Dahlia shrugged. “Hamptons House?”
“The reality show? It’s filmed out here—well, in the Hamptons. Every summer, a group of young, creative singles—who also happen to be gorgeous—fix up an old house for the summer and live there while they do it.” She finally started to scan. “He was so nice. Noah, I mean. Taller than I imagined. And what a smile, it could melt an iceberg.” Another snap of the gum, and Dahlia involuntarily recoiled.
“Cool,” Dahlia said, realizing Noah was probably the guy on the motorcycle. But she needed to focus, despite her momentary lapse in the parking lot. No men this summer, under any circumstance. Dahlia knew the plan and was determined to stick to it. She would fix Lil’s house and get it ready to sell before she took the gallery job in Charleston. And she’d try to find some peace and quiet in the process—it was the only way to find out if the old Dahlia was still in there.
After paying, she caught a glimpse of the community wall by the exit. Dahlia knew this wall had been Lil’s favorite place to scout for furniture and local happenings. Being the small town itwas, this was the hub of action, where people connected on everything from animals to tools and help wanted. She slung the grocery bag over her shoulder and walked past, knowing if a miracle didn’t land in her lap by tomorrow she’d be back to scour the classifieds for a replacement handyman.
CHAPTER TWO
“Almost there, Harry.” Dahlia looked down at the empty water bottle on her seat. “As soon as we get there, we’ll get you a big bowl of ice-cold water.”
He leaned his whole body out of the opening as if he would leap at any moment.
“And don’t you think about jumping when we turn down her street. You hear me?’
Harry yelped with excitement.
“I mean it, Harry,” Dahlia said, trying not to smile at the sweet and eager face in the rearview mirror.
The pebbles crunched beneath her tires. A sure sign she had reached the Prescott Family Compound—or what was left of it anyway. Through the years, whenever finances got tight, they’d sold a parcel of land or a house here and there. The only things that now remained of this compound were Aunt Lil’s house and the stories. She braked in front of the brick pillars and admired the perfectly groomed boxwoods, courtesy of their neighbor Bruce. There was no longer a need to rush. Her smile grew, and her posture relaxed. Thebreeze that grazed her neck and slipped under her hair felt invigorating. It was the gentle nudge she needed to slow things down after that unexpected call. But there was still a small part of her that was nervous. This wasn’t just a house; it was Lil’s house, and Dahlia’s grandparents’ before that, and their parents’ before that. She realized she’d never been alone here for more than a few hours. This time, it was just her.
She gulped hard and looked up at the rusted, crooked sign that read Meadow Lane. Squaring her shoulders, she drove through the stately opening.
The first cedar shake house on the property was built in the late 1800s and faced the bay. It was the grandest and her favorite architecturally. It had arched dormers on the third floor and an expansive wraparound porch. Her great-great-uncle had lived there with his family after they came over from England. It remained in the family until it was sold to a city family before Dahlia was born. Although she’d never been inside, she knew, like many old houses, it was where secrets were kept. The tennis court still looked pristine, as if not a single ball ever bounced on the surface. There was a thickness in her throat and a quiver in her belly as she continued to drive. The 1970s split-level to her left still didn’t belong among the backdrop of the more mature Nantucket-style homes, but Dahlia never lost sight of why her grandparents sold it. “We had to pay for Rose’s extended education somehow,” her Gran would say of Dahlia’s mother as they passed it.
Dahlia finally made it to Lil’s house. She pulled into the long driveway with expansive views of the steely blue Peconic Bay and parked. Her heart raced as she looked up at the regal New England facade.It was beautiful, just as she remembered. Well, minus the few shingles missing and shutters hanging on by a screw. And the landscaping, geez, it was neglected. She leaned her head out the window to get a closer look. The blue hydrangeas that ran the perimeter, which were once Instagrammable, were now stalky and wild.
“We definitely have some cleanup to do. What do you think, boy?”
There was silence.
She looked to the back of the car, but Harry was nowhere in sight. Dahlia threw the car in park, flung open the door, and marched down the front lawn. “Harry!” She whistled through her fingers, prompting him to come back. “We literally just got here,” she muttered in defeat.
Just then, she spotted him next door. “They aren’t home!” she shouted across the lawn as if Harry could understand why his favorite people weren’t outside, ready to greet him. Bruce had been in touch with Lil before she died, letting her know they’d be in Italy for the summer, but Dahlia still hoped she’d see them before she left to thank them properly. Bruce and Garrett were a lovely couple who lived right next door and had been like surrogate sons to Lil. If it hadn’t been for them finding Lil after she fell down the stairs, she might have been there for days without food or water. Breaking her ankle was the catalyst for her move to Greenwich with Dahlia. As much as Lil didn’t want to leave her house on the bay, she didn’t have a choice after that.
The sandy shore called to Dahlia as Harry strolled back in defeat. She made her slow descent to the beach as he trailed behind her, doing his best detective work. The grass was dry, sparse, and tall in places. She needed to get someone to cut it—it was probably loaded with ticks. She winced at the thought, making sure to stay on the path.
Dahlia was hyperaware that the poppy seed–sized arachnid could wreak havoc on one’s health and mental well-being. Lil’s undiagnosed Lyme disease hadn’t helped her memory or her ability to fight the cancer, especially toward the end. The ovarian cancer had metastasized rather quickly to her bones.
Dahlia stood facing the water, her feet sinking into the cool, wet sand. A gust blew, fanning her body as she stared at thecatamaran in the distance. Its size, sleek navy bottom, and cream USA sails were commanding. Exactly like Spence’s dad’s boat. It took her back to the day she told him the news that would change the direction of her life forever.
“So, what did you want to tell me?” Spence dropped the anchor. “That you adore me and can’t wait to visit me at BC? You’re going to love Boston, Dahl. The football games, the parties, the city,” he said with his pretty-boy smile.
“I know.” Dahlia rolled her eyes. “My parents both went there, and I lived there, remember?” Did he ever actually listen?
“Then what is it?” He reached for her trembling hand. “We’ll be fine, babe. It’s not that far from RISD. Plenty of people have long-distance relationships and make it work.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.” Dahlia was woozy; she began to wane. This was a bad idea. She held back the urge to puke up her egg sandwich. “I’m pregnant,” she blurted, holding her stomach.
Spence froze; he looked like a deer in the headlights. “Are you sure?”
“Very.” She nodded.
“It’s mine, right? I mean, I’m only here on weekends, and we used a condom.”
What an asshole. She’d only ever been with him. Her eyes locked with his in disgust. Who’d made him so suspicious? So cynical?
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, of course it’s mine. My father’s going to kill me.” He paced the deck, chewing his lip. Dahlia watched his forehead wrinkle, a telltale sign he wasn’t in control anymore. “You start college in two months, and so do I. Okay, we’ll take care of it before you go. It will be fine.”
