CHAPTER 1
The Atlantic Ocean hated her. It was the only feasible explanation.
Elizabeth Bennet stared out at the horizon, her surfboard bobbing lazily between her legs. The sunrise painted the clouds in grays and yellows and pinks, colors reflected in the endless expanse of water ahead. It would have been a perfect morning, really, except for one problem: the water was absolutely flat.
Lizzy squeezed her eyes shut and lifted her face to the sky, silently praying to whoever might be listening:Come on. All I want is one wave. Just one, and I promise to go the rest of the summer without rolling my eyes at anybody. Please?
A moment, then she peeked out at the water around her. Still flat as a pancake.
Well, that settled it. Mother Nature was a sadist.
It was no secret that the beach break off East Hampton was mediocre at best, especially this late in May. Yet somehow the waves had been fantastic over the past two weeks—something akin to a miracle. But today, the one day Lizzy really needed it, the ocean had flatlined.
It wasn’t that the summers in East Hampton were awful, per se. Lizzy used to love them when she was younger and would steal muffins from the family bakery to eat amid the dunes on the beach. But as she grew older, she began to recognize how, for three months every year, their small village became something else entirely. Starting Memorial Day weekend, traffic clogged Montauk Highway all the way from the city to the eastern tip of Long Island. Manhattanites crowded the beaches, more intent on posting photos to social media than swimming. The local gossip mill consumed every family conversation, nourishing her mother more than anything they made at Bennet Bakery. It was the same every year.
And Lizzy could just about face it all—she really could—if she could just catch one last wave before summer officially began.
The ocean had other plans, apparently.
She pushed the wet strands of her long red hair away from her face and closed her eyes again, ready to offer the last twenty-one dollars in her savings account—maybe even a few of Bennet Bakery’s popular sour cherry muffins—when a sharp ping pierced the silence. She glanced down at her wrist to where her old digital watch was blinking.
5:30 a.m.
Time to go to work.
For a half second, she debated ignoring it. Her dad was probably at the bakery already. He would turn on the ovens, put the cinnamon rolls in the proofer, take the scones out of the fridge, and—
The thought was cut short by a familiar pang of guilt. Wasn’t this the whole reason she had put graduate school on hold a few months ago? So she could help out at the bakery while her dad recovered from his stroke and the rest of the family came up with a plan?
You mean the same family who hasn’t been able to agree on a movie to watch together in over a decade?a small voice whispered in her head.
Lizzy frowned. It was true, long-term planning was not a Bennet strong suit.
She avoided that sobering train of thought—and the second round of guilt it introduced—to send one last glance out at the ocean ahead.
A minute passed, then a seagull bobbed by. It stared at her expectantly.
“What?” she asked.
It cawed at her.
“I know, I know.” She sighed. “I’m going.”
The bird looked doubtful.
To prove her point, she turned away and began paddling her board toward shore. That’s when something in the periphery caught her eye. Just there, set back on the dark beach.
The lights were on at Marv’s Lament.
Huh. Now, that was different.
While most of the houses neatly lining East Hampton’s stretch of coastline were fun-house mirror versions of small shingle-sided cottages—bloated in size but still following the unwritten rules of Hamptons aesthetics—the house overlooking Georgica Beach near the end of Lily Pond Lane was a geometric amalgamation of steel and glass, all right angles and sharp lines.
The village dubbed it Marv’s Lament over the fact that, despite a public petition that claimed it was an “eyesore” and “insulted the architectural integrity of the village,” their mayor, Marvin Long, hadn’t found a way to halt its construction. But just as quickly as the nickname had become ubiquitous, the house was mostly forgotten about, sitting dormant except for a few weekends inthe summer. Even then, Lizzy couldn’t remember who actually owned it. Some tech billionaire? A celebrity? She had no idea, and it never occurred to her to find out, especially after the house went on the market as a summer rental a few years ago. Thanks to its questionable design and a ridiculous price tag, it had been empty and dark ever since.
But not today.
Today every light was on, revealing the modern furniture sparsely placed throughout. As Lizzy emerged from the water and made her way past the wind-sculpted sand dunes peppered with beach grass to the parking lot, she could see a cleaning crew vacuuming around a long, low sofa, meticulously scouring the kitchen’s marble countertops. They were still there after she threw her board into the bed of her old Chevy truck and changed from her wetsuit into a T-shirt and her favorite overalls.
