Vivi and JP are ushered forward to shake hands with the commodore and rising commodore of the club before they officially enter the ball. Vivi tucks her cute pink velvet clutch (also Savannah’s) under her arm in a way she hopes seems elegant and Holly Golightly–like and offers her hand to the commodore. His name is Walter Rosen. His wife, Penny, is Lucinda’s best friend.

“Vivian Howe. Pleasure to meet you.”

Walter winks at Vivi and squeezes her hand warmly. “We’ve heard a hundred wonderful things about you,” he says. “Someone has finally captured the heart of our JP. Welcome, Vivi. My wife will be extremely jealous that I met you first.”

The rising commodore’s name is Chas Bonham. He’s only about ten years older than Vivi and JP, and though he’s more reserved than Walter, he’s very kind.

Receiving line completed, JP guides Vivi with a hand on her back to a server holding a tray of champagne flutes. He gives one to Vivi and takes two for himself. “Let’s get this over with.”

They find Lucinda standing in a circle of people out on the lawn. Vivi wore ballet flats at Savannah’s suggestion and now she’s grateful. She glides over the grass and stands at Lucinda’s elbow, waiting to be introduced. Lucinda no doubt notices her son and his date lingering but she’s in a conversation with the woman to her left about a disagreement she had in the A and P parking lot that morning. A man heading to the ferry had pulled his suitcase over Lucinda’s espadrille.

“Mother,” JP says.

“Jackie!” she says. She turns. “And you must be Vivian. JP hasn’t stopped talking about you and now I can see why. Aren’t you enchanting!”

Vivi offers her hand but her voice has left her.

“We’ll see you at dinner,” JP says. He wheels Vivi back inside to the bar and Vivi thinks, That’s it? It’s over? It was the blink of an eye. Vivi hadn’t uttered a single word.

She wonders if she’ll be seated next to Lucinda at dinner—but no, proper placement is boy-girl-boy-girl, and Vivi finds herself between JP and Walter Rosen. Lucinda is all the way across the table, so there’s no opportunity for conversation. Initially, Vivi is dismayed by this. Her main goal of the evening was to impress Lucinda, and her first chance was squandered. She might have looked enchanting but she stood there like a lamppost.

Vivi needs to be enchanting. She won’t fret about Lucinda; she’ll be present in the moment. There’s wine at dinner and warm rolls with pats of butter that look like roses. Walter asks Vivi about her time at Duke. He’s a basketball fan, so she throws around the names of the players she says she used to drink with at the Hideaway—Laettner, Hurley, Hill—and Walter laps it up like a kitten with cream. (It’s only a bit of an exaggeration; they were at the next table.)

Before dinner is served, the orchestra starts to play. Walter offers Vivi his hand. “Dance?”

Now? Vivi thinks. Yes—there are already couples out on the dance floor, and Vivi and Walter Rosen, commodore of the Field and Oar Club, join them. Walter is in his late fifties, Vivi guesses, and he’s a skillful dancer; all she has to do is let him lead. She feels light as a feather; the skirt of her dress twirls, and she smiles at Walter, smiles at the bandleader who is snapping his fingers as he sings “Mack the Knife,” smiles at the other couples on the dance floor and the guests who are still seated. She sees Bob and Mary Catherine Hamilton. Mary Catherine waves to Vivi and gives her the thumbs-up, which is very unlike her. An outward sign of approval!

The song ends. Vivi claps politely, then Walter offers Vivi his arm and escorts her back to the table.

JP leans over and whispers in Vivi’s ear, “You were dazzling. Luminous. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Nobody could.”

Vivi glances across the table. Lucinda is deep in conversation with Penny Rosen.

There are other things Vivi remembers about that evening: The classic filet mignon and jacket potato dinner with a side of asparagus and grilled tomato. The baked Alaska for dessert. Twirling in JP’s arms until Bob Hamilton cuts in for a dance.

“You’re the belle of the ball, Vivi,” Bob says. “Mary Catherine and I are proud of how you’ve created your own summer here. Though, frankly, I would have preferred it if you’d stayed with us. Savannah still isn’t speaking to me.”

“It was for the best,” Vivi says. “I’m happy I made it work.”

When the band takes a break, JP heads to the bar to freshen their cocktails and Vivi goes to the ladies’ room to powder her nose.

There are two stalls occupied. A voice from one says, “I wasn’t sure what to expect but she’s lovely.”

“A breath of fresh air,” the voice in the other stall says. “This club can feel so…inbred at times, everyone’s children marrying one another. We need new blood. Do you think it’s serious?”

“It’s a summer romance,” the voice in the first stall says. Vivi has by now figured out that it’s Lucinda and Penny Rosen behind the doors. She should leave immediately—they’re talking about her; how awkward!—but she wants to hear the rest of the conversation.

“Summer romances are the best kind of romances,” Penny says. “Remember the Teabury brothers, Lucy?”

“Who could forget the Teabury brothers,” Lucinda says. “The only problem is that these summer romances don’t last. There’s no point getting to know this girl, whoever she is, because she’ll be gone by the end of September. Next summer we won’t even remember her name.”

When fall arrives, both Vivi and JP stay on Nantucket. JP lives in the icebox that is Lucinda’s house, though it’s so inhospitably cold and the water heater so unreliable that most nights, they sleep in Vivi’s drab (but warm) rental on Fairgrounds Road. Fall becomes winter. Everything closes down; people go inside; the only places with full parking lots are the high school during basketball games, Marine Home Center, and Nantucket Wine and Spirits. JP and Vivi eat a lot of ramen, a lot of scrambled eggs and toast. They drive out to Fortieth Pole on Friday afternoons and look for seals off the coast. On Saturday nights, they go out to dinner at the Atlantic Café or the Brotherhood and sometimes to a movie at the Starlight.

March feels like it’s eight weeks long; it’s bitterly cold with a ferocious northeast wind. There’s no sign of spring—no crocuses, no bunnies, no mild sunshine. The writing that Vivi promised herself she’d do hasn’t happened. She rewrites the story she’s been working on since high school, “Coney Island Baby,” about a woman who thinks her husband is having an affair but discovers he’s singing in a barbershop quartet.

On St. Patrick’s Day, Vivi and JP go to the Muse to shoot pool and drink green beer and dance to Celtic music, and while it’s not exactly the Anchor Ball at the Field and Oar Club on a starry summer night, it’s still fun. Everywhere with JP is fun, Vivi decides.

She drinks too much and passes out in her clothes without brushing her teeth. When she stumbles into the bathroom in the morning, she blinks.

Taped to the mirror is a note: Will you marry me?

“What?” Vivi says. She turns; JP is sitting on the side of the bathtub with a ring box open in his hand.