“All glass,” he said. “Philip Johnson comes to Nantucket.”
“That’s a joke, right?”
“You’re not supposed to work today. Enjoy the scenery.”
They were going down Orange Street and every beautiful old house made her think of a guesthouse design. But she didn’t say anything.
“His wife loves to garden and wants her own potting shed,” Jared said. “Just a little one. A mere two thousand square feet.”
“Really?” Alix looked at him with wide eyes. “Maybe Toby has some ideas about that.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Jared said, grinning, and they talked about design all the way to ’Sconset—which was only about eight miles, but it seemed longer.
When they got to the impossibly cute little town that Jared said used to be full of fishing shacks, Lexie and Toby were waiting for them. They’d unloaded an SUV full of food, utensils, and elegant picnic gear.
Jared drove the old truck into the parking area Lexie pointed out to him, then disappeared in that way males do when faced with whatever they consider women’s work. Alix followed Lexie’s orders and helped set up. Within minutes the back of the old truck and a table had been covered with food and drink on top of pretty Italian tablecloths. It was all very high end, very much like a picture-perfect country picnic.
Alix stepped into the street. On both sides were the beautiful old cars and trucks that had been in the parade through the town.
Since she’d arrived on the island, Alix had been gradually becoming aware of the wealth on Nantucket, but the gathering of the old cars had solidified it. They weren’t just jalopies but museum-quality vehicles, and the laughing and chatting owners were decked out like models in a Ralph Lauren ad: Blazers, ascots, gold watches for men. Perfect designer outfits for the women. She looked at the lavish layouts of the picnics and smiled.
“Like it?” Jared asked as he reappeared now that the work was done.
“Truly beautiful. I feel like I’ve stepped onto the cover of Town and Country magazine.”
“Come on,” he said. “They’re doing an ice-carving demo halfway down.”
There were dancers and musicians, artists and acrobats wandering around and everyone seemed to know everyone else. When they got back to the truck, Jared talked to a group of people while Alix filled plates for the two of them. There were chairs at the front of the truck and she and Jared sat there to eat.
“I haven’t been to this in years,” he said. “It’s grown.”
“Why would you ever miss it? It’s wonderful.”
“Couldn’t get a date,” he said.
Alix could remember all too well the sight of beautiful Daris on his arm. “Ha! Half the women here—”
He cut her off. “I meant that I couldn’t find a date I wanted to go with.”
Alix smiled at him and for a moment his eyes held hers. But as always, he turned away. “Mixed signals” were the words that came to Alix’s mind. Jared had gone through an elaborate scheme to keep her from going out with another man, but when she looked at him with something besides work in her eyes, he turned away.
She told herself to keep it light.
Thirty minutes later they were standing on the road, chatting to people, when Jared turned to her with a serious expression. “Alix?” he said. “Do you have any feeling that you owe me for anything at all?”
“Of course. Haven’t I said thank you often enough? If not, I apologize for—”
“No, it’s not that,” he said. “It’s just that my cousin is coming this way and—”
“Wes?”
“No.”
“The woman from the liquor store?” His look made her stop guessing. “Okay, sorry. One of your cousins is coming toward us and …?”
“His wife was my girlfriend in high school. He won; I lost. It’s ridiculous of me, but—”
Alix looked through the crowd and saw a man about Jared’s age who had the Kingsley jawline, the dark hair and eyes. But whereas they worked together on Jared to form a very masculine face, on this man there was something effeminate about his features. He was well dressed, in a perfect shirt and jacket, and even had on jeans. But they weren’t like the jeans Jared usually wore that even when clean looked as though they’d been to Davy Jones’s locker and back.