Page 25 of Summer Light on Nantucket

Suddenly she wanted to look through her high school yearbooks, but they were all at home. She had no photos of him on her phone, and why would she? High school was a long time ago. But her memories were crystal clear and they made her heart race.

She set the table on the back porch. With the long lush yard stretching to the neighbor’s lacy wall of evergreens, she and Aaden would be able to talk unreservedly, without the intimacy of an enclosed room. She spread a retro tablecloth, white with red cherries falling everywhere, and used the real plates instead of the dishwasher-safe plates she’d bought when the children were young. Those plates were of different colors, and slightly scratched but still sturdy even though the children used them as Frisbees.

Should she pick some of the tulips to put in a vase on the table?

No. This was not the beginning of a high school romance or the beginning of any kind of romance. This was simply lunch.

Whisking up to her bedroom, she changed into a blue sleeveless sundress. Sandals. Pulled her hair back in a low ponytail. She took out a white gold Celtic trinity knot necklace and clasped it at the back of her neck. Aaden had brought it to her that last Christmas, that late January. Instead, that day, they broke up.

The truth was, she had known since their first kiss that she would love him all her life, but she had never believed they would spend theirlives together. She brought her hand to her necklace and held the small knot between her fingers.

Her phone buzzed and someone knocked at the front door. She hurried down the stairs so fast she thought she might trip and break her heart. No, no, not her heart, herhead.Her emotions were flooding through her.

“Aaden!” Blythe hurried to answer the door.

“Hi.” He seemed almost shy, standing there in a red rugby shirt—red always was the best color for him—holding a sheaf of daffodils in his hand.

Blythe felt completely giddy at the sight of him. He was so real, thick dark hair, intense dark eyes, as handsome as he’d been in high school. She wanted to inhale him.

Aaden said, “I know it’s past daffodil time, but every yard had tulips and I thought roses might be too sentimental.”

Blythe regained her wits as she took the flowers. “Such complicated decisions to make! Thank you. Come in. Follow me. We’re eating out on the back porch today.”

She sensed Aaden glancing around the rooms as she stood at the kitchen sink filling a vase with water. It was cluttered, it would always be cluttered, but it was a good, solid house. Comfortable.

“Would you like a glass of wine? Lemonade? Ice water?” She was proud of herself because her hands weren’t shaking.

“A glass of wine would be lovely. And maybe ice water, too.”

“Same.” She poured the wine and filled tumblers with ice and water, handed his to him, and led him out the back door. “You sit there. I need to be closer to the door to get the food.”

Aaden sat, set his glasses on the table, and swept his eyes over the yard. “You’ve got a beautiful garden. A beautiful home.”

He was older, and somehow more perfect. Laugh lines at his eyes. A touch of gray in his hair. How did he stay so handsome over twenty-five years?

“It’s all mine,” she told him. “My grandmother left it to me. I’m sorry you never got to come here when we were in high school. You always spent your summers in Ireland.”

“And I’m sorry you never got to visit me in Ireland. Although, there’s still time.”

Visiting him in Ireland? That was more than she could deal with right now. “This house is our second home. The children have come here every summer of their lives.”

“Lucky kids.”

“Yes.” Blythe studied his face. “And you have been living in Ireland?”

“Not completely.” He took a sip of wine. “Eileen, my ex-wife, and I had an apartment in Boston. Since the divorce, she’s kept the house in Ireland and I have the apartment here.”

“Where are your daughters?”

Aaden chuckled. “In Europe. Their grandfather, Eileen’s father, gave them the money to spend a year traveling the continent. Like students, mind, not living in posh hotels.”

“How wonderful.” Blythe wondered if she could ever be so relaxed about any of her children wandering loose in Europe.

“The truth is, the girls needed to get away from Eileen and me. They told us—our daughters told us—they couldn’t live with us because we were dull and uninspiring.”

Blythe threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, Aaden! Aren’t daughters theworst? They are so critical and cruel! Miranda, my oldest, told me that I’ve become ‘intolerably earnest.’ ”

Aaden laughed, too, and it was a laugh Blythe remembered, rolling out like kettle drums, rumbling and strong.

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