“Can you devise an excuse to bring Bill inside?” Lulu gestured at the back door. “He’s doing that thing again.”
Marigold turned toward the garden, where her stepfather was overseeing the caterers building a pit for the lobster bake. Bill had worked on a lobster boat for one summer as a teenager and then spent the next forty years in finance. But the fact that he hadn’t worked with his hands since the Reagan administration never stopped him from offering “advice” whenever a tradesperson entered his home. The impulse seemed to stem partially from a desire to connect with blue-collar workers so Bill could feel like a man of the people, and partially from that quality so common among men of his ilk, the belief that because they’d made a shit ton of money doing one thing well, they were capable of doinganythingwell, practice or expertise be damned. But Bill was a good man at heart, and generally only needed a gentle reminder to let people do their jobs without interference.
“I’m on it,” Marigold said. “Have you seen my gift for Jonathan? I can’t find it.”
“I don’t think so. Does Natalie have it?”
“Yeah, probably. I’ll text her.” She patted the jumpsuit pockets. “Have you seen my phone anywhere?”
Lulu gave her an affectionate, exasperated smile. “This is why I’m so glad you’re marrying Jonathan. He’ll look after you.”
“I don’t need looking after!” Marigold insisted, a bit petulantly. Sure, the old Marigold might’ve lost her phone from time to time. And her keys. And yes, she’d been known to miss the occasional appointment, like that time she blew off jury dutyand flew to Copenhagen because a reservation had opened up at Noma. But those days were behind her. She’d made the grown-up choice to get married. To a doctor! And while she would’ve fallen for Jonathan no matter what, she did appreciate how his respectability seemed to have rubbed off on her. People no longer implied that her two hundred thousand followers and multiple brand partnerships were the result of nepotism and dumb luck rather than creativity and business acumen. Jonathan’s love served as an endorsement; if a rising star oncologist at Columbia deemed Marigold a worthy partner, then she couldn’t bethatshallow.
“I’ll go get Bill,” Marigold said, bounding off.
Her stepfather was standing with his hands behind his back, peering down at the coals the caterers were laying in the fire pit. “Is that the best way to maximize heat distribution?” Bill asked.
“Yup,” a tan, blond kid said with an affable smile, clearly accustomed to this type of client.
Bill looked skeptical. “Wouldn’t it be more efficient to do a pile instead of a single layer? That way, the heat will spread—”
“Bill! I need you!” Marigold called.
He whipped around. “What’s up?”
“I can’t find Jonathan’s present. Can you come help me look?”
Bill glanced from Marigold to the pit and back, torn between his primal urge to master fire and his inability to see his cherished stepdaughter in distress.
“Please? I’m so worried about it.” Marigold pouted—a cheap trick, but it never failed.
“Of course. Don’t worry, we’ll find it. Where have you looked so far?”
“Everywhere! It’s just vanished.”
“Okay, I’ll look inside. You go check the boat.” Since cars weren’t allowed on the island, they left theirs on the mainland and took all their belongings over in a small motorboat.
Marigold started down the hill that led to the dock but didn’t make it more than a few yards before someone called her name. “Ahoy there, Marigold!”
With a sigh, she turned and forced a bright smile. “Ahoy, Paulson family!”
Skip and Lindy Paulson ambled across the lawn, their teenage children, Milly and Cooper, trailing behind.
“We came early to see if your mom needed help,” Lindy said. She had deeply tanned skin that contrasted too dramatically with her light blond hair, and she never seemed to find Lilly Pulitzer dresses small enough to fit her small, wiry frame.
“That’s so sweet of you,” Marigold said, knowing full well that the Paulsons had only arrived early to avail themselves of free booze. God forbid they had to wait until six p.m. to start drinking, or, horror upon horrors, open a bottle of wine they’d paid for themselves.
“I have to grab something from the boat. I’ll see you in a bit!” Marigold said, breaking into a jog. She ran down the dock and made a half-hearted attempt to look for the missing gift. She knew it wasn’t on the boat, but she wasn’t in any particular rush to return to the house.
Her head shot up at the familiar rumble of their old golf cart. Without thinking, she slunk down into the boat, eager for just a few more minutes of solitude. But then she saw Jonathan looking for her, turning from the house to the dock and back again, and something tugged at her heart.
She stepped back onto the dock, ran up the splintery woodensteps, and jogged up the hill. Jonathan’s face lit up when he spotted her. Lulu was right; he loved her so much.
“Hi.” She leaned in for a kiss. “You look so handsome, I can almost imagine myself marrying you.”
And he did. His thick, dark curls gave him a boyish air, but the stylish glasses she’d selected for him gave him a hot professor vibe. Except that Jonathan was a hotdoctor, which was even sexier. As good as he looked in his gray trousers and light purple check button-down, it was nothing compared to the dashing figure he cut in his white coat at work. Hospitals freaked Marigold out, but seeing Jonathan in doctor mode made it worth meeting him for lunch in the cafeteria. She loved seeing him in his element; the nurses respected him, and his patients trusted him. At work, he projected a mixture of quiet authority and kindness that more than once had inspired Marigold to forget about lunch and pull Jonathan into his office…
“Hi, sweetie.” Jonathan’s mother, Carol, gave Marigold a tight hug, then stepped back to survey her. “You look stunning—what a fabulous outfit.” Carol turned to face her sister, Jonathan’s Aunt Debbie. “Isn’t she gorgeous?”
