Summer Escape with the Tycoon

IT HAD BEEN a surprise to get Ryan’s invitation to dinner at the Merchant Seafarer, but Molly had agreed for several reasons. One, the hotel marked the moment in time when she’d embarked on a life change, and despite her heartbreak, she didn’t actually regret any of it. Two, the Seafarer had some of the best cuisine in New England, and a gorgeous view of the Atlantic from the verandas. And three, it was her birthday, and it felt as if everyone had forgotten. Dinner with a friend on your birthday beat out staying home with a pint of ice cream and the leftover half of a bottle of wine every time.

He’d sent a car for her, to drive her all the way from Boston to Nantucket. When she’d protested, he’d said it was a birthday present and to be quiet, in his humorous kind of way. So she’d thanked him, and when the car had arrived this afternoon, she’d slipped into the back seat and decided to enjoy the ride. She put in earbuds and listened to her favorite playlist for a while, then simply sat and enjoyed the scenery, even nodding off once for fifteen minutes or so. When she woke, she opened her compact and tidied her makeup. He’d told her to dress up, so she’d donned a dress that had been in her closet for ages but she’d never worn: a knee-length black cocktail dress that skimmed over every curve to her waist and then flared out in a fifties-style skirt. It was very Rosemary Clooney–esque, and made Molly feel as if she were embracing her figure rather than fighting it.

And absolutely no Spanx. Those ten pounds were fine right where they were.

The car pulled up to the pillared portico at the resort and Molly tucked her ea

rbuds into her clutch along with her phone—the new one she’d bought to replace the cheap pay-as-you-go she’d bought in Victoria. An attendant opened her door, and she stepped out, feeling rather princess-like. It was only the realization that she was meeting Ryan that put a damper on the fairy-tale feeling. He was nice enough. He was a good friend. But he’d never be anything more.

And then she looked up at the steps and her heart stopped.

It wasn’t Ryan standing there. It was Eric, dressed in a flawless tuxedo, watching her with bald admiration in his eyes.

She took one step, then another. He waited, let her ascend the steps on her own, and when she was two steps away, he held out his hand.

It was trembling.

She put her hand in his, palm to palm, and his fingers closed around hers.

“You’re not Ryan,” she murmured, looking into his eyes.

“No. It was part of the surprise. Is it okay that it’s me?”

She considered saying no, of not putting herself out there to be hurt again, but when all was said and done, she and Eric had always spoken the truth. “It’s more than okay,” she admitted, her voice shaking. “I just don’t understand.”

“You will,” he assured her. “I promise.” He lifted their joined hands and kissed her fingers. “Tonight I’m going to say all the things I should have said earlier. And then, Molly, you’re going to have my heart in your hands.”

She wanted to press him to ask what that meant, but she’d already learned that with Eric, anticipation was exciting and oh, so worth it. She did have one request, though, that she couldn’t wait for. “Could you do me one thing, before we go in?” she asked.

“What’s that?”

She lifted her chin. “Could you kiss me, please?”

His eyes locked with hers, suddenly hot and intense. “Oui, ma chère,” he answered, taking the one step necessary to be close enough. His lashes settled on his cheeks as he closed his eyes and his lips touched hers. The kiss was gentle, yet deliberate and persuasive. When they both opened their eyes, she was sure there were probably stars in hers and her knees were wobbly.

Nothing had changed. Not for her. And he was here, right now, in a designer tux, holding her hand, taking her for dinner in one of the most exclusive resorts in New England.

That had to be worth something.

So she let him lead her inside to a private corner of the dining room, where they indulged in oysters and duck and wine and a pumpkin-spice soufflé that was so incredible Molly almost wished she had room for more. By tacit agreement, they talked about day-to-day events during the meal, but always Molly was aware of the way he looked at her and somehow got the feeling that the things they really needed to say would be said before the night was over. Indeed, as they lingered over Irish coffee, Eric reached over and took her hand. “Molly, there were things I should have said the other day at lunch that I didn’t. I’d like to say them now. Will you come outside with me?”

She nodded, feeling that familiar and welcome fluttering in her belly at his words. This was the Eric she remembered. Subtly seductive, so attentive. The man she’d dined with in Campbell River and in Tofino, when promises of the night to come were never spoken but always communicated.

Together they left the dining room and went outside to the enormous wraparound veranda that looked out over the vast Atlantic. The sun was setting now, and a chill had settled on the air. Eric took one look at her bare shoulders and removed his jacket, draping it over hers. “I forgot how cool it gets in the evening,” he said.

“It’s okay. I love being out here and smelling the sea air. Hearing the waves. It reminds me of our base camp.”

“It was an amazing trip.” He twined his fingers with hers as they approached the white railing. “In so many ways, but mostly because you were there. Always challenging me.”

She shook her head and exhaled out of her nose, a little scoff at his last words. “Me? I was the one so afraid half the time.”

“But even then, you were challenging me to open up. I couldn’t help myself, Molly. That’s what’s so miraculous about it all.”

He turned to her and held both her hands. “When we had lunch together, I told you all about my family and the business decision, but I didn’t tell you the most important part. I thought you didn’t want to hear it. Fortunately a friend of yours set me straight.”

“Ryan.”

He nodded. “He came to me and told me I was being an idiot for letting you go and not fighting for you. When I looked past my jealousy, I knew he was right.”