No Beach Like Nantucket

by Grace Palmer

  “I quit the tour,” he said. “Because I wanted to come with you. Wherever you’re going, I want to come. I love you. Will you marry me, Eliza?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, then fell silent. Tried a second time, but that didn’t work, either.

  Only when Winter made a noise did the spell holding Eliza captive shatter. She’d spent so many months running away from choices she didn’t want to make. Now, she had the chance to make a choice of her own. There was a man who loved her holding open the door to a future together.

  “Yes,” she whispered. She cleared her throat and said it again. “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  Oliver smiled broadly. His green eyes flashed in the evening light now streaming in through the windows. He slipped the ring onto her finger, stood up, and kissed her.

  A question suddenly occurred to her. This wasn’t 1998 anymore. You couldn’t just waltz up to an airport gate because a woman you loved was about to board a plane. “How did you get in here?” she asked.

  Oliver’s face reddened. “Bought the first ticket I saw,” he mumbled. He showed it to her. It was a one-way ticket to Bermuda.

  “Stay there,” she ordered. “And hold Winter.” She transferred the baby to him, then ran over to the check-in desk. She had a quick, hurried conversation with the person working, then traded a few pieces of paper with him.

  When she came back over, she grabbed her things in one hand and Oliver’s hand in the other. “C’mon,” she said to him with a wry smile. “Our flight to Bermuda leaves in fifteen minutes.”

  Oliver grinned wide. “You’re incredible,” he said with such wide-open authenticity that her heart practically melted on the spot.

  “Don’t I know it,” teased Eliza. “You better spoil me rotten, rock star.”

  Part IV

  Opening Night

  41

  Sara

  A Friday in late June.

  Sara was looking at herself in the mirror of the Little Bull employee bathroom.

  Tonight was the night. If this was going to be a disaster, then at the very least, it would be a beautiful disaster. And a tasty one.

  “You can do this,” she said to herself in the mirror. She’d been practicing this self-pep talk all week long as she scrambled to put the finishing touches on the restaurant in advance of opening night. “You studied for this. You trained for this. You dreamed of this. You’re capable.”

  The words sounded thin and disappointing out loud as they echoed against the tiled bathroom walls. Her eyes looking back at her from the mirror seemed uncertain. Like, yeah, maybe part of her believed them. But not all of her.

  She just hoped it was enough.

  She threw one more splash of water on her face, dried it off with a paper towel, and left. The staff in the kitchen was waiting for her. They all sprang to attention when she walked into the room. Six waiters, three bartenders, four line chefs, a sous chef, two dishwashers, two hosts, two expos. A whole army, looking up to their general for their marching orders.

  “Opening night.” Sara flashed a smile, then quickly killed it. She opened her mouth to speak, but as she did, her brain went suddenly blank. Like the whole concept of language had just up and vanished. What are words? What am I supposed to say or do now? Should I just mime out my instructions? Do an interpretive dance before we start letting guests in? Jeez, c’mon, Sara, they’re staring at you. They’re confused. You’re supposed to talk now. Say something. Say anything! Sara!

  SARA! A second voice spoke up in her head. Well, not quite in her head. To be honest, it felt like someone was whispering in her ear from right behind her. She thought she felt a pair of reassuring hands press down on her shoulders, too. Let ’em know what to do, little bull, said a voice she hadn’t heard in over fourteen months except for in her dreams. You’re the boss. So be the boss. I love you. And then, just as suddenly as the voice had come, it was gone. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second.

  Thanks, Dad.

  Brimming with renewed confidence, she opened her eyes again. “Opening night,” she repeated. “Big night. You all know your roles. We’ve practiced this. It’s going to be good. Are you ready?”

  “Yes, chef!” came the booming reply. It almost made her cry. She thought of Lola, teasing her before that Friday Night Feast just a few short months ago. She thought of Russell, snapping to attention in the midst of a flour snowstorm on their date at his house. She thought of her time in all those Michelin-starred kitchens in New York City, and at the Culinary Institute of America. She thought of the blood, sweat, and tears she’d poured into this career.

  Whether or not this made it, she was proud of how far she’d come.

  “Then let’s get to it,” she said.

  Everyone scattered at once. It was time to work.

  ***

  Sara wouldn’t be spending too much time in the kitchen tonight. She’d spent the better part of the week training all the kitchen crew on her recipes, and she was confident in their execution without her needing to hover too much over their shoulders. Her job tonight would be to dance in the spotlight. As guests came in, she would greet them, move them to their tables, give them the lay of the land and her pick of the menu. It was mostly friends and family who’d be coming, so there wasn’t too much reason to be nervous. And yet, she felt that river of anxiety surging within her. She had to stay on top of it. Surf those waves, so to speak, and let them motivate her rather than consume her.

  She spent the next twenty minutes overseeing the final stages of prep. Then it was showtime. She washed her hands, dried them, and emerged into the main dining area just as her mother showed up with Brent.

  “Oh, darling!” Mom exclaimed as she drank in the décor. “This is absolutely wonderful!” She’d insisted on waiting until everything was completely finalized before seeing it. I want to be blown away, were her exact words. Judging by her dropped jaw and wide eyes, it seemed like that mission had been accomplished.

  “Thank Brent.” Sara grinned. “He did all the dirty work. I just made his life harder.” She shot her brother a wink. He smiled back and pulled her into a hug.

  “It warms my heart to see you two so close again,” Mom said.

  Both Sara and Brent rolled their eyes at that, but they just pulled Mom into their hug and stood there for a second, enjoying a greedily snatched moment of calm in the eye of the storm. Reluctantly, Sara let go. “Lots to do,” she said.

  Mom kissed her on the cheek and held her at arm’s length for one more beat. “I’m so proud of you, my love,” she said. “Your father is, too.”

  “That’s good. Because it’s a family business, you know,” Sara replied with tears in her eyes. “Says so on the sign.” She hugged her mom tightly one more time. “Now get out of here, before you make me smudge my makeup.” Laughing, she guided the two of them to the VIP table in the corner and sent one of the servers over to take their drinks order.

  There was a deluge of well-wishers after that. Lola and Debra, along with pretty much every neighbor and family friend that Sara had ever known. She gave out kisses on the cheeks, hugs, shook hands, laughed and smiled and did everything she had spent a decade training to do. It wasn’t long before the restaurant was humming with clinking glasses and the hubbub of fifty conversations at once. Sara loved it. It felt like she’d put this Frankenstein body together, and now, with the arrival of her first guests, it was all coming to life.

  Little Bull was steaming.

  She burst back into the kitchen as the first appetizers were plated and set out for delivery to the tables. Everything in here was flowing smoothly, with crisp efficiency and dedication to the task at hand. She’d picked her staff carefully. It made her proud to see good people doing good work.

  Satisfied with what she saw, she scooped up two armfuls of plates from the ready area and took them out into the dining room. She delivered them to their destinations with a smile and a thorough, detailed explanation of how the recipe had been born, what it meant t
o her. Everything had Nantucket origins with big-city flair. The seafood was as fresh as possible. “It was breathing this morning,” Sara whispered to Brent’s old baseball coach. “You can still taste the saltwater if you get a good bite.” He laughed as she turned to go back to the kitchen.

  When she saw who was standing at the hostess stand, though, she froze.

  It was Russell. To his left was the blonde girl she’d seen him with at the bar back in April.

  She swallowed hard. Breathe, Sara, she counseled herself. This was okay. Totally not a big deal whatsoever. She would just go to the back and compose herself, so long as she could just disappear before he saw her …

  Nope. His eyes swung up and locked on hers. He smiled. It was sort of a sad smile, sort of a communicative smile, sort of a hello smile, all at once. Now, she had no choice but to go over to him. She took another deep breath, wiped her hands on her apron, then walked up.

  “Hi,” she said as brightly as she could muster.

  “Hey, Sara.” Russell still had that smile on, like he was trying to say as much as he could without saying it out loud. “I don’t think you’ve met my girlfriend, but this is Clarissa.”

  Girlfriend. Ouch. “Clarissa,” Sara gritted out. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to Little Bull! Can I get you guys situated?”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you too,” Clarissa said back. She was really quite pretty up close, and her voice was kind and authentic. “I’m actually going to run to the bathroom real quick, babe,” she said, squeezing Russell’s arm. “I’ll meet you at the table.” She turned back to Sara. “I’m so excited to try everything. Russell has told me all about you. He said you’re a gifted artist. The place looks amazing, too.”

  “Thanks so much.” Sara was softening like butter in the pan. It was impossible to hate this woman. She just oozed kindness.

  “All right, be right back!” Clarissa headed off towards the restrooms.

  That left Sara standing alone with Russell.

  “So … We haven’t talked in a while,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “We didn’t leave things off in the best of places.”

  “I know that, too.”

  “But maybe it was for the best.”

  “Maybe.” Sara looked off in the direction that Clarissa had gone. “She seems lovely.”

  “She is,” Russell nodded. “I’m crazy about her.”

  Sara winced. That felt like a bit of a slap in the face. But, the more she thought about it, the more she realized it wasn’t meant like that, nor should she take it that way. That’s just how Russell was. He had to be crazy about the woman in his life. And he needed someone who was crazy about him, too. Maybe Sara could have been that for him eventually. But she hadn’t offered enough of herself quickly enough when she had the chance. And when the time had come to either dive into the deep end or pull out altogether, she’d instead broken his heart.

  What happened between them was her fault. She knew that, he knew that, everybody knew that. But it had taken her a long time to get over it because—well, she just still had some growing up to do. Maybe tonight, she was taking that next step in her life.

  “I’m sorry, you know,” Sara said. “For everything.”

  Russell smiled that sad, knowing smile one more time. “You don’t have to be sorry, Sara. Things are going to work out for everybody. I’ll always treasure our friendship.”

  “You make it very difficult to be mad at you, you know,” she teased.

  Russell pretended to flick his hair back. “Ah well, I am just extremely likable. Or so I’m told.”

  She pushed him in the chest, then hugged him quickly.

  “So we’re friends?” he asked her after their quick hug ended.

  “Friends,” she confirmed. “You’re a good guy, Russ. I hope you’re happy.”

  He grinned. “Thanks, Sara. I hope you are, too. And,” he added, “I hope your food is good, or I will not hesitate to one-star review this place on Yelp.”

  “Do it and I’ll hunt you down,” she snarled playfully, pointing a warning finger at his face. Clarissa reappeared just then, all smiles. Laughing, Sara led them to their table.

  When she retreated back to the kitchen, she felt lighter. A weight had been lifted off her shoulders. A chapter had closed for good, yes.

  But tonight was the beginning of something new.

  42

  Holly

  Date night! Their first date night in Nantucket. Holly was excited. They were going to go pick up Billy, Pete’s new business partner, whom she hadn’t yet met, and Billy’s wife, then all ride together to the opening of Sara’s new restaurant.

  It had been a rocky start to life back on Nantucket, but Holly was finally settling in. She’d done as well as she could at suppressing her disappointment over the home-buying debacle. At the end of the day, it just wasn’t worth holding onto the anger. They still had a home, on Nantucket, with a beautiful future ahead of them.

  That’s what she told herself at least. Deep down, she knew that she’d been hurt and outraged. She was going to hold onto some of those feelings for a long time yet.

  But not tonight. Tonight was going to be a celebratory night. She was also going to get to meet Pete’s new business partner for the first time.

  “So tell me about this guy,” she said to Pete as they climbed into the car for the drive over to the man’s house.

  “Who, Billy? He’s a good guy.”

  “A little more detail than that, darling.”

  Pete chuckled and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Uhh, let’s see. Billy and I go way back. Freshman year of college. We took an econ class together. Pretty sure we both failed it, but we had a good time trying. He’s a smart dude.”

  “You guys kept in touch after that?”

  “No, actually that’s a funny story. Remember that trip I took down to Philadelphia? For that conference?”

  “Mhmm, yeah.”

  “Billy was there, too. We ended up reconnecting. It’d been like, seven or eight years since we last spoke, but we picked up right where we left off. One thing led to another, and now, boom, here we are.”

  “Here we are indeed,” Holly said with a smile. She was staring absentmindedly out the window, bobbing her head to the music and rubbing the back of Pete’s free hand with hers. Something about the drive felt weirdly familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

  “Are you excited?” Pete asked suddenly.

  “For what?”

  He turned and glanced at her with a wicked smile. “For life here. I’m excited. I want you to be excited too.”

  “I am,” she reassured him. She meant it. His excitement was so infectious, how could she not be excited along with him? This was a fresh start, a new chapter on the beaches of Nantucket. There was nowhere else like here. She was glad to be home, to have Pete by her side and the future at her fingertips.

  If only this darn rain would stop, then life would be pretty close to perfect.

  “Where’d you say this house was?” she asked, eyebrows furrowed. Again, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had been down exactly this particular route before. She’d grown up on the island, so that in itself wasn’t that weird. Yet the sense of déjà vu lingered heavily.

  Pete checked the navigation app he was following on his phone. “As a matter of fact, it is riiiight …”

  His words died on his lips. They pulled to a stop in the driveway in mutual stunned silence.

  Because the house they were at was their stolen dream house.

  “This can’t be happening,” Holly said numbly. She was so shocked that she couldn’t even begin to put words to it. “This cannot possibly be happening.”

  “Hollz …”

  She whipped her head around to look at Pete. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

  Pete just nodded.

  This was the place that she’d dreamed of. The place they’d been contracted to buy, until som
e snake stole in under the cover of night and convinced the seller to renege. It felt like fate was dangling it in front of her. Was this a cruel joke? It had to be, right? This couldn’t be real.

  But she couldn’t sit and brood in disbelief, because just then, the front door opened. A tall, portly man stood under the awning and beckoned them in with a friendly wave. He had thinning reddish-blond hair and was wearing a Nantucket red quarter-zip sweater over a pair of tailored slacks.

  “That must be Billy,” Holly whispered.

  “Yep,” Pete whispered back. “We better go. Are you …” He looked to his wife. “Are you going to be okay, babe?”

  “I don’t really have a choice, do I?” she asked him.

  He shook his head. “Not really. I’m sorry.”

  It wasn’t his fault, of course. But that was a Pete Thing, too—saying what she needed to hear even if he didn’t have anything to do with it. She squeezed his hand hard. Then they got out of the car and ran in out of the rain.

  “The infamous Holly Goodwin!” Billy boomed once they’d ducked safely into the foyer. He pulled her into a hug, though she was soaked to the skin from their mad dash from car to front door. As they hugged, she looked over his shoulder at the home that should’ve been hers.

  It was, if anything, even better than she remembered it. It was gorgeous, it was perfect, it was hers. It was stolen property.

  She forced herself to take a deep breath. She could cry furious tears when she got home. For now, she had to be composed. For Pete’s sake.

  “Hi, Billy,” she said. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! I’ve heard so much.”

  “None of it’s true, I swear!” he chortled. He was a laugh-at-his-own-jokes kind of guy, but not in a buffoonish or malicious way. He seemed like a laugh-at-everything kind of guy. He exuded warmth, like Santa Claus in boat shoes. Holly felt herself starting to relax as he took their raincoats and led the way into the dining room.