a lost puppy. Obviously, donating to the homeless shelter wasn’t on his top list of things to do.
But maybe he would think about doing it more now. Maybe he would want to feel this way again.
Nicole then drove them to the little dive bar, which had become one of her favorite hang-outs over the previous weeks. It had brought her and her children together; it had become a cozy wine spot for her and her sisters. Evan balked at the vision of the shack as it appeared before them beneath the clouds and rain.
“I’ve never been in here before,” he said.
“Don’t you think there’s a first time for everything?”
“There doesn’t have to be.”
But she didn’t wait for him to agree. Instead, she marched through the rain and pulled open the door to find a number of local bar-dwelling regulars, all of whom greeted her warmly. Their words drained out when they spotted who was behind her. Someone cackled in the back, clearly shocked.
“Come on. They’ll get over it,” Nicole whispered into Evan’s ear as she led him toward the corner table.
Once there, the bartender approached to take their order. Nicole ordered everything — fried jalapeños, mozzarella sticks, and onion rings as starters, while they discussed what they wanted for their “main course.”
“Oh, plus beers,” she said as the bartender walked away.
“I’ve also never had a woman order my meal for me,” Evan said. His look was curious, as though he’d recently begun to read a book in a language he didn’t fully understand.
“Listen, Evan,” Nicole said, eyeing him pointedly. “I am incredibly curious about you. I have no idea why you invited me for a romantic dinner. The two of us, we’ve been through our share of crap over the years. Heartache. Horror. There’s no feasible reason why we should leave our door to try again.”
The corners of Evan’s lips twitched into the slightest of smiles.
“But if you’d be willing to try to be friends with me, just friends, just for a little while, I think I could find the time and the space in my heart,” Nicole added.
“The space in your heart?” Evan teased. “What is this, some Hallmark movie?”
“No, Evan,” Nicole replied, trying to push her emotions away. Why was this so hard for her? Why did she feel as though a million tiny needles pricked her skin? “This is my life and maybe I want you to be in it. Maybe we could help each other. But we have to take it slow. I want to think of this as a French cassoulet. The thing takes forever to make. There’s pork and duck confit and white beans and it stews together for hours and hours until it creates this velvety texture that’s just to die for. But you have to have patience, Evan. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
She felt utterly breathless, as though she’d just asked a man to go with her to the moon.
Their beers arrived. Evan’s eyes captivated her. They held onto her gaze as though they planned never to let go. He splayed a hand over hers on the table, an act that sent shivers up and down her spine.
“I’m willing to wait for the cassoulet, Nicole,” he told her softly. “I’ve heard it’s the best dish in the world.”