“This is the life,” Mallory says to Link as she frees him from his car seat. “September is still summer, buddy.”

“Summer!” Link calls out as he kicks his feet. He can’t wait to get into the water.

What does the best beach day ever look like? Well, to Mallory, it looks like hours of warm sunshine, dips into cool clear water, reading on a blanket while Link digs a hole and then throws one rock after another into the ocean because he likes the sound of the splash. They share lunch—a chicken salad sandwich, celery and carrots with hummus, cold slices of watermelon, lime-sugar cookies. Then Mallory sets up a spot for Link under the umbrella and he lies down for his nap. Mallory curls up next to him and closes her eyes.

She jolts awake when she feels something cold and alive touching her foot. It’s the chocolate Lab, sniffing her. She tries to gently shoo it off the blanket as the owner comes jogging down the beach. Mallory puts her finger to her lips. It’s okay that the dog woke her up but if the dog or its owner wakes Link up, she will not be amused.

Mallory stands as the guy grabs the dog by the collar. “Come on, Rox,” he whispers. “Sorry about that.”

Mallory follows them a few steps toward the water so their conversation doesn’t wake up Link. “No problem,” she says. The guy is cute—tall, with a crew cut and friendly eyes. “Did you catch anything?”

“Nah,” he said. “I’ve had crappy luck.”

“Well,” she says, “there’s always East Coast Seafood.”

“I wanted to come over here anyway,” the guy says, “because I sold you that car.”

It takes a minute for Mallory to figure out what he’s talking about. “The Blazer?”

“It was mine,” he says. “I sold it to you. I got your name from Oliver, the bartender at the Summer House—”

“Yes!” Mallory says. She takes another look at the guy. He does seem sort of familiar now that he’s told her this, though she never would have recognized him in a million years. “You’re…”

“Scott,” he says. “Scott Fulton.”

“Scotty Fulton, yes, I remember you!” Mallory says. “I have to thank you. I’ve had her ten years and she’s been a total rock star.”

“I can see you’ve taken good care of her,” Scott says. “It broke my heart to sell her but I remember how happy you looked behind the wheel and that made it easier. Good home and all that.”

“Didn’t you leave island?” Mallory says. “Weren’t you going to…”

“Business school,” he says. “Yep, I moved to Philadelphia, bought a Jetta, got married, got my MBA, went into commercial real estate, got divorced, poured all my time and energy into work, had a health scare at thirty-three, and decided I needed a lifestyle change. So I moved back here this summer, bought the storage center out on Old South Road as well as the six commercial lots right next door, and now I’m building affordable housing units.”

“Wow,” Mallory says. “Well, I’m Mallory Blessing, I teach English at the high school, I’m a single mom of one, Lincoln—Link—who’s two and a half.”

“You’re single?” Scott says. “Forget what I said about crappy luck.”

It’s a meet-cute, and for that reason, Mallory is wary. It feels like a setup—the beautiful day, the empty beach, the dog making the introduction, the beyond-bizarre fact that Scotty Fulton sold her the Blazer and therefore can hardly be considered a random stranger. He’s single, he owns a business on the island, and he’s committed to living on Nantucket year-round. He’s renting a house in town, on Winter Street, across from the inn that’s owned by the Quinn family (Ava Quinn is one of Mallory’s best students). He sounds too good to be true. Is he too good to be true?

Mallory is going to find out.

She can’t go on a date during the week—it’s too much with school and Link—but she agrees to go to dinner with Scott at the Company of the Cauldron the following weekend.

There is no restaurant on the island more romantic than the Cauldron. It’s tiny, rustic, candlelit, tucked away on cobblestoned India Street. The dining room is decorated with copper pots and dried flowers, and there’s a harp player. A harp player! This is, to be honest, Mallory’s first time eating at the Cauldron, because going there requires a date and who would Mallory have gone with? It was out of JD’s comfort zone, and she and Bayer never went anywhere. (Mallory doesn’t want to bring JD and Bayer with her on this date, though what were her past relationships for if not to teach her a lesson?)

There is one set menu at the Cauldron each night. Tonight, it’s a Bartlett’s Farm baby greens salad topped with a lemon-thyme poached lobster tail followed by a wood-grilled sirloin followed by an apricot tarte tatin with buttermilk ice cream. Scott picks a white wine to go with the first course and a red wine to go with their steaks. Mallory admires how confident and at ease he is and how down-to-earth when talking to their server. She imagines this is how Jake would act if he were across the table from her right now. She doesn’t want to bring Jake with her on this date either, but because Jake was on Nantucket a scant two weeks earlier, he’s still fresh in Mallory’s mind—everything he said and did, every time he touched her, every time he kissed her, every time he looked at her with smoldering desire. What would he say if he could see her now with Scott? Would he be jealous? Yes, of course. Mallory knows there’s no reason for her to feel guilty—after all, at that moment, Jake is probably attending some fancy political fund-raiser with Ursula. He will climb into bed with Ursula that night; he might even make love to her. (Mallory tries never to think about this.)

Across the table, Scott is shaking his head. She’s been caught loving Jake in her mind.

“I can’t believe you’re single,” he says.

“I can’t believe you’re single,” she says. She leans in. They’re seated at the best table, by the front window—or at least, it’s the best unless one of Mallory’s students strolls by. “You are single, right? I know you said you’re divorced, but are you officially divorced?”

“Officially divorced for six years,” he says. “Lisa stayed in Philly, married one of my Wharton classmates, and they have a baby now.”

Wharton; Kitty would be thrilled to hear this. But no, sorry, Kitty isn’t welcome at the table tonight. “But you don’t have any children? Now is the time to tell me.”

“No children,” Scott says. He reaches for her hand. They are holding hands. Does it feel okay? Yes, it feels nice. “But I’d like to have children someday.”

“Did you just say that on a first date?” Mallory asks.

“Was that a goof?”

“Um…” Mallory says. She isn’t sure how she feels about having more children; she’s never had a reason to consider it. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Our first course hasn’t even arrived.”

What does Mallory learn about Scott Fulton on this date?

He’s thirty-four years old, turning thirty-five in May. He grew up in Orlando, Florida; his father was an animator for Disney and died of a heart attack when Scott was a sophomore at Florida State. His mother got married again, to a man who works for the State Department and lives in Dubai, so that is where she now lives. No siblings. He met his future ex-wife at FSU; she was in hotel management and brought Scott to Nantucket when she got a job at the White Elephant. He fell in love with Nantucket. He worked at the Lobster Trap six nights a week, which was how he met Oliver (yes, Oliver used to hang out at the Trap; Mallory remembers this), and he drove the Blazer to Nobadeer during the day.