Tabitha still feels stung by the charming woman from Garden Goddesses—and Tabitha would like to point out that this woman is no one’s idea of a goddess—but she gives skinny Santa a smile for the kindness of his input, as unsettling as it is. “Thank you,” she says.

Back at home, Tabitha checks the phone book. She had made it through the alphabet to Haggerty Construction, and the very next listing is Hammer and Claw. Is it a sign? Third time’s a charm? Or now that she has been warned this is Franklin’s company, should she skip down to Inkwell Beach Builders? She’s dying to talk to Franklin, which is an argument only for not calling. If she calls, it could easily end badly for her.

Her mother would, no doubt, advise Tabitha not to call. A woman should never pursue a man, in her opinion, although it’s a well-documented fact that Eleanor ruthlessly stole Billy Frost from her cousin Rhonda.

And what would Billy say? Tabitha wonders. She eyes the urn containing his ashes. Safe to assume Billy would give advice opposite to Eleanor’s. Nothing’s going to happen until you make it happen.

She’s in Billy’s house; perhaps that’s why his argument is more compelling.

Franklin answers on the first ring. “Yo.”

Yo? Tabitha thinks. That’s the way Ainsley’s friends answer the phone. It’s probably not inappropriate, then, that she suddenly feels like a sixteen-year-old trying to pass for an adult.

“Oh, hello,” she says, wondering if her acting skills are up to snuff or if she will be completely transparent. “I’m looking for a contractor for my father’s house, on Daggett Avenue. My father recently passed away, and I want to do a gut renovation so I can put the house on the market.”

“Uh-huh,” Franklin says. “How many square feet is the house? And when were you thinking of starting?”

“It’s a little over seventeen hundred square feet,” Tabitha says. “And I’d like to start as soon as we can. Tomorrow, if possible.”

“Tomorrow!” Franklin says. “I can see you’re a woman who knows what she wants. It just so happens I’m finishing a project in Katama, and I don’t have anything else lined up until fall, so I may be able to squeeze this in, if—and this is a big if—it’s not too extensive. I’m going to have to come look at it before I give you an answer.”

“Oh,” Tabitha says. “Okay. The address is Fifty-Five Forty-Nine Daggett Avenue. When were you thinking of coming over?”

“I’m free right now,” Franklin says.

“Okay,” Tabitha says.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name,” Franklin says.

She closes her eyes. “Tabitha,” she says. “Tabitha Frost.”

Silence. He’s going to hang up, she thinks.

Then he says, “Tabitha?”

“Yes,” she says.

“This is Franklin. Franklin Phelps, from the other night?”

“What?” Tabitha says. “You’re kidding! I didn’t realize… I’m sorry… the phone book just said Hammer and Claw…”

“Don’t apologize, please,” Franklin says. “Listen, I’m coming over now, okay? Right this second. Don’t go anywhere.”

“I won’t,” she says. “I’ll be right—”

But Franklin has hung up. Tabitha runs to find a brush and lipstick.

She doesn’t know what to expect. She’s sober; it’s daytime; this is a business call. Will it be weird? Will the magic be gone? That’s what she hopes for, of course—that the magic is gone, that Franklin Phelps is just another guy, less attractive and not at all appealing under this new set of circumstances.

From the window, she watches him pull up in a big black Dodge pickup, then stride up the walk. He’s wearing Carhartt pants and a Black Dog T-shirt that has a rip in the neck. He’s the most gorgeous man she’s ever seen.

This is bad, very bad. She wants to go crawl under one of the beds with the dust bunnies.

When she opens the door, he stares at her, then he shakes his head. “I’m going to put my pride on the line here. This morning I looked at the ferry schedule to Nantucket.”

“You… what?”

“I wanted to go over and find you,” Franklin says. “I’ve been thinking of you, oh… basically nonstop since Friday night.”

Tabitha grabs him by the dog on the front of his shirt and pulls him inside.

They make love in the kitchen and nearly pull the countertop free of the wall in the process.

Franklin is behind Tabitha, kissing the back of her neck. “Yeah,” he says. “This house needs some work.”

She shows him the pine floors under the carpet, the powder room, the three underwhelming bedrooms upstairs.

“I’m not going to lie to you,” Franklin says. “This project is exactly the right size for me to take on. I can get this done in six weeks.”

“Six weeks?” Tabitha says. She can’t believe her reversal of fortune. This morning she had neither Franklin nor a contractor—and now she has both!

“But,” Franklin says.

Or not both, she thinks.

He runs his hands through his dark hair. “There are extenuating circumstances,” he says.

“What are they?” Tabitha says. Girlfriend, she thinks. Or he doesn’t want to commit to Tabitha, because what if he doesn’t like her as much as he thinks he does?

“I don’t want to get into it,” he says. “Just let me think about it, okay?”

“Okay,” she says.

“What are you doing right now?” he asks.

“Other than trying to find a contractor, you mean?”

“Put your swimsuit on,” he says. “And a pair of sneakers. We’re going to the beach.”

Franklin drives her to a place called Cedar Tree Neck, a nature preserve on a spit of land known as the Fishhook in Vineyard Haven. They walk through a thickly wooded area that offers luxurious shade on a hot day. Through the canopy of trees, bits of brilliant blue sky are visible, and Tabitha hears birdsong. When was the last time Tabitha enjoyed nature? Probably when she was fifteen years old at Camp Wyonegonic. They hike along in silence for a while, holding hands, then they crest a hill and Franklin stops. He takes her face in his hands and kisses her. His face has a day’s worth of growth on it, which is so sexy against her face that her knees nearly buckle.

The kissing intensifies. Franklin backs her up against a tree.

“Are we?” she whispers into his mouth. “Here?”

He nods, reaching a hand into the bottom of her bathing suit.

The trail ends at a sandy, boulder-studded beach that cradles a small bay. Franklin lays out two towels, then he shucks off his shorts and races into the water, buck naked.

Tabitha shrieks. She looks both ways down the beach—nobody is around. She hesitates for a moment, wondering if she can go through with it. Swimming naked in a public place isn’t something Tabitha Frost does. Tabitha Frost is dignified, her behavior unimpeachable.

Tabitha Frost is uptight, she thinks.

She unties her bikini and goes racing into the water.

The feeling is novel and delicious. The water is soft as it envelops her, all of her; she feels coddled, like a baby in embryonic fluid. And she enjoys the daring of it. For the moments when she is in the water, she is free.

Franklin scoops her up. When he kisses her, he tastes like salt water. She is weightless in his arms.

Back on her towel on the warm beach, she raises her face bravely to the sun. Her shoulder blades melt into the sand, and she falls asleep.

When she wakes up, the sun is lower in the sky, dappling the surface of the water. Tabitha turns her head to see Franklin on his side, his head propped on his arm, staring at her.

“You are so beautiful,” he says.

Her stomach swoops.

This is happening.

Franklin has chosen a place called the Outermost Inn for dinner.

“It’s in Aquinnah,” he says. “You’ll see all of up island on the way.”

Tabitha puts on an orange Alexander Wang sundress with skinny straps that crisscross her now tanned back. It’s the sexiest thing she owns, and she congratulates herself for deciding to bring it.