Sun-kissed (The Au Pairs 3)

"Yes, thank you, George." Ryan nodded. "We'll clean this up ourselves. No need to wait on us. Have yourself a nice evening."

"Very good, sir," the Frenchman said, disappearing into the night.

32

"I got Jean-Luc to do the dinner--they don't usually cater and they don't deliver. But the owner's a good friend of my dad's," he explained. "C'mon, let's sit down." He pulled out Mara's chair.

Mara sat down, still overwhelmed by the entire spectacle. The night air was balmy and sweet--a fresh breeze blew through her hair, and she remembered how much she loved the Hamptons.

They opened the silver dishes eagerly. The four-hour drive had left them famished.

"Heard from Dartmouth yet?" Ryan asked between bites.

Dartmouth. Shit. Mara shook her head. For a moment, the magic faltered. Being on the wait list was the only thing that was keeping her life from being perfect, perfect, perfect. "No, unfortunately."

"They'll take you. They have to," Ryan insisted, cutting into the chicken. He was stubbornly optimistic that everything would work out.

"I hope so." She sighed. "Though I really can't do anything about it at this point."

"You know, I could always ask my dad ..." Ryan said, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "He knows the university president really well."

Mara shook her head. It was sweet of Ryan to offer, but she really didn't feel comfortable asking his father to pull strings on her behalf. Part of her felt like it was an unfair practice, and she was already feeling guilty about getting the gig at Hamptons magazine so easily. Besides, she wanted to get into Dartmouth on her own merit.

33

They continued eating, and after dessert, Ryan pulled out a box from under the table and pushed it toward Mara. It was robin's-egg blue and tied with a familiar white ribbon. Mara's heart skipped, but its dimensions were too large for the contents to be jewelry.

"What's this?"

Ryan shrugged, feigning innocence, but there was a gleam in his eye.

Mara untied the ribbon and opened the box. Nestled inside the tissue paper were three-by-five note cards. Each had a tiny drawing of the sailboat in the center. Underneath, it read Mara Waters, Sag Harbor.

Her new address. On Tiffany stationery, no less.

"Ryan--you didn't have to . . ." she said, her eyes shining.

"Oh, it was nothing. I thought you might like it for your new job, you know? I think magazine people get off on things like this."

"Magazine people," Mara murmured, lovingly stroking the stationery. "What's that mean?" she asked.

"You know, glossy girls ..."

She beamed. She was a "glossy girl."

Ryan stood up and took the champagne bottle from the bucket, spilling fat droplets of water on the floor. He took a napkin, place

d it around the bottle's neck, and popped the cork. Faint lines of cold air whispered out of the open bottle. He quickly filled two flutes with the bubbly and handed her one.

"To our summer," he proposed.

34

"To us," Mara agreed, clinking her glass against his.

They sipped from their glasses in silence and walked to the edge of the boat by the railings. Mara found she couldn't keep the smile from her face.

When the bubbly had been drained, he took her champagne glass and set it on the table next to his. And in one smooth motion, he scooped her up in his arms.