by Nancy Thayer
They shook hands. Mimi’s was soft and plump.
“Tell me your name again?” she prompted.
“Darcy. Darcy Cotterill. I live here on the island year-round. I’m the assistant director of the children’s library.”
“Are you really? What a divine job. You lucky thing. Maybe one day you’ll bring home some children’s books for me to look at. I miss children’s books so much—the illustrations, you know, and the humor. The presentation of the world in the most positive light.”
“I know exactly what you mean.”
Before Darcy could say more, Mimi continued, “As for me, I haven’t ever lived here year-round as you say, but I’ve spent every summer on the island since I was a baby.” She paused, dramatically, before adding, “Eighty-nine years.”
“How wonderful.”
“Oh, my dear, you have no idea. Nantucket means summer to me. I didn’t think I’d be able to come to the island this summer—this past year has been rough on my ancient carcass. I’ve been living in a retirement home. Not assisted living. I can still take care of myself, bathe and cook and so on. But if I need someone immediately, a doctor or a nurse or simply a strong man to help me if I’ve fallen, all I have to do is press a button. Of course, they take care of the outside—shoveling snow, mowing the grass—and I have a housecleaning service and a food delivery service, so I’m not really dependent. But I don’t have the same sort of help available here.” She paused to catch her breath. Her eyes twinkled when she continued. “I am going to stop talking, I promise. I’m not one of those poor lonely creatures who babbles on endlessly when they’ve managed to trap someone. The point is, I had resigned myself to missing summer here, and then my marvelous grandson said he’d come here with me, and stay with me, for two entire months!” Mimi pounded her cane into the ground for emphasis. “How lucky is that?”
“I’m so glad for you.”
More eye twinkles, and Mimi sort of playfully cocked her head to the side. “He’s handsome, too. And single. Well, divorced.”
Darcy laughed.
“Of course any grandmother would say that about her grandson, but wait till you meet him.”
Darcy tried to derail her from the grandson topic. “Do you ever visit the library?”
“My dear young thing, I used that library before you were even born. I’m a compulsive reader, always have been. One of the benefits of getting older is that I forget what I’ve read, so I have a world of choices.”
“We have a lot of programs going on, too. Lectures in the Great Hall—and I’m sure you know there’s an elevator in the building now that goes from ground level in the garden up to the main floor and on up to the Great Hall.”
“Oh, yes, I use that elevator and—” She broke off when the front door of her house opened and a man stepped out.
“Clive!” Mimi called. “Come meet our next-door neighbor.”
Darcy’s polite smile softened as the man approached. Clive Rush was handsome. Broad shouldered, muscular, dark haired, brown eyed—and unhurried. It was rare to meet a man her age who wasn’t in a hurry. Darcy made a silent bet with herself: He was not a lawyer, business executive, or Wall Street trader. And he was here for two months with his grandmother? Nice, Darcy supposed, but also kind of weird.
He held out his hand. “Clive Rush.”
“Darcy Cotterill.”
“She’s a children’s librarian,” Mimi piped up. Turning to Darcy, she announced, “Clive is a compulsive reader, too.”
Darcy usually kept her distance from summer people. Okay, “keeping her distance” was the wrong phrase, because the houses, like all Nantucket houses in town, were built close together. But Darcy tried to be friendly, yet reserved. It was a necessity for self-protection. She had a life. Her schedule was full. She was not, like the summer people, on vacation.
Still, if Clive asked Darcy to spend an evening with Mimi so he could go out to a movie or a party, Darcy wouldn’t mind doing it. Mimi was adorable, and Darcy would bet she knew a lot of Nantucket history.
“Nice to meet you, Mimi, Clive.” With one last smile at Mimi, Darcy turned away.
Few Nantucket houses had lawns in the front. Most houses bordered right on the sidewalk, as Darcy’s did, which was a wonderful thing, because in just a few seconds, she walked up her front steps and entered her house.
She headed into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of the iced tea she kept in the refrigerator. The cold liquid was bracing, but Darcy wanted a drink. She preferred a glass of red wine while she cooked or when she was settled in front of the fire with a good book on a snowy winter night, but tonight, for some reason, Darcy wanted to drink with a friend.
She also wouldn’t mind showing Mimi and her grandson that she wasn’t some spinster librarian bowled over by Clive’s good looks.
Muffler jumped off the kitchen counter and sauntered up to her, purring and waving his long soot-black tail.
“Yes,” Darcy said to Muffler. “You’re right. I may be a spinster librarian with a cat but I’ve got a gorgeous hunk of a lover.”
She called Nash. “Come over for a drink?”
“I’m there.”
Nash was a man of few words. Easygoing, a hiker, a traveler, a new guy in town, unattached and untethered to the usual duties and expenses of men his age. He said he’d come to Nantucket because the money was great and he liked construction work. Darcy suspected there was more to his story, but she didn’t pry. Nantucket was a prime spot for people to invent themselves. He would tell her when he was ready.
Nash drove a red 2016 Super Duty Platinum Ford truck and would arrive straight from work, wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and work boots. When he roared onto her street, any neighbors who happened to look would know that a world-class hunk was in her life.
She’d met Nash earlier in the year, at a St. Patrick’s Day party thrown by the group that Jordan and her contractor husband, Lyle, hung out with. When Darcy saw him, she got that swooning physical hit that had stopped her in her tracks the way her first sight of Boyz had. She hadn’t felt that for a man since she’d met Boyz, and she wasn’t sure whether that was a good sign or bad. That day had been rainy, so they couldn’t cook out, and as often happened at these parties, the women hung with the women and the men with the men. Nash hadn’t spoken to her that day, but he’d caught her eye and smiled.
Nash didn’t approach her at any of the other casual get-togethers during that cold wet spring. Darcy hadn’t spoken to him, either, which was strange. She would only have had to walk across the room with a platter of deviled eggs to start a conversation. It was the crowd, she realized, the gang. All good-natured, no malice among them, but they all, man and woman, noticed when a couple hooked up. That she was even thinking about this made her aware of her interest in the tall, sandy-haired man.
It had been a long time since she’d gone to bed with a man.
She’d never been one to make the overtures, but one exceptionally warm and bright Sunday afternoon in May at the group’s first beach party of the year, she chugged some beer and swallowed her pride and crossed the sand to speak to him. He was leaning over the tailgate of his truck, reaching for beach chairs.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey,” he answered.
And then they both were speechless, staring at each other, the physical attraction between them so powerful it was as if they’d stepped into a force field.
Nash cleared his throat and spoke. “I’m Nash Forester.” Before she could speak, he said, “And you’re Darcy Cotterill. You’re thirty, divorced, and a librarian. Unattached at the moment, though only heaven knows why.”
She blushed. “This group! They probably told you my IQ and weight.”
“Actually, no. But if you’re a librarian, you’re plenty smart, and I can guess at a glance that you’re light enough that I could pick you up and throw you over my shoulder without getting out of breath.”
The very thought of this man even touching her flooded her ch
eeks with a deep blush. Fighting for a pittance of dignity, she cocked her head. “And you’re new to the island, working as a carpenter, good with tools, and I’m pretty sure if I invited you to dinner, you’d like my lasagna.”
Well! she congratulated herself. You just hit on a man. It seemed like her hormones were up and running again.
Nash grinned. “I’m pretty sure if you served me a bowl of cereal, I’d be happy.”
From behind them, Lyle bellowed, “Hot dogs are ready! Burgers! Get ’em while they’re hot!”
“Hungry?” Darcy asked.
“Yeah.” He had a crooked grin. “Before we plunge back into the crowd, let me ask if you’re busy next Saturday night.”
“No, I’m not busy.” None of this “let me check my calendar” stuff. If she had something on her calendar, she’d cancel it.
“Good. Let me take you out to dinner.”
“I’d like that.”
Karl Ledbetter yelled, “Darcy! Nash! Stop flirting and get over here before all the food’s gone!”
Darcy turned, keeping her face down, in case she was still glowing like a teenager on her first date. Beside her, Nash muttered, “Just like high school.”
After that, they didn’t have a chance to be alone. Eloise and Mac announced that they were expecting a baby and everyone cheered. When Darcy left, she searched the crowd. Nash was talking to a group of men, but he had his eye on her. She waved. He waved. She felt like a Disney heroine about to burst into song.
—
The next morning, as she walked to work, she called Jordan from her cellphone to tell her she had a date with Nash.
“Oh, man,” Jordan moaned. “He is so hot. Listen, you stay home with Kiks and I’ll go in your place.”
Darcy laughed. “Yeah, Lyle would go for that.”
“Lyle who?” Jordan joked.
All that day, as she worked in the library, her mind wandered back to that moment on the beach. To Nash’s smile. His blue eyes. His deep voice.
The next afternoon, she carried some books that had been left on the children’s librarian’s desk across to the adult library.
At first, she thought she was hallucinating. Nash was standing in the new nonfiction section, pulling a book off the shelf.
Had he come here to see her? Darcy shook her head. Of course not—she was expecting way too much too soon.
Nash lifted his head and saw Darcy. He smiled that smile.
How could she not go over to say hello?
“Hey, Nash,” she greeted him. “I didn’t know you read.”
“Yeah,” he replied teasingly, “I learned how in elementary school. It’s just like riding a bicycle.”
She laughed. “I meant I was surprised to see you in the library. During the day.”
Nash nodded toward the windows. “We’ve got a thunderstorm and gale-force wind going on. No way to work on the roof today. I’m going back to work on the interior, but this is my lunch break, so I thought I’d stop in. Had to return some books anyway.”
Some books? She couldn’t hide her surprise. “You’re a reader?”
“I am.”
“Most of the guys in our group would rather have their fingernails pulled out than read a book.”
Nash looked hard into Darcy’s eyes. “I’m not most guys.”
It took her a moment to compose herself. “What kind of books do you like?”
“All kinds. Nonfiction, fiction, thrillers. John le Carré is my all-time favorite. I like Henning Mankell, Kitty Pilgrim.”
“I like them, too,” Darcy agreed. “Well, I pretty much like everything that’s ever been written. When do you have time to read?”
“In the evening. All evening. Okay, sometimes I watch the Red Sox. But most television bores me.”
“Have you ever read John Buchan?”
Nash nodded. “The Thirty-Nine Steps. Yeah, I have read that book, but a long time ago.”
“I have a DVD of the movie, the one directed by Alfred Hitchcock.”
“That’s a classic. Haven’t seen it in years.”
“Maybe we could watch it this Saturday. At my house. You could bring dinner—a pizza?”
“I’d like that,” Nash said, his eyes warm, his voice low.
Darcy thought she’d melt right into the floor.
That night they didn’t watch the movie. They didn’t have the pizza Nash brought over until Darcy left their tangled sheets and brought the pizza up to eat in bed.
Nash was tall and lanky, with lots of sandy hair going in all directions—it did that naturally, unless he brushed it hard; he wasn’t a man for gelling his hair up into spikes. His eyes were light blue, fringed with dark lashes, and he had the strong, well-muscled torso of a man who worked building houses.
Darcy wasn’t sure how she felt about Nash really. He was mysterious. And she had come out of a long, cold, lonely Nantucket winter, so she’d been ready for a warm—sexually hot—relationship. She didn’t know if she wanted it to be more than that. She didn’t know what Nash wanted, either.
Today it was enough to know that Nash was coming over.
She changed out of her library lady clothes into a pair of shorts and a tank top. She put cheese, olives, nuts, and crackers on a tray to take out to the garden. And why not? She often sat in the garden with friends or alone when it was nice like it was today. She wasn’t trying to put on a show for her ex-husband or her next-door neighbors. She was simply living her life.
In the garden, she set the tray on the patio table and poured herself a glass of red wine. She strolled around the garden, checking out the flowers. The peonies were past their prime but the hydrangea were opening. She didn’t hear any voices from behind the hedges. It was only six o’clock on a warm summer day; her neighbors were probably still at the beach.
“Heigh-ho,” Nash called as he walked beneath the arbor and into the backyard. He wore jeans and a clean T-shirt.
“Hey, Nash.” Darcy watched him as he walked. It was very pleasant to watch him.
Nash kissed her lightly on the mouth—more friendly than amorous—and threw himself into a chair.
She sat across from him, handing him a glass of wine. “So how was your day?”
“Great. I was out near Surfside, working with Ramos’s crew. Hammering nails, rock on the radio, fresh air, sunshine, nice work.” He sipped his wine. “And you?”
“It was good. The summer families are trickling in. I spent a lot of time on the computer. Ordering books, answering emails. Tomorrow will be fun. I’ll be doing a couple of story times.”
“For little kids, right?”
“Yeah, those squirmy little rabbits. They’re so adorable.”
“My grandmother used to read Sherlock Holmes to me when I was around ten years old. I was all about sports. Thought I’d be a major league baseball player or maybe a star quarterback. Then I broke my big toe. It hurt like crazy, I couldn’t go out for sports that spring, I had to wear an ugly boot, and worse, I broke my big toe. There’s no glory in breaking a big toe.”
“How did you break it?” Darcy asked, laughing. It was the first time he’d ever spoken in depth about his life. She wanted to ask him so much—his grandmother? She wanted to hear all about her. And Sherlock Holmes? Darcy adored those books.
“I kicked a rock.” Nash shook his head at the memory. “It was on the beach, I thought it was just lying there, didn’t see that it was like an iceberg, most of it down beneath the sand—”
A car pulled into the drive on the other side of the hedge. Doors slammed. Voices were carried by the breeze over the hedge to Darcy’s she-was-ashamed-to-admit-it straining ears.
“I get the first shower.” The teenage girl. Willow.
“I’ll start the coals on the grill.” Boyz. “I’ll rinse off in the outdoor shower and have a proper scrub down later.”
“Willow, there are two bathrooms, you know.” The mother.
“Yeah, but the water pressure changes and I can’t get enough hot water
if someone else uses the other shower.” Willow.
“All right, go ahead. Honey, I’m going to pour myself a drink. Would you like one?” The mother. The wife. Autumn.
“A gin and tonic with lots of ice would hit the spot.” Boyz.
“Darcy? Earth to Darcy.”
She forced her attention to her own backyard. Nash was frowning.
“Sorry, Nash. Sorry.” Her whole ridiculous little plan was backfiring. Boyz had no idea that his ex-wife was so near, talking with her lover. Instead, Darcy couldn’t even concentrate on what Nash was saying because she couldn’t stop eavesdropping on Boyz! She put her hand to her forehead. “I think I’m getting a headache. Too much going on.”
“Should I go home and let you lie down?” Nash asked gently.
“No, no, I want to hear about you and Sherlock Holmes and the rock.”
“Sherlock Holmes and the Rock,” Nash intoned in a radio announcer’s voice.
“Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Broken Big Toe,” Darcy shot back, proving she’d listened to at least some of what he’d said. “Why do people enjoy mysteries so much, Nash? The littlest children don’t understand mysteries, but around seven or eight years old they can’t get enough.”
“For me, it never stopped.” Nash held out his hands. “I’m a hopeless mystery addict. Especially in the summer, when I’m too beat to read anything intellectual.”
“I’m that way, too!” Darcy exclaimed.
“Here’s your drink, darling. When do you think the coals will be ready?”
“Thanks. Let’s give them thirty minutes.”
“It will take Willow that long to shower.” Laughter.
They sounded so happy together. So complete. How had it happened that Darcy had been captivated by Boyz, and he by her, and they had married, and then everything absolutely went to shit? They had married too soon—she knew that was why, she’d thought about it endlessly, talked to friends, talked to a counselor—and she had gotten over it, she was over it, but what in the world did it mean that Fate had set him down right there, on the other side of the hedge of her own backyard?
Fate probably had nothing to do with it. It was only a mistake—people made mistakes all the time— but still, how could she trust her own instincts? Was she going to end up like her mother, going from man to man, genuinely infatuated at first, then losing that rush and needing another, like some kind of drug addict? Was that sort of thing genetic? But, no, she wasn’t like that, she hadn’t gone from man to man; after Boyz she had retreated into herself; it had been three years since Boyz left her for another woman, and she hadn’t even kissed another man for the first two years. Finally, she’d slept with Nick Diaz. It was a cold winter, her friends urged her to just do it, and Nick was a really good guy. It had been very pleasant, too, going to bed with Nick, but they both knew it wasn’t the beginning of a serious relationship. They never hooked up again, although when they saw each other at parties they were both friendly. After Nick, Darcy had a self-imposed drought before meeting Nash this spring….