Page 40 of A Novel Summer
When class was over, she lingered. People trickled out, and just when she thought she was in the clear, a classmate monopolized Anders for five minutes of name-dropping from his experience working at the Newburyport Literary Festival. She stayed in her chair, pretending to be busy on her laptop. When the guy finally left, she packed her things.
“Hello there, Hunter. I apologize for not getting to your question earlier. The class seemed to have stalled on the topic of the unreliable narrator and we needed to move on.”
“Oh, that’s fine,” she said. “I just wanted to say that if you need someone to read your work in progress, I’d be happy to take a look.”
Anders rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “Well, that’s a generous offer. I might very well take you up on it.”
Hunter walked out of the classroom feeling better than she had all summer. And she realized it wasn’t just because of the manuscript. It was because of Anders.
She wanted him.
Twenty-Nine
Anders picked Shelby up in a gray Land Rover with the top down. He parked and walked around to open the door for her. She climbed into the front seat, dressed for the beach in denim shorts and a cropped Madewell T-shirt over her two-piece bathing suit. It could get windy near the water so she pulled her hair back in a low ponytail and tossed sunglasses into her tote bag along with flip-flops.
The Smiths played on the radio.
“I’m glad we’re doing this,” she said, smiling at him. “I’ve been spending most nights writing. It’s good to get out of my head for a few hours.”
It would be a nice change to spend time with someone who didn’t have anything to do with her past in Provincetown. Everything felt so weighted lately. Like the visit from Carmen Lombardo. She combed through her own conversations with Mia looking for any clues that something specific was wrong. The only thing that stood out was an incident a few days ago. Shelby got an ARC—an advanced reader’s copy—of a novel that HarperCollins was publishing in the winter. One of the perks of being a bookseller was getting to read books early. ARCs helped booksellers decide what books to order for the store. But sometimes, the ARCs she was most excited to read were new books from authors whose work she already knew and loved and had no doubt belonged on the Land’s End shelves. That was the way she felt about the HarperCollins book that arrived in the mail, and she gave it to Mia, knowing she felt the same way about the writer. “Let me know what you think,” Shelby said to her, expecting Mia would be as excited as she was to have an early look at a book that was sure to be a bestseller. Instead, she accepted the ARC with something that Shelby could only describe as reluctance. Very odd.
Shelby hadn’t been on a beach date in a long time. She’d forgotten how to dress for it, and after much deliberation settled on faded jean shorts and a white cotton button-down top. It could get windy, so she brought her cashmere wrap just in case. She felt nervous.
Anders picked her up in a dark green Land Rover, the top down. They couldn’t have asked for better weather. She said as much when she climbed into the passenger seat.
“That’s what I was thinking,” he said. “But I’m trying not to put too much pressure on the sunset to live up to its reputation.”
“Oh, as someone who spent every college summer here, I can guarantee it will.”
It was a ten-minute drive to Herring Cove, and they didn’t talk much because of the wind whipping through the car along Route 6. His hair was tousled in the breeze, and she noticed a touch of silver in the stubble along his jaw. He certainly was handsome. But then, for some reason, Noah popped into her mind. This time last summer was when they’d started hanging out. A year later, they were completely done. And she also couldn’t help thinking about Justin. They used to drive the same route, under the same early-evening sun, a night of possibility ahead of them. She glanced over at Anders and thought,This too shall pass. She didn’t know why some people found it so easy to have lasting relationships. She was just certain she’d never be one of them.
Anders pulled into the crowded beach parking lot. Once again, he came around and opened the door for her, then retrieved beach blankets and a cooler from the back.
“Ready?” he said.
“Let’s go.” She smiled and they walked close together but not touching as they made their way across a tarp-covered path towards the water.
The beach was lively, filled with groups of friends and couples set up for their own sunset viewing. There was a festive vibe and she felt happy to be sharing it with Anders.
“I wasn’t sure what you like, so I brought a bit of a mobile buffet,” he said, unpacking crusty breads and cheese and fruit from the cooler. She liked the way he said “mobile” with a longi.
He uncapped a chilled bottle of Pellegrino and poured some into a paper cup, handing it to her.
“My editor told me that beach culture is very different in the UK,” she said, searching for small talk.
“How did that come up?” he said.
“Well, we were talking about foreign rights before the London Book Fair, and she said beach books that succeed here don’t always translate.”
He nodded. “Interesting. And yes, I can see that. My family used to holiday in Cornwall. The water was always quite chilly, and if I recall, the pebbles and stones made it a bit inhospitable.”
She glanced at his profile, his fair skin and the way his hair flopped boyishly across his forehead. It was strange to spend time with someone whose face you’d known from photographs, whose work you’d read for years.
The sun dipped, and magical shades of gold and rose and lavender painted the sky. When they’d finished eating, he suggested they take a walk.
At the shoreline, where the water met the sand, he reached for her hand just as the tide washed over their feet. She felt a shiver, and she didn’t know if it was from the water or his touch.
Then she spotted something in the sand a few feet away. She stopped walking.
