“Well, this certainly smells better than any fair I’ve ever been to,” Lily said, her mouth already watering.
“Wait until you taste some of it. It’s all caught local, right off the boats. You can’t get much fresher than that. What do you want to try first?”
“I’d like to walk a little first, unless you’re starving. I want to see everything.”
They strolled at a leisurely pace, content to flow with the crowd until they made their way to the end of the street, where a large bandstand had been set up. Based on the sheer volume of instruments and equipment, whatever was scheduled to go on later was going to be a fairly big deal. Lily glanced up at the banner hanging over the bandstand: DEEP BLUE UNDERGROUND WELCOMES YOU TO SUMMER AFFAIR 1995.
Beside the bandstand, an enormous sandwich board listed events scheduled over the next four days—blue crab races; an appearance by Susie Potter, the newly crowned Miss Hideaway Key; an oyster-shucking contest; and a conch chowder cook-off, as well as a variety of other bands and singers.
“And will you be entering the oyster-shucking contest?” she asked, teasing.
“No, but I did consider the chowder cook-off. I make a mean conch chowder, if I do say so myself. The secret is sautéing the bacon and peppers together before they go in, so the flavors marry. The entrants are mostly restaurants, though, which makes it hard to win. The judges like rewarding local business, and I don’t blame them. It’s a big deal to be able to put ‘Winner of Summer Affair Conch Chowder Cook-off’ on your menu. I think Salty’s won it three years running. The money’s on him making it four.”
“Can I just say . . . I find your culinary skills a little intimidating. I don’t think I’ve ever known a man who is a better cook than I am.”
Dean seemed surprised. “You cook?”
“I’m not winning any chowder cook-offs, but I won’t starve. I’m a wiz at takeout, though. And I make a mean turkey and brie sandwich.”
“Great, next time I’m in the mood for kung pao, I’ll know who to call. So, what do you say: do you want to walk some more, or have you worked up enough of an appetite to sample some of the local fare?”
“Let’s eat something, then walk some more. I need to find Sheila, and say hello.”
They found a shady place along the seawall to sit, sharing a basket of fried shrimp from one truck, nibbling honey-drizzled hush puppies from another, and washing it all down with cups of ice-cold limeade from a third. It might just have been the best meal Lily had ever eaten. Not only because the food was amazing but because of how and where she was eating it: sitting on a stone wall overlooking the sea. And the company wasn’t bad, either.
“So, dessert?” Dean asked when the food was gone.
“Lord, no,” she said, licking the last traces of honey from her fingers. “I’m stuffed after that. Let’s go look for Sheila. I promised I’d stop by.”
They turned around, heading back the way they had come, pausing now and then to watch children take their chances at the game booths, tossing balls or darts or bright plastic rings. There were lots of local artists, too, selling candles and soap, watercolor seascapes and sculptures carved from driftwood. Everywhere she looked was a new feast for the senses.
They found Bubba in his small booth, passing out brochures and registering out-of-towners for a chance to win a free cruise. Drew was there, too, selling T-shirts and handing out stickers to passing children. They hung around, chatting for a few minutes, until the crowd began to thicken.
As they moved on, it quickly became obvious that the entire business community of Hideaway Key was here, including Rhona, who was in full fortune-teller regalia, head adorned with not one but two fluttering pink hibiscus. She caught Lily’s eye as they passed, raising a hand in greeting.
Sheila’s booth wasn’t hard to spot, either, with Sassy Rack’s signature pink logo splashed across an enormous vinyl banner. Sheila was busy filling a wicker basket with tiny pink ribbons. She lit up when she saw them approach.
“Well, hey, you two!” Sheila leaned across the booth to plant a kiss on Lily’s cheek. “You look gorgeous, honey. But then you always do. So, what do you think? Is it living up to the all the hype?”
“So far it’s been amazing. The kid stuff, the art, the food—my God, the food!”
“Just wait, the band’s about to crank up. Then things will really start hopping. So, how’s your date? Is he behaving himself?”
Lily eyed Dean with an air of speculation before finally breaking into a grin. “He fed me, so yeah. So far, so good.”
“And he told you that you look amazing?”
“Hello,” Dean barked, feigning exasperation. “I’m right here. And yes, I did tell her she looked amazing. I was charming. Go ahead, ask her.”
Lily was about to respond when a voice boomed down the street from the direction of the bandstand, officially welcoming everyone to Hideaway Key’s fortieth annual Summer Affair. A collective cheer went up when the music started, the crowd shifting in unison like a school of minnows, flowing toward the sound.
“Go,” Sheila hollered over the music. “Get a good spot down front. We can catch up later.”
The band was surprisingly good for a local group, playing just the right mix of ’70s and ’80s, Top 40 and easy rock. It didn’t take long for the crowd to get warmed up and into the action. Packed shoulder to shoulder, they were soon singing and dancing, fists pumping in unison to the lights and music as dusk settled softly over Beach Street.
Eventually, the music took a more mellow turn, and the crowd seemed only too happy to follow the band’s lead. Lily felt a little thrill of pleasure when the lighters began to pop up, arms swaying in time to Seals and Crofts’ “Summer Breeze.” Several couples even started to slow dance. Dean noticed, too, and held out his arms.
“Care to?”
Without thinking, she stepped into Dean’s outstretched arms, flustered by the unexpected rush of warmth as they connected. She was glad for the dark, and for the crowd pressing in on them. It felt safer somehow, less intimate. And yet she couldn’t deny liking where she was at that moment, held lightly against his chest, chin tucked into the delicious-smelling crook of his neck.
The spell evaporated as the song came to an end, and applause erupted around them. Lily stepped back, eyes everywhere but on Dean.
“Thanks. That was nice. I mean fun. That was fun.”
“We’d better get moving.”
“We’re going?”
“Not going, no. But we need to grab a spot on the wall before the fireworks start. If we don’t move fast we’re going to get caught in the stampede.”
Grabbing her hand, he hauled her through the crowd and then back down Beach Street, slowing just long enough to wave to Salty, who was with Sheila now, in her booth, hands stuffed into his pockets like a child who’d just been summoned to the principal’s office.
“They look good together,” Lily observed as she and Dean moved past.
“Who?”
“Salty and Sheila.”
Dean slowed, then stopped, glancing back at the booth. “Seriously?”
Lily laughed and kept on walking. “What it is with men? Do you guys come equipped with some sort of clueless gene? You’ve known them longer than I have. How have you not seen it? Sheila turns three shades of pink every time Salty looks in her direction, and Salty, our local wordsmith, can’t seem to put a sentence together if she’s within earshot. I’m telling you, something’s brewing there, and I’m pretty sure it has been for a while.”
Dean pointed to the spot along the seawall where they had eaten earlier. “We should have a great view from here. I’ll go grab us something to drink.”
A few minutes later, he returned with a pair of bottled waters, handing Lily one as he dropped down beside her. “So . . . Sheila and Salty?”
“I’m pretty sure.”
“We have. She’s so amazing—and after everything she’s been through.”
“The cancer?”
Lily nodded. “I can’t imagine going through something like that and coming out as strong as she has. It makes me think about how easy I’ve had it my whole life.”
“Because of your father’s money?”
She nodded again, this time with a sigh. “I’ve never had to worry about anything. All my life, whatever I wanted was always within arm’s reach. Cars, clothes, the best schools. Doors opened because I was a St. Claire.”
“You make that sound like a bad thing.”
“Not bad, maybe, but it changes the way people see you. They assume I don’t have anything to contribute, that I can’t do anything because I’ve never had to.”
“Who cares what they assume?”
“I do. Or did. I’ve spent my whole life making sure people knew I wasn’t one of those girls.”
“What girls?”
“You know. Bratty. Entitled.”
Dean chuckled. “This from the girl I had to practically trick into slowing down to watch a sunset.”
Lily was still searching for a retort when the first plume of fireworks exploded out over the beach. A sudden hush fell over the street, then a collective sigh, as every neck craned, eyes trained eagerly on the sky as the show began in earnest. A single languid missile arced upward, nearly invisible until it bloomed into a profusion of pink and white and gold. A shared gasp went up, followed by another sigh as willowy arms of light slowly trailed back toward earth.
She smiled when Dean took her hand, but her eyes remained fixed on the sky, exploding again and again in a breathtaking display of color and light, illuminating upturned faces and the beach below. Lily couldn’t help reveling in it all, in the hypnotic plumes of color pulsing against a velvety black backdrop, in gold and silver blooms erupting like man-made stars, then raining down like glitter from the sky.
The air filled with a smoky haze and the acrid tang of sulfur as the finale came, a magnificent flurry of light and sound that shook the ground and set the night sky ablaze.
There was a brief silence at the end of the show as the tendrils of smoke began to shred and drift, followed by a raucous burst of whistles and applause.
Lily stood, reluctant to leave. The crowd was already beginning to thin, pleasantly dazed as it straggled en masse toward the gates at the head of Beach Street. Dean still had hold of her hand as they turned to follow the horde.
TWENTY-SIX
By the time they turned back onto Vista Drive Lily was so relaxed she felt nearly boneless, drunk on limeade, fresh air, and small-town charm. She felt a pang of disappointment as Dean pulled into his drive and cut the engine. She wasn’t ready for the night to end. Nor, apparently, was Dean. Neither of them moved, content to sit quietly, listening to the soft rustle of palms, the chirp and twitter of night things.
“So, are you tired of me yet?” Dean asked finally, sliding the keys from the ignition.
“I’m not sure how to answer that.”
“I thought maybe we could take a walk.”
“On the beach?”
“Well, we could stroll around the cul-de-sac if you’d rather, but I like the beach better.”
Lily chuckled as she reached for the door handle, glad for the levity. She felt like she was back in high school, being driven home after prom, that awful will-he-or-won’t-he tension churning in her belly like a swarm of nervous bees. She followed him down a manicured path that ran alongside the hibiscus hedge, then across the stone patio behind his house, pausing when he did to kick off her sandals. When he linked fingers with her and led her out onto the beach, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. The sand was chilly on the soles of her bare feet, the breeze off the water balmy and sweet.
It was a perfect night for a walk, the sea quiet, a wedge of pale moon shimmering on the dark, silky surface. They strolled along the shore in easy silence, content to savor the moonlight and the deserted stretch of beach.
Lily breathed the night air like a tonic. After the noise and the hubbub of downtown, the quiet was like heaven, but there was something she needed to tell Dean.
“I, uh . . . I decided I’m not leaving for Milan at the end of the month.”
“Oh?”
“There’s too much left to do at the cottage. I knew I’d never be able to get through it before I left, so I called and told them I wasn’t going to be able to make it. They gave me the rest of the summer.”
“Wasn’t that a bit risky? What if they’d said they were going to give the job to someone else?”
“Actually, that’s what I expected them to say, but they didn’t bat an eye.”
“You must really be something.”
Lily laughed. “I must be.”
“I thought you said this was the kind of job that made careers.”
“I did, and it is. It’s right up there with Chanel and Dior.”
He stopped walking and turned to face her. “And you were willing to risk that to stay here? We must have made quite an impression on you.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “You have.”
“So now what?”
“I just wanted you to know that my plans had changed. I know you’re interested in buying the cottage, so . . .” Lily let the words trail off. He wasn’t asking about her plans for the cottage, and they both knew it.
She was still groping for the right thing to say when his mouth closed over hers, tentative at first, and then growing more sure. His lips tasted faintly of honey as they moved over hers, his teeth nipping at the tender underside of her lower lip. She was aware of the soft rasp of his chin, of his hands moving through her hair, of something warm and dangerous uncoiling in her belly.
Once again, it was Lily who broke the kiss, teetering backward as her heels sank deep into the sand. “We shouldn’t,” she said hoarsely. “I shouldn’t.”
“Wasn’t I doing it right?”
Lily could hear the smile in his voice and couldn’t suppress one of her own. “You were doing fine. Better than fine, actually. I’m just not sure it’s a good idea. I’ve got enough on my plate with the cottage, and I’ve just promised to help Sheila get a private label off the ground for the shop. My days are going to be pretty full.”
“And what about your nights? Are they going to be full, too?”
“Dean, I don’t have time for—”
“Let me guess—complications?”
Lily sighed. She hated the way it sounded when he said it, like a trite brush-off. “I was going to say I don’t have time to get . . . involved, but it amounts to the same thing.”
“It doesn’t have to be involved. We can keep it nice and simple, have some fun, enjoy each other’s company.”
“Every time I try to keep things simple, they end up anything but.”
He traced a finger along her jaw, his touch so light it made her shiver. “We’ve had this conversation, Lily. I’m not looking for complications any more than you are. I like simple. I’m good at simple. I don’t see what the problem is. I like you. You like me. There’s obviously chemistry here. I know you feel it, too.”
“I do,” Lily said quietly. “It’s just that in my experience, chemistry has a way of exploding in your face, and I don’t have the energy to sweep up the pieces right now. Yours or mine.”
“What if I could promise there won’t be any pieces?” His lips touched hers again, a flurry of small caresses that left her reeling. “I’m not talking about picking out china patterns. I’m talking about a couple of months. No strings. No messy endings. When it’s over, it’s over.”
Lily tipped her head back, already feeling her resolve beginning to thaw as her eyes drifted up to meet his. “And no one gets hurt?” she whi
spered hoarsely. “You go your way, and I go mine?”
He smiled, cupping her face in both his hands, one thumb stroking gently along her cheek. “To Milan, or anywhere else your little heart desires.”
This time Lily surrendered to the warm, thorough plundering of his mouth, the feel of his hands through the fabric of her dress, strong and insistent as they skimmed along her curves, allowing the hunger at her center to yawn and stretch itself awake.
“Stay,” he murmured against her mouth. “Stay with me tonight.”
Lily nodded a little dizzily, not realizing until that moment just how badly she had wanted him to ask. They didn’t speak as he led her back up the beach. There was nothing left to say, nothing left to decide.
Upstairs, in the bedroom, Dean threw open the balcony doors, letting in the moon and the sea, then slowly unzipped her dress, allowing it to slide down her body and puddle at her feet. Lily felt the first hard stirrings of longing as he stripped out of his clothes and lay down beside her, the primal need to merge, to consume and be consumed.
But Dean was in no hurry, holding her off when she would have pulled him down with her, plumbing hollows and curves with maddening slowness, the weight and feel of him, of hands and breath and pulse, so very real and good. Sighing, she closed her eyes, abandoning herself to his touch and the sounds of the sea, the slow and steady push and pull, a rhythm as deep and old as time.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Dean was waiting out on the deck when Lily got out of the shower, the small patio table set for two. “Your breakfast awaits,” he said warmly, handing her a glass of orange juice. “French toast, bacon, and coffee.”
Lily sipped her juice, feeling self-conscious in wet hair and one of his oversize T-shirts. “You didn’t have to go to all that trouble.”
“It wasn’t, I assure you. Bread, a little milk, a couple of eggs, and some vanilla. Voilà, breakfast. Cream in your coffee?”
Summer at Hideaway Key Page 21