Page 64 of Surfside Sisters

“Wiser and wiser,” Keely murmured, slipping down until her head was on the pillow.

Gray spooned himself against her. Keely felt warm and safe and content.

—

In the morning, Keely woke first. Gray’s eyes were closed. He snored quietly, deeply sleeping. This was Gray’s day off from the hospital, and she wanted to let him rest. She also wanted somehow to acknowledge how sweet he’d been during their talk last night.

But she really wanted to work on her book. It was her habit to make a cup of coffee and sit down at her computer. She needed to write, and her third manuscript needed to be resuscitated.

She decided that if Gray woke while she was dressing, she would stay. If he didn’t, she’d let him sleep.

She dressed, found her purse, and brushed her hair. He didn’t wake. She stood a moment in the bedroom, looking down at the sleeping man. He was so handsome, and in sleep he looked vulnerable and innocent.Maybe we all look that way when we’re asleep,Keely thought. The blanket didn’t cover his feet. Quietly, she adjusted the blanket. Gray didn’t wake. She hurried down to catch a cab to take her home to her computer.

The early draft of her third novel,Sun Music,turned in this past October, had disappointed her editor. Somehow, the plot had gotten all tangled up on her, and the passion wasn’t there.Poor Girlwould come out this July. Her third novel was under contract and slated for next summer, so she had to get it to her editor by September.

Worried and frustrated, she let herself into her apartment. She stayed under a hot shower, letting her mind wander free, but once she was wrapped in a towel with another towel for a turban, inspiration wasn’t there.

She glanced at her phone. A missed call from Gray. A voicemail from Fiona, reminding her they were meeting for lunch. Good. She needed to talk with someone, and Fiona had become a good friend as well as an agent, and she knew just how much to tell Keely about her editor’s opinions.

Outside, the spring day was gray, with rain clouds darkening the sky. At home, she would wear a crimson sweater or a turquoise shirt, something to brighten her world. But here in New York most people, the chic and savvy, wore black, with shades of gray. Keely was used to fresh salty air sweeping over the island from all the way across the Atlantic or up from the Caribbean. But she was a New Yorker now, and she had no plans to return to Nantucket, no matter how much her heart yearned.

She pulled a dark tunic off her clothing rack, added black tights and knee-high black boots and brushed her long brown hair. Dangling silver earrings, mascara on her eyelashes to accentuate her topaz eyes, a touch of lipstick, and she was good to go. She looked sleek and slim and when she slipped on her sunglasses, she looked almost fabulous.

She slung her Hermès knockoff bag over her shoulder, checked her image in the mirror—she’d fit right in with the crowd—and headed out, being sure to lock the three thousand locks in her door before clattering down the four flights of stairs.

It took her a moment to break into the mass of pedestrians rushing up and down the street. She’d been certain that by now, after living in New York as long as she had, she’d be used to the pace and the noise and the crowds, but still, every time she walked, her mind flashed with memories of the brick sidewalks of Nantucket, humped and crooked from the roots of the grand shade trees, forcing people to slow down, pay attention, be there now. Now the window boxes would be spilling with flowers and the sidewalks crowded as friends met up after the long winter.

Keely missed her mother and her home and the golden beaches and the damn warped sidewalks of Nantucket, but she washerenow, and why was she thinking about Nantucket so much this morning? She was a published author in the greatest city in the world on her way to meet her friend/agent!

She glanced in the storefront windows as she passed. Wow. She looked really good. She looked like shebelongedin this amazing city. She even kind of looked like Kate Middleton if she cocked her head so that her long hair fell over her shoulder.

She admired herself so much she walked right into a man who was absorbed in his cellphone. They both muttered “excuse me” and Keely laughed out loud as she hurried along the sidewalk toward her lunch date.

It felt so good to laugh! She had to admit she was kind of worried, actually massively terrified, about her third novel.Rich Girlhad made her a nice chunk of money. The pre-orders forPoor Girlwere exciting. She hoped this glitch withSun Musicwouldn’t put an end to her writing career.

Fiona was waiting in the foyer of Balthazar. They air-kissed hello and followed the maître d’ to their booth. They both loved this place for its booths—they could talk in privacy.

“So,” Fiona said. “Tell me everything.”

Keely preened ostentatiously. “That might take a long time…”

Fiona squinted her eyes at Keely. After a moment she said, “You did not.”

Keely laughed. “I did.”

“You had sex with Gray Anderpohl?”

“I did,” Keely repeated, grinning.

“Waiter,” Fiona called, and the handsome dark man turned toward her. “Strike the order for wine. We want a bottle of champagne.” She rested her arm on the table and tucked her chin into her hand. “Go.”

“It was last night. At his house. He made beef Wellington—”

“I don’t really want the details of your dinner. Get to the good stuff.”

“Hang on, that’s the way we got to the good stuff. I mean I was impressed that he made such a complicated dish, and I asked him if he was trying to seduce me…and he was. After dinner, we went to bed together.”

“How was it? On a scale from one to ten.”

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