Page 46 of The Summer We Started Over

“Absolutely.” Eddie stood on tiptoe, put her arms around his neck, and pressed against him.

Oh, it felt good.

“I could use some more of this,” Jeff whispered in her ear.

Eddie’s heart melted, just a bit. “I need to concentrate on Barrett now.” She quickly stepped away from Jeff and pasted a smile on her face.

Eddie saw some Nantucket women Barrett’s age joining the crowd and her heart lifted. In a way, this felt like the year Eddie walked Barrett into kindergarten. Their mother had been busy elsewhere, or still asleep, so Eddie had been the one holding her little sister’s hand when they rode the school bus and they entered the big hallway burstingwith laughing, shouting children. Barrett had huddled close to Eddie. And when they got to the door of her classroom, Eddie had reassured Barrett she would have fun, and watched her enter the room, her little shoulders tense with worry and hope.

Barrett had been fine then, more than fine. And she was certainly doing well today. Her cheeks were rosy with excitement.

The crowd was thinning out when Eddie spotted her father. He’d put on his faded Nantucket red slacks and a navy rugby shirt. He was tall and slender, with thick caramel-colored hair that all his children had inherited. Eddie was pleased and somewhat startled to catch all the admiring and even flirtatious glances several women were giving him.

He has no idea,Eddie realized. She’d known he lived in his own literary world, and she’d known he hid there after that terrible year, but she hadn’t realized he was still sequestered there. How could she coax him out into real life? She needed him to understand that he could have a rich life in the real present without dishonoring the events of the past.

“Hi, Dad!” Eddie waved at him, beckoning him toward her. She set her champagne glass on the table and squeezed through the chattering women.

“Oh, my, you must be the brilliant William Grant.”

Eddie stopped dead as she watched Dinah saunter up to her father.Ah,Eddie thought.If Dinah can’t entice Dad into the present, no one can.

As Eddie watched, her father froze. It had been a long time since he’d been near a living, breathing, smiling, sexy woman, and it seemed like her father didn’t know quite what to do.

Dinah didn’t seem worried. She held out a plump hand. “I’m Dinah Lavender. Your lovely, brilliant daughter is my assistant, and she is beyond fabulous.”

Totally out of his depth, but knowing he had to respond somehow, William asked, “Is your last name really Lavender?”

Dinah laughed. “Why, of course it’s not. I think Dinah Lavender just sounds so pretty that people want to read my books. Just like William Grant sounds so historical and intelligent that people want to readyourbooks.”

William turned red and made a choking sound and coughed. “I’m writing a comprehensive criticism of eighteenth-century British poets. My name isn’t…a selling point. And I certainly won’t have a large readership. Excuse me. I want to say hello to my daughter.”

Eddie hurried over to Dinah as her father escaped into the shop.

“Dad didn’t mean to be rude,” she explained. “He’s just out of practice with socializing.”

“He did look like a rabbit caught in a hole,” Dinah agreed. “I’m thinking he might be the perfect new project for me.” She twinkled her fingers at Eddie and headed for the drinks table.

Eddie watched the writer chat with the waiters who manned the table. It was such a relief to see Dinah back to her normal self, not paranoid because she thought a man was stalking her. This relaxed, stress-free Dinah enjoyed flirting with any and all men. She glowed and glimmered like a star, and men just naturally smiled back. Dinah turned even a brief meeting into a memorable moment. Like her books, Dinah was radiant and sensual and addictive.

Eddie glided away from the crowd. She walked around to the brick sidewalk overlooking the first boat slip and sat on a wooden bench, looking out at the water. The sun flooded the harbor with light. A few gulls stood on the pilings, arranging their feathers. Cormorants bobbed in the water. A fishing boat with its high tower was slowly sliding into the harbor, its gentle wake rippling toward shore, rocking the ducks.

She put on her sunglasses and relaxed. Dinah was having fun this evening, but she would probably grow bored with the quiet and return to the city before two weeks were up. Eddie would bet on that. Her father was, so far, okay with the boxes of books that left the house and went into the Book Barn, and the book bins were almost done.She needed to think whether she should ask Jeff to build some kind of counter for a cash box and a credit card machine. Who would run the Book Barn? Not Barrett. She would be right here, in her own store. Maybe Eddie could convince their father to man the barn bookshop on the weekends. People wouldn’t be stampeding down the driveway to buy used books. Yes, it was a good idea! William could spend Saturday and Sunday in the barn, selling his dusty old books, and he would also be talking to people, people who liked books. It would be a kind of therapy for him.

Eddie would stay for the summer, she decided. They’d only made a start in decluttering the house of books. Eddie could get the Book Barn business launched. Eddie could spend some time with Dinah, helping her plan the next few months.

Laughter from Barrett’s opening party drifted across the cool evening air. Eddie smiled. She was so glad her sister’s store was working out.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Jeff sat on the bench, not too close to Eddie, but not too far away, either. He held a plastic glass of champagne and handed it to her.

“Thanks.” Eddie took a sip. Wow. Dinah had splurged on the champagne. “Barrett must be thrilled by the crowd.”

“She should be. People are still coming in.”

Jeff stretched, sending an alluring scent of testosterone and shaving cream past Eddie. She remembered this aroma even now, after two years away. It had been pure Jeff, when he kissed her on the beach.

“The bins for the barn are almost done,” Jeff told her. “I’m thinking it would be cool if we built a few tables, for coffee-table books laid face up.”

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